From Paradise to Pain: My Unforgettable Mexico Trip Mishap

Life has a funny way of throwing unexpected curveballs, often when you least expect them. As March 2016 rolled around, I was buzzing with the vibrant energy of my mid-twenties, keenly aware that my 26th birthday was just a month away. My routine “Life Lately” posts, which I aimed to share monthly, had unfortunately fallen by the wayside, a testament to how fast-paced my days had become. Little did I know, the next chapter of my life would involve a significant, albeit temporary, halt, offering a profound lesson in slowing down and embracing vulnerability. This particular entry, however, isn’t just about turning 26; it’s about a pivotal, utterly wild, and truly unforgettable experience in Mexico that began with a broken foot and spiraled into an epic tale of unexpected challenges and personal growth.

My left foot, specifically the 5th metatarsal, became the reluctant star of this adventure. It’s a story so unique, I’m convinced it will forever be one of my favorites to recount. Why? Because it features a trifecta of extraordinary circumstances: it unfolded amidst the vibrant chaos of Mexico, involved a rather surprising encounter with local remedies, and culminated in the most severe, six-day stomach flu of my entire life, striking a mere 12 hours after the initial injury.

The Sunset Run That Took a Sudden Turn

The morning of our departure from Mexico was fast approaching, with a 5 AM flight awaiting us. My friends, Davida, Linley, and I, decided one last workout was in order to truly soak up the last vestiges of our trip. Our choice was a sunset trail run at El Jardín Botánico, a beautiful botanical garden nestled just a mile uphill from our accommodations. We set off, our conversation flowing freely as we navigated the charming, albeit uneven, cobblestone streets. We chatted about our plans for the evening, the anticipation of heading home, and simply enjoying the moment. It was during this relaxed pace that I first stumbled on a rock, narrowly avoiding a face-plant. My immediate, lighthearted reaction was, “Perhaps I should start lifting my feet a bit higher.” We shared a laugh, unaware of the ominous foreshadowing.

Upon reaching the recreational area of the garden, we decided to pick up the pace to a light jog. Our initial plan was simple: run down to the tranquil lake, complete a quick circuit workout, and then make our way back. We had barely jogged for 30 seconds when it happened. BOOM. My foot landed awkwardly on an unseen rock, followed by a distinct, sickening CRACK. I felt it as much as I heard it—a sharp, undeniable jolt in my left foot. Instantly, I crumpled to the ground, a string of expletives escaping my lips as the shock registered. Peeling off my shoe, adrenaline surged through me. In that initial rush, I convinced myself it was nothing serious, a mere twist perhaps. I optimistically put my shoe back on, declaring, “Let’s just turn around and run home.” But with that very first step, a harsh reality set in. WAM! I couldn’t put any weight on it; the pain was immediate and incapacitating.

Linley and Davida, quick to react, helped me hop towards the garden entrance. Once there, I shed my shoe and sock, watching in horror as my foot began to swell rapidly, morphing into a large, tender balloon. Linley valiantly set off to find a taxi, while Davida stayed by my side, attempting to soothe me as I spiraled into hyperventilation. The realization hit me with full force: I was absolutely hysterical.

A torrent of panicked thoughts flooded my mind: “My foot is broken. How will I work out? How will I walk? Oh my goodness, do I need surgery? My life is over. My foot is broken. I want my mom. Oh my goodness, I’m dying!” Davida, a pillar of calm amidst my chaos, listened patiently, offering reassurance and trying her best to ground me. I managed to call my mom, attempting to convey a sense of calm I didn’t possess, hoping she’d translate my frenzied words into something less alarming. It was a chaotic moment, to say the least.

An Unexpected Remedy: The Peyote Encounter

Just as my panic began to subside slightly, a truly bizarre scene unfolded. A couple emerged from the garden, serenely strolling out while playing a flute—yes, a flute—accompanied by their dog. They looked like something straight out of the 1970s, radiating a distinct bohemian vibe. Spotting our distress, they walked to their car, then approached us. I explained my predicament, expressing my certainty that my foot was broken. The woman, with an almost mystical air, pulled a substance from her bag. It resembled aloe vera. “Let me put some of this on your foot,” she offered, “it will take the pain away.”

