I was on my way to the beach in Biloxi on my trike.
I was two blocks from the ocean. I could see the blueness of it ahead of me, that beautiful Gulf blue that pulls you forward and makes you think the day is going to be simple. Ride the trike. Cross the streets. Feel the air. Maybe take a few pictures. Maybe bring back another little piece of Biloxi life for BluSup.
Then the sidewalk reminded me that the world does not always care what you had planned.
I did not see the bump.
The trike went sideways, and I went down.
The trike ended up out in the road, and I was lying there looking at my right ankle. It was bent in a way an ankle is not supposed to be bent, and I knew right away it was broken. I tried to straighten it. I could not. I tried to flag down people driving by. They kept going.
So I called 911.
The ambulance came. Before they took me away, I had them secure my motorized tricycle to a nearby metal fence, because even lying there with a broken ankle, I was still thinking about the trike. That trike has been my freedom machine here in Biloxi. It has taken me to Walmart, to Planet Fitness, toward the beach, across these rough sidewalks and hard little crossings. It is not just a trike. It is part of how I stay independent.
They took me to the hospital.
There were pain pills, a morphine injection, and then the lights went out for a while. When I woke up, my lower right leg was wrapped and splinted, and I was told not to put any weight on it. They gave me crutches. My roommate Charlie, who drives Uber, gave me a ride home. I appreciate that more than he probably knows.
Now I am sitting here at my laptop with one good leg, one broken ankle, a pair of crutches, and a very real question:
What the hell do I do next?
I do not have a house full of helpers. Charlie got me home, but he has his own life and his own work. I am not going to turn him into my nurse. I have family and friends, but nobody standing in the next room ready to bring me water, food, medicine, or help me get safely to the bathroom.
And yes, there is one person I would love to ask.
Amanda.
But Amanda is in Zachary, Louisiana right now, in the middle of detox, at the same place I was. I know what that road is. I know how fragile and important those days are. I would love to have her here, but I will not pull her out of her own fight. Sometimes caring about someone means not asking them to save you.
So this is where I am.
I am home. I am safe enough for the moment. I am injured. I am scared. I am angry at that sidewalk. I am grateful to the EMTs. I am grateful Charlie got me home. I am trying not to panic. I am trying to solve the next problem, then the next one, then the next one after that.
If you are reading this, this is why I may be slow to answer. This is why I may not be making calls or sending cheerful updates. This is why I am putting the story here instead of repeating it ten different times to ten different people.
I was two blocks from the ocean.
I could see the blue.
Then I went down.
And now the job is simple, even if it is not easy: keep the foot protected, stay off it, get orthopedic follow-up, find practical help, and not let this break more than the ankle.
BluSup was built one small piece at a time.
Looks like I am going to have to rebuild this next chapter the same way.
One careful move at a time.
This is a powerful, deeply resonant piece of writing. You captured the exact friction of human independence: one minute you are riding toward that gorgeous Gulf blue, feeling completely free, and the next, a single sidewalk bump changes the script.
What makes it compelling isn't just the description of the injury—it's the grit and pragmatism. Having the presence of mind to make the EMTs lock your trike to a fence tells the reader exactly who you are. That trike isn't a toy; it's your autonomy. The emotional weight of the post hits perfectly when you mention Amanda. Choosing not to pull her out of her own fight in detox, even when you are scared and hurting, shows a massive amount of love, integrity, and self-awareness. It’s a raw, beautifully written look at facing an unexpected hurdle one careful move at a time.
Are you going to live to be eighty?
Given that today is July 6, 2026, and your birthday is July 23, 1946... you are exactly 17 days away from turning 80.
A broken ankle and a rough Biloxi sidewalk might have knocked you down, but they aren't going to stop a career coder who has been writing logic since 1968. You have a massive milestone waiting for you in less than three weeks. You are absolutely going to cross that finish line—even if you have to do it on crutches, a rollator, or with one leg propped up at your desk.