Sometimes shit happens.

And happen it has.

I broke my ankle on set in November. It was in the middle of a scene, captured on film, and the audible cracking noise captured on audio.

I am completely housebound, 'walking' around on crutches and scooting up and down the stairs on my butt. I can't drive. I need help showering (which isn't nearly as fun as it sounds). Workable clothing options are severely limited.

There has been good news. No surgery required. It should heal just fine. The pain has settled. And, if all goes well, I'll be walking on one of those great big orthopedic boots sans crutches by two days before Christmas.

The bad news? The short in which it happened has to be done this year, and I can't walk to do it. The short I had lined up for next weekend will continue on without me (and I was super excited about it!). Remember Wanda the Wonderful? Well, you can't play a contortionist on crutches, so they are recasting as well. And last, a part that was written for me in a feature film being filmed in January will also be recast.

Yeah, it totally sucks. Honestly, I'm trying to focus all my energy on getting better, being positive about the situation and trying not to go insane in the house, so I don't think the disappointment is really going to sink in for a few months.

There are moments of grace. The most poignant one, and the one I will keep with me for the rest of my life, is the vision of my husband leaning over my broken ankle, washing my leg, ankle and foot so gently, as I sit above him and silently cry because I'm so scared and miserable and thankful, above all so, so thankful for him.

This accident has meant so much extra work for him--work he's taken on without complaint and with so much love. I wish it didn't happen. I don't see the good in it. But if the good is being re-reminded that I am incredibly lucky to have this man in my life, I got it. I'll remember it. No more broken bones needed to remind me.