In my desperate state, any promise of relief was a godsend. “IT WILL MAKE ME BETTER? ABSOLUTELY, PUT IT ON MY FOOT!” I exclaimed. She gently rubbed the mysterious substance onto my swollen foot. Davida, ever the cautious one, then inquired, “What exactly is that?” The woman’s casual reply: “Peyote.” Davida’s eyes widened. “Uhm, is that… legal?” she stammered. At this point, my mind raced, “WHAT IS PEYOTE?!” The woman, sensing our confusion and perhaps a hint of alarm, simply said, “Don’t tell anyone I gave you this,” and calmly walked away. Davida turned to me, a mixture of disbelief and amusement on her face. “You just did drugs!” she chuckled. Apparently, peyote is a hallucinogenic when ingested, but topically, it’s believed to have pain-relieving properties. Only in Mexico, indeed.

Racing Against Time: The Mexican Hospital Experience

Moments later, Linley reappeared in a taxi, literally hanging out the window, pumping her fist in triumph. We piled in, a whirlwind of relief and urgency. Our destination was Linley’s in-laws’ home, where we quickly transferred to their car en route to the emergency room. A critical detail: our flight home was scheduled for 5 AM the following morning, leaving us barely 12 hours to sort this out.

To my surprise, the Mexican hospital experience was remarkably efficient and positive. As I hobbled in, I was immediately ushered into a wheelchair, no questions asked, and taken straight for X-rays. No waiting! The process took a mere 15 minutes. The only hold-up was the two-hour wait for a doctor from a neighboring town to arrive, prescribe medication, and interpret the X-rays. The diagnosis confirmed my fears: a fractured 5th metatarsal. The doctor, whose Spanish required translation, explained I would need to wear a boot for 4-6 weeks, with strict non-weight-bearing instructions due to a possible partial ligament tear. Given the limited time and my desire for a second opinion back home, I opted for a walking boot (an air-cast), which allowed us to be on our way relatively quickly.

By now, my foot was a painful mosaic of black and blue, severely swollen. Strangely, the pain was mostly manageable unless I put pressure on it or twisted it awkwardly. Linley and Davida, my unwavering companions, efficiently packed my belongings while I elevated and iced my foot in bed. I decided against the Vicodin prescribed, opting for Advil instead, primarily because I hadn’t eaten in hours and felt utterly exhausted. My hope was to simply sleep off the day’s drama.

The Sickening Twist: A 6-Day Battle

My hope for a peaceful night’s rest was brutally shattered at midnight. A deeply unsettling feeling churned in my stomach. I initially attributed it to the Advil on an empty stomach, but oh, how wrong I was. What followed was an unrelenting, all-night ordeal in the bathroom. Thank goodness Linley was there, offering encouragement and moral support as I battled what quickly revealed itself to be a ferocious stomach flu. I woke up the next morning an absolute wreck, not just physically drained but mentally distraught. Being sick is always miserable, but the thought of traveling while severely ill? That felt like a cruel joke.

Our journey home was a marathon of misery: a three-hour drive from San Miguel to Mexico City airport, followed by two 2.5-hour flights. The drive alone was brutal, and not just for me. Roughly halfway through, we had to make an emergency stop, not only because I was on the verge of an accident (apologies for the graphic detail, but it’s the honest truth) but because Linley, bless her heart, had succumbed to the same relentless bug. We were both in dire straits. Upon finally reaching Mexico City airport, I gratefully plopped into a wheelchair—a true godsend in that moment. We bid Davida farewell as she headed to a different terminal, and thanks to my mobility challenge, we breezed through security via the handicap lane, skipping every daunting queue. I must also highlight Linley’s incredible strength and selflessness; she literally hauled over a hundred pounds of carry-on luggage (both hers and mine) while simultaneously pushing my wheelchair. All the while, I was openly weeping, utterly miserable from the sickness and convinced my life was over due to my broken foot. We were, without a doubt, the definition of a “hot mess,” taking turns in the airport bathroom for the next grueling hours. Sympathy was certainly in order.

