It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon; I had errands on my mind and a to-do list in hand as I got into my car. One of my stops was to pay our landscaper. When I realized my envelope of cash was missing, I was sure I’d dropped it.
I jumped out of my car to look, moving too quickly and without thinking. What happened next was a freak accident. In my haste, I had left my car in drive, and as I stepped away, it began to roll.
Before I could react, a tire ran over my foot. Emergency surgery followed—two plates and eight screws to piece my ankle together. I thought I knew what came next: a long recovery and physical therapy.
In the recovery room, my orthopedic surgeon explained that he and another doctor struggled to place the screws in my foot. During the procedure, he noticed something unexpected: My bones were shockingly soft—almost hollow, he told me. Tightening the screws was like drilling into a drywall and finding no stud.
At first, I assumed my soft bones meant osteoporosis, the bone-thinning disease I associated with aging. The discovery that my bones were unusually soft was a complete surprise. Because of the severity of my ankle fracture, I was already facing an overnight stay, but my age and the condition of my bones meant I remained in the hospital for a few more days.
The days blurred together in a steady stream of interruptions, questions and procedures. Every time I tried to absorb one piece of information, something else demanded my attention. An X-ray technician paused at my bedside, squinting at his monitor.
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