I did the silliest thing. It’s so ridiculous that when people ask me what happened I am embarrassed to say.

We had just arrived on the island for a three-week holiday. At 7pm I settled the Bees into her crib crammed inside the closet (space is a premium at my parents? place). Later I went to bed on a small bunk about 4 feet away. In the middle of the night I leapt out of bed dreaming that The Bees was in trouble, lunging toward the crib. I awoke as I was falling to the floor, my right foot turning in on a cushion on the floor. There was a huge sound as my not quite petite self crashed to the floor, and the pain was nauseating. The Bees awoke with a cry so I crawled to her crib to hold her for a minute. A cold sweat broke out on my entire body.

After the Bees had gone back to sleep I crawled to the kitchen and got a bag of ice and some Advil. I’m never clear on whether you are supposed to ice or heat an injury.

So here we were on day one of vacation, without my husband, nor a nanny, and on a second story steep walk-up. Strangely enough I was able to fall back asleep that night, and it was the only night that The Bees slept through til 6am.

 The next morning my entire foot looked quite plump and tight like a lavender colored balloon. As the day progressed I was quite proud of the ferocious bruising. It makes for great cocktail party banter. I continued to hobble around town, thinking it would just hurry up and heal. My mom thought it was just a burst blood vessel and others thought it was a sprain. In wishful thinking I agreed with them and continued to limp around for another week before I admitted that it really wasn’t getting any better.

 Being on a remote island in Maine means you benefit from the beauty and the authenticity, but you lose access to services like doctors. There is a part-time nurse practitioner on the island but she was not free until Monday at 11am at which time she urged me to go to the mainland immediately for an x-ray. I couldn’t possibly leave that day because we were throwing a fabulous engagement fete for a close friend. I hiked up and down the stairs and stood for two hours tending bar during the party. The next morning I left The Bees with a sitter and took the ferry to the mainland and to the hospital.

 In the radiology waiting room were two free chairs – one was in between two policemen and the other was next to a prisoner in a bright orange jump suit. He was shackled at wrists and at ankles and was sighing heavily. I weighed my options as I slowly crossed the room and opted for the seat between the cops.

The x-ray confirmed two breaks and I bought a small boot to wear until further notice.

 The idea of being in a cast or facing surgery was so depressing that I sat in a coffee shop for two hours, staring at my breakfast burrito and out at the pouring rain. Later I remembered I needed to get my mother a birthday present and limped out. Ahhh retail therapy! Within a few minutes of browsing the shops my mood had lifted.

 So now I’m waiting another 10 days to see an orthopedist. Should I abort my holiday and come home to see a doctor immediately? Probably. I could be sitting in our house in DC, immobile, staring out at the trees, alone with the Bees in our living room, or I could stay here taking in the crisp, salty air, the blue sky, the pebbly beaches and the sunsets, with a happy child. The choice seems clear. I may be delusional but I feel like I heal better and faster, here in on an island in Maine.