i had surgery in Italy: two weeks in

Before I came to UNCW and I was picking out schools that I wanted to transfer to, studying abroad was a huge factor that I was taking in to consideration. I had always known that I wanted to travel the world and I always knew that there were so many places out there that I felt called to experience. Whether that be diving into the culture or learning a new language, I knew it was something that was meant to be a part of my story. Europe was always a place that I dreamed of experiencing first and when I was looking at Wilmington what stuck out to me was how varied their study abroad program was and I loved it. I had seen some of my sorority sisters go abroad or my close friends and I saw how much they loved it. It fueled me to experience it even more.

In the summer of 2023 before my junior year it was a discussion for me to go abroad with one of my friends at the time but I knew that it was something I had to do alone. Over Christmas break my parents and I sat down and talked about what the best course of action would be best for me. We had decided that a semester would personally benefit me more than just a summer program. I officially began the process of joining a program in March and my study visa application was shipped in May.

I had gotten my visa and we were off to Rome at the end of August. My family was moving to Wisconsin and Zachary was off to UNCW. We were leaving Wake Forest in the rearview and moving on. I had gotten to Rome and instantly fell in love with the city and the people. I was and still am surrounded by a great group of girls who I was beginning to get to know. We were starting to adapt to the culture and learning all that we could before school started. What I instantly noticed about Europe was how much walking there is. Which I actually really loved. I knew that I could get my steps in daily and be able to walk to and from school. What was different from the States as well was the use of public transportation. This was different for me as I drove everywhere and I do not think I ever set foot on a bus unless it was the school bus in the 5th grade.

One week into my experience I fell down the stairs in my apartment. And I know what you are thinking….the first question that my parents asked……were you drunk? And honestly I think that would make it more acceptable. I was stone cold sober going down four steps to the floor below me. I rolled off the last step and slammed my foot down on the marble floor.

I remember thinking oh my gosh wow that really hurt. I had never broken a bone before and I completely gaslit myself into thinking there was no way I could possibly break a bone here. Like who does that? It was our friends 21st birthday that night so all three apartment floors were meeting at a restaurant that night and then going out to the bar we had gotten familiar with. I hobbled my way back up to my apartment laughing it off knowing that I could barely put pressure on my foot and icing it knowing there was no way that I was not going out with my friends. After my roommates and I conspired we came to a decision that we would skip dinner and give me another hour to ice it still thinking there was no way it was broken. We decided to let the pain subside and just get ready to go to the bar.

I cracked open a bottle of wine and decided that was going to get my night going and got ready to go out. Yes I know, not the smartest choice. Prime example of pushing the Pechmann limit. So I got ready and continued to gaslight myself into thinking that my foot was not that bad and it was just sore. I put on a fuzzy sock and my shoes that I tied super tight to stabilize it. I hopped and limped all the way to Scholars and found myself a chair in the club and sat down for the rest of the night. Once the wine and tequila sour wore off I knew that my foot was not in great shape.

I go to bed and then I wake up and my foot was double the size and an insane shade of purple. I iced it all day and then it reached a point where I sucked it up and knew I needed to see a doctor. The problem was, I am in ITALY. I don’t know how to see a doctor?! I can barely figure out how to order a coffee let alone get an appointment to see a doctor. I reached out to my advisor and on site coordinator, and I told her that I hurt my foot. The head of the hospital calls me and told me that the orthopedic surgeon was leaving in 20 minutes and asked me how fast I could get there. I told him pretty fast all thinking that an orthopedic surgeon was pretty excessive but this was what was offered to me.

I go to the hospital and the surgeon comes to me and says I need to get an x-ray. I laughed and told him that was not necessary as I probably just bruised it. He insisted so I said fine and went into x-ray. He calls me into his office and turns the ipad around. There it was, a displaced fracture of the 5th metatarsal. My jaw dropped. I was like there is absolutely no way I just broke my foot in Italy. Also let’s keep in mind….I am left handed. The left side of my body is stronger and now I can only walk on my right foot in a city that is quite literally made of stairs and cobblestone. He tells me that there are two options. The first option was that I could be in a boot and crutches for 5-6 weeks, and it would heal on it’s own. I said yeah um next option please. He tells me that I could get surgery and my recovery time would be shorter. A plate and four screws would be inserted making my bone heal faster. The recovery time would be 2-4 weeks shortening it. I told him to give me the paper and I would sign it immediately. My surgery would be that next Monday.