Home, But Not Yet Healed: The Road to Recovery

After a grueling 16-hour travel day, we finally touched down in Minneapolis. My sister, my absolute godsend, picked me up and stayed overnight, as I was still a complete basket case and incredibly ill. The tears seemed endless. For the next three days, I drifted in and out of sleep, feeling utterly dreadful. By day four, unable to keep any food down and increasingly concerned about dehydration, I decided an urgent care visit was imperative. Linley, having mercifully recovered, accompanied me—a true champion. After undergoing every conceivable test, the verdict was clear: a relentless, six-day stomach bug. A simple bug, yet it felt like an eternity.

While at urgent care, I seized the opportunity to get my foot re-X-rayed and also underwent a CT scan. Why not tackle two birds with one stone? The new imaging confirmed my foot was indeed still broken, and yes, there was a minor ligament tear. However, the best news was unequivocally this: NO SURGERY REQUIRED! Furthermore, I was cleared to walk on my air cast if it felt comfortable. While out and about, I committed to staying off it as much as possible, opting for a fantastic scooter (which I affectionately named Arnold, after the terminator) that my “man candy’s” parents thoughtfully sent, a far superior alternative to cumbersome crutches.

Following that chaotic sequence of events, I dedicated a few more days to rest. Then, one Tuesday morning, I awoke feeling like a brand-new woman. It has now been over two weeks since the incident, and I feel significantly better! I can walk in my air cast with minimal pain. For longer distances, such as navigating a grocery store, Arnold the scooter is my trusted companion, as my pace is still quite slow. Nevertheless, my recovery is progressing exactly as planned. My next doctor’s appointment is scheduled for early April, and I’m optimistically crossing my fingers for a swift, four-week recovery period. Workout-wise, I’ve been diligently working with my trainers at PEC, focusing on modified routines that emphasize upper-body strength, core stability, and single-leg lower-body exercises. A delightful discovery last week was my ability to row with one leg, making cardio much more bearable!

Profound Lessons From the Sidelines: Embracing a New Perspective

This unexpected two-week period, confined to my cast, has been an involuntary yet incredibly valuable teacher. I’ve gleaned several profound lessons that have reshaped my perspective.

The Power of Dependence: It’s Okay to Lean on Others

One of the primary reasons for my initial meltdown after the injury was my fiercely independent nature. I thrive on doing things for myself and, even more so, for others. The idea of being on the receiving end of help felt alien and uncomfortable. However, the unwavering support from the incredible people in my life has gently, yet firmly, taught me a crucial lesson: depending on others in times of need is not only acceptable but inherently human. And surprisingly, sometimes, it’s quite a beautiful and comforting experience.

The Virtue of Slowing Down: Physically and Mentally

My natural pace is often at the speed of light, and in my relentless drive, I frequently overlook the subtle beauty and small details of everyday life. Being in a cast has forced me to a screeching halt, both physically and mentally. It has shown me that tasks can still be accomplished effectively, even if not at record-breaking speeds. This enforced pause has been a valuable reminder that taking a physical break from constant motion is not a weakness but a necessary rejuvenation. Oh, and I’ve also discovered a newfound, deep appreciation for Netflix. A lot.

Life’s Unwavering Goodness: Gratitude in Adversity

In the grand tapestry of life, despite the temporary setback of my broken foot, I recognize a fundamental truth: life is good. Beyond this fleeting injury, I am healthy. I am surrounded by an incredible circle of friends and family who provide boundless love and support. I wouldn’t trade this life for any other. This experience, though challenging, has only reinforced my profound gratitude for everything I have.

On the Road to Full Recovery and Beyond

As I continue my journey towards full recovery, I carry these lessons with me. The initial panic and despair have given way to a quiet determination and a deeper appreciation for life’s rhythms. My appointment with the doctor in April will hopefully confirm that I am on track for a complete and swift healing process. While my physical workouts have been modified, my spirit feels stronger than ever. This unexpected detour has been a powerful reminder that even in moments of perceived crisis, there are invaluable opportunities for growth, gratitude, and rediscovering the simple goodness that permeates our lives.