Last year, on the Sunday before my birthday, my family ate my birthday cake without me.

We would be traveling for fall break on my actual birthday, so we planned in advance to celebrate with my favorite cake that Sunday. After dinner, we did our “family 15” cleanup, where each of us ostensibly does chores for fifteen minutes to clean up the kitchen and main floor. Then the kids were off to baths and showers. Once downstairs in pajamas, we wanted a bit more time between dinner and cake, so we decided to play a game. Our youngest child chose duck, duck, goose.

At our house, duck, duck, goose is slightly more extreme than the preschool version. We sit in a circle on the rug of our living room, and once the ducker selects their goose, the ducker takes off running into the kitchen, around the kitchen island, and then back around the couch to the living room rug, all while being chased by the goose. Our border collie gets very worked up by the game, barks, and shakes a toy around, so the game is also loud.

We went through several rounds of duck, duck, goose before my husband declared, “two more rounds.” My four-year-old chose me as the goose, and I chased her through the kitchen and back to the rug. Then it was my turn. I wandered the circle and hesitated slightly before selecting my husband as the “goose.” I took off running, rounded the kitchen island in a sprint, and returned to the rug untagged and out of breath. But something was a bit off. My kids asked, “Mom, why were you swearing while you ran?”

I am not ashamed to admit that my children have heard the occasional well-placed swear word in moments of frustration or pain, particularly when I drop something. But swearing while playing a family game is not typical for me.

I looked down and saw that my left pinky toe was sticking out at a weird angle, clearly either dislocated or broken. Along one wall of our living room, we have a metal cabinet called the “toy locker.” Apparently, as I ran past, my left pinky toe snagged on the foot of the toy locker, injuring my toe, but not tripping me. It didn’t yet hurt—the pain would come later—but I knew I had a problem.

A quick Google search told me our local Instacare would close in 27 minutes. I had to hurry. We were leaving the next morning on our trip, so we decided that my husband would serve the cake and tuck the kids while I attended to my foot.

I made it to Instacare to find that their X-ray machine was down. I had 13 minutes to drive to Instacare in the next town to get in before they closed. I made it just as the receptionist stood to lock the door. Anyone who was inside before the door was locked could be seen that evening, and she kindly allowed me to enter. The X-ray technician sighed as she fired back up the equipment she had just shut down for the night. The X-ray revealed a complete break through the bone. A doctor numbed my toe and reset the bone with a pop that still haunts me. A nurse instructed me on buddy-taping my toes and outfitted me with a rigid sole shoe and instructions to wear it for at least three weeks. She said to expect at least six weeks for a full recovery. I realized that the recovery time would overlap with my upcoming hysterectomy. I supposed that if I was going to break a bone, I might as well double up on healing time. But it was the coming week I was worried about.

I returned to a quiet house and sat down with my husband to eat cake. Should we cancel our trip? No, I didn’t want to do that for a broken toe. We were going to Seattle and then up to Forks, Washington, where we would spend my birthday on the rocky shores of Rialto Beach. We would skip our plans for hiking in the Hoh Rain Forest and modify our time in the city. Long walks through the airport would be a struggle, and I would soon find that the pain was the worst while trying to sleep at night. But this trip was partly a make-up trip for one disrupted by COVID shutdowns in March 2020. I didn’t need the trip to be perfect, but uncertain of what changes the coming months would bring, I needed this time with my family away from normal household concerns. And, having just watched all the Twilight movies with my kids, I wanted them to see the beauty of the Olympic Peninsula in person.

That was a year ago now. We did not find any sparkly vampires in the woods, but sitting on a driftwood log and watching my children splash in the water while the sun set remains one of my favorite memories.

Last night, on the Sunday before my birthday, I ate my birthday cake with my family. I will be traveling again on my birthday. My once-broken toe is healed, and I have made it through nearly a full year of surgical menopause. Before each birthday, I reflect on the previous year. Last year started with a stupid injury, but one that is easy to laugh about. I think it set me up for a year of slowing down, listening to my body, and adapting my plans as situations change. That isn’t always easy for me. I tend to want to power through, even when in pain. Turns out that taking time to heal has its benefits.

However, I don’t think I’ll be playing duck, duck, goose anytime soon.