It was a Friday in May 2010, I was volunteering at a pregnancy help center close to our apartment. It was me and three sixty/seventy-year-olds. The plan was that I would go volunteer in the morning, Tom would get out of work early, we'd meet back at our apartment and we'd drive to Plymouth, MA to do some touristy things like walking out on the jette, eating out and just having fun being lazy for the weekend.
After a morning filled with baby-clothes-separating, the director asked me to grab a few empty boxes and take them to the trash on the way to my car. I said "sure, no problem," grabbed them and walked out the door. Unfortunately, there was a stoop about four feet wide,which I forgot was there. I kept on walking as if I was already on the pavement, but to my dismay the stoop stopped and I rolled my ankle on my unexpected step down (I don't want to say just rolled my ankle because that sounds like it was nothing. I basically stepped down, it turned to the right, I heard a pop and instantly felt dizzy). Somehow I managed not to fall and I kept hold of the boxes. I was in a daze and wasn't really sure what to do so I just stood there, on my one good foot, in excrutiating pain. I had sprained my ankle before, but this pain was so much worse. I even fractured my leg on another occasion and this hurt three times as bad. As my hearing started to go and blackness started to cover my eyes I heard the old ladies scrambling after me. I passed out for a second and one of the seventy-somethings caught me and another brought out a chair. Yes. Me, the (at the time) twenty-two year old was the one who got injured, and not my brittle-boned companions.
Tom ended up coming to pick me up, and we spent the afternoon at the hospital. Not exactly a great start to the weekend.