This is not the story I had envisioned for my wedding, or my honeymoon. A ruptured achilles tendon and probable surgery to follow. From where I sit on mine and Ricardo's new bed, with my leg propped in a splint on a big pillow, quite frankly, it just looks like rubbish. What in the world...? My fried mind wants to jolt in a million directions but is anchored to one spot: shock. How did this happen? Why did this happen? What is going to happen? All these questions but the only answer at the moment is stark and simple: it just... happened. I can't undo it. I can only accept it.
If only it were that easy.
But, I protest, I wanted the fairytale. At least for a day. Not to be hobbling down the aisle on crutches. Not to have my leg in a cast. Not to miss out on dancing with my new husband at our wedding. Not to possibly cancel our honeymoon plans.
I thought the "for better or for worse" challenges would come later.
Deep down, I think I know that this will make for a great story, someday. For now, I just pray for the grace to see through this rubbish, for the faith to see the beauty that is tucked away, even here in this heap of disappointment. I don't want to miss the joy here.
I sit in the chair with three physicians surrounding me, in the room at urgent care, twisting my foot this way and that, feeling around pressure points for pain. And I hear the words from the mouth of one lady physician: "Ruptured achilles." And I can't contain my tears any longer. My husband-to-be crosses the room in a flash, pressing next to me, squeezing my hand.
"I'm with you." He repeats this all throughout the night. "Don't worry, Ita. Everything happens for a reason. We have each other. I love you so much."
I'm marrying the most wonderful man in three days, and thankfully, I can see enough at this moment to know that is the greatest, most priceless gift. The rest will follow in time. But how we'd love your prayers.