Yes, I am jumping

Last fall, a friend of mine from ballet classes called me out of the blue. What was initially a pleasant surprise turned out to be a call for help. She had taken a bad step on some stairs and had injured her ankle. After initially refusing to believe the injury was serious, she had finally realized that she needed medical care and wanted to know if I would be willing to meet her at the local hospital emergency room. Of course I said yes immediately.

For most people, a trip to the emergency room is emotionally stressful in itself, on top of whatever it is that precipitates the visit. For me, as a former emergency medical tech, hospital ERs are familiar places. They are places of refuge and healing, rather than foreboding and dread.

Although I suspect I may not have been first on her list of people to call, I felt honored by her request. She was insistent that she could drive herself to the hospital but might need some help getting from her car inside. I told her I was closer to the hospital than she was, and suggested she give me a call when she arrived and I'd bring a wheelchair out to her car. I was pretty sure from the quick exam of her foot and ankle that she allowed me to do in the waiting room that she hadn't broken any bones (later proved correct by X-rays), but the swelling and pain made it clear she had a bad sprain. In all honesty, other than wheeling her around a bit all I did was provide some light-hearted banter and distraction for a few hours. Which is likely exactly what she needed.

For several weeks afterward she couldn't put any weight on her foot, and could only move around with crutches and that with difficulty. With time and physical therapy she improved, but was still unable to attend classes for several months. For someone who had been taking ballet since she was young, and normally took class on pointe, this was terribly frustrating. Eventually she returned wearing only soft slippers, and did everything on flat. Then she began doing some demi-pointe work, but no jumps. Then pointe at barre, but not centre. And finally pointe throughout. But she told me she still couldn't jump; when she tried the landings felt "wrong" and hurt, and she was worried she'd re-injure herself.

One day earlier this summer I asked how her ankle was doing. She brightened and said she'd finally been able to start jumping again. She'd decided to try a jump, and when she landed she said it felt like something popped or tore. Initially she was very worried, but afterward found that she could jump and land without pain or that feeling of wrongness. She now believes that during her healing she'd developed an adhesion, and that last pop had restored normal movement.

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Early this summer, studio management had decided to suspend the Tuesday night Beginner II classes until late August as attendance had dropped way off. Last night we had 19 students, including four men. Also in attendance was the friend I mentioned above. Barre in this class often includes snippets of sequences that show up again in the adagio portion of centre, which makes for an energetic and active barre session. Just when everyone was ready to put the portable barres away and rest, our instructor called for 16 relevés on each foot. Normally 16 relevés to demi-pointe wouldn't bother me much, but after this particular session it left me with aching calf muscles. My poor friend, going all the way up to pointe and back down, seemed to be really struggling. But she made it through.

Near the end of class, as we finished yet another series of jumps, my friend turned to me and said, "I'm all jumped out." I smiled at her and replied, "Yes, but you ARE jumping!" With a grin she acknowledged how far she's come since her injury. "Yes. I am jumping."