grace (ɡrās): n. simple elegance or refinement of movement

Last week, Garth and I set out for a hike in Algonquin Park. The Whiskey Rapids trail was a little wet, warm, and wrought with mosquitoes! Even with bug spray, we were getting swarmed, so we moved rather quickly along the trail.

I was so careful with my footing given that PD interferes with my balance, Dystonia causes my left foot to drag, and Osteoporosis makes me a great candidate for breaking bones. I had my eyes on the ground scouting for tree roots and rocks. I’ll repeat, I was so careful.

Within 30m of the trail’s end, I spotted some hikers just starting out. I took my eyes off the path to look for them and to warn them about the mayhem of mosquitos. I briefly lost my focus.

My left foot hit a root. I heard the snap. I was on the ground.

Broke my left distal fibula (leg). Now, I’m on the couch in a boot cast navigating my small indoor world with crutches. I’ll just say that Parkinson’s and crutches don’t necessarily get along well and I’m back to paying very close attention to the paths I travel throughout my home.

Note to self: Our next house will be a bungalow!!

Thanks to Garth for listening patiently to my emotional, explicative-laden attack aimed at my balance, my bones, and this stupid movement disorder that has stolen my grace.