Having surgery in a foreign country was not particularly on my bucket list. Especially without my family. The doctor tells me that I would be awake and the surgery would be done with an epidural. I said absolutely not and I would need to be sedated. The day of surgery rolls around and my roommates had gone with me. My advisor went with me to assist with the language barrier which was extremely helpful. The doctors do speak English but not perfect, as expected. The nurses rarely did. I can understand certain phrases and communicate somewhat, but definitely nowhere near as close as I would like when getting surgery. It is a bit tough when your anesthesiologist barely speaks English and you are about to get put under. It is time for surgery and I get into the operating room and I will say that this was truly one of the most terrifying feelings I have ever had. I am laying on an operating table and there are 15 people yelling at each other in Italian all while you have absolutely no idea what they are saying or what they are about to do to you. There were definitely tears running down my face but an older woman noticed me and she grabbed my hand. She stroked my hair and she said “we got you sweetie.” This made me feel so much better and I knew that I was in good hands. I was then sedated lightly and the difference between Italy and the States is that typically in the States you are coming out of sedation in post-op. They woke me up on the operating table when it was finished. All I could really see was the surgeon looking at me and giving me a thumbs up. I was very confused but in post-op I just slept for a few hours.

Also keep in mind, I had only been to my classes each one time. I would miss an entire week of school with no idea how my classes truly operated. When I finally came to, out of surgery I was in a great deal of pain. They kept me overnight for pain management but the pain was truly excruciating. I could barely sleep and they maxed me out on paid meds. Everyone was really confused on why I was in so much pain. They ended up fixing my IV and I had started to feel some relief.

I woke up the next morning around 7 am and was in an immense state of panic. I unfortunately had what was nothing short of a psychotic break and cussed out 3 Italian nurses……sorry ladies. I was freaking out. I did not understand how I could manage this by myself with people I just met a week ago with no family. I woke my parents up as it was about 1 am their time…..I told them they needed to get on a plane immediately. They went back and forth on what to do. My mom was about to start her new job in Wisconsin and dad is in season. They wondered if they should just bring me home instead.

We were able to figure something out and next thing I knew my mom was on a plane to Rome. What a blessing!!! Not only was I so excited to see my mom, I knew that it was exactly the support I needed. She stayed for about 13 days and I truly do not think I could have gone through that recovery stage without her. I was recovering but my mental state was at an all time low. I was missing a lot of the trips that I had planned over the summer and unfortunately lost a lot of money that I worked so hard over the summer to obtain. Like so hard. I could barely do anything and maneuvering around a school and city that I am not familiar with….at all. Now relying on people and asking for help with everything was something that I was (and still am) really uncomfortable with doing. I am extremely blessed with AMAZING roommates and friends who have helped me stay positive and loved throughout this process. The patience they have had with me has been something I will forever be grateful for. Without them, I would have gotten home no doubt.

As my recovery time is near the end, there are still times where I have considered going back to the States. I get extremely frustrated and at times have felt like I have wasted an entire month of being here. I have felt on the outside of certain things and experiences. When I am not at school I am in bed resting which can be a little isolating. When my mom left I knew that I had to navigate this now on my own which involved me getting to and from school which has been a challenge. As well as at school I now needed to use the elevator….which has stairs to get to it. I am not sure how that makes sense but let’s just say I am sweating trying to get to my classes.

I have tried to see a purpose in all of this. “Everything happens for a reason”. We hear it all the time and every time you do you want to genuinely punch that person in the face…..kidding. It gets frustrating and it makes me question why on EARTH God would give me this lesson now. After a pretty tough year, this was the light at the end of the tunnel. Then BOOM another lesson….like cmon. Maybe this lesson was telling me to embrace the Italian way of life….slowing it down. I still don’t really know. I am blessed that this did happen at the beginning rather than right in the middle because there is no way I would have been able to do anything that is planned.

If I can do Oktoberfest on crutches I truly think I can do anything. I thank everyone immensely for their love, light, prayers, and support. I have learned that there really are good people in this world. They have held my hand and guided me to a speedy recovery, and for that I am truly blessed.