Got the Boot

No, I didn't lose my job, I literally got a boot. Yes, the article prior to the word boot is correct, it's singular. I got one boot. It's for my right ankle which I sprained while on my Thanksgiving Break in Rio. I have lots of posts to update you on but since is it the largest thing I'm dealing with right now, figure I'd start here.
Now that you've seen said boot (sorry about the photo quality, after several attempts, this is what you get), there are two stories that I'm going to propose as possible injury causes. One is completely true. The other was made up by a third grader (the idea came from them - not the details). You are welcome to choose the story you believe to be true. You may choose the story that you enjoy more or you are welcome to scribe a third version that you believe shines far and above the others. Remember, I am coming home soon and hopefully will have tossed the boot into the closet

Story #1 - Samba

On Saturday night, Sam and I decided we wanted to go to dance so we chose Rio Scenarium, a samba club. It's an amazing environment...3-story dance club and bar in Centro. I was so excited because I was wearing a new dress which of course had fun shoes to go along with it. We arrived, walked up to the 2nd foor to take in all of the dancing. Perfect bird's eye view of the wonderful band and everyone dancing. Totally feeling like I was a Carioca (well, maybe not a Carioca but feeling like it was something amazing). We walked to the 2nd foor bar, got a couple of drinks and headed back to watch the dancing.

After a few minutes of sitting back and watching (and after a little liquid courage) I decided to join the fun. I walked over to the dance floor and began trying to copy some of the girls who were dancing. I thought I got the hang of it when suddenly my cute shoes gave out on me and my ankle fell to the floor. As it hit the floor, I heard a loud crack. Maybe I wasn't doing such a great job copying them after all.

I hobbled back to the table with my tail between my legs hoping that my first attempt at sambing in Rio wouldn't be my last.

Story #2 - Stairs

On Saturday, Sam and I decided to go on a favela* tour. First we visited Rochina and found some beautiful artwork and other presents at a small craft bazzar. We toured around in the heat, not doing a whole lot of walking as the favela is quite large and also controlled by a drug cartel, seeing the neighborhood and eventually cooling off with some acai. Then we got back into our little van to head to the next favela, Vila Canoas. There we started by touring a small school and then headed into the actual neighborhood and began to decend some stairs in a narrow, dark alley. The stairs were uneven and quite small in both height and depth.

As I walked down the stairs, I did have the conscious thought, "Be careful Megan. Go slowly. This is the type of place where you fall down." 3 steps later, I bit it. Hard. I heard a loud crack and was asked by all those around me if I was okay. I hobbled down the stairs and the remainder of the tour knowing full-well that something was wrong, very wrong.

* In general favelas are neighborhoods in Rio where where people from the Northeastern part of Brazil moved to help build the beach-front properties in Rio. Favelas have reputations for being dangerous and also controlled by druglords. I could give more information but figure you (Maz) can click if you want to learn more here.

Andrea took me to the ER on Tuesday, my first trip to a Brazilian hospital, where I saw an orthopedic ER doctor. He took a quick look and then began to press on the outside of it and with much wincing and saying "ouch" (not sure how to say that yet in Portuguese), he determined that I had "torce meu torcenio" which means sprained my ankle.

This also means I have to spend the next 8 days wearing the lovely apparatus but knowing well that I usually take longer to heal than anticipated and I sprain this ankle on an annual and in some years bi-annual basis. So when I fly home in a couple of weeks and truly need to switch out of my Haivanas and into boots, I may already be wearing one. Unfortunately, it may not be a cute pair of Uggs but instead an orthopedic one.

What do you think? Which story do you believe? I guess though, no matter which version you chose, there's something that's true. I've learned one thing from this, no matter the continent, my klutziness follows me wherever I go.