This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at TAMU chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.
As I hobbled up my dorm stairway, crutches under my arms, a medical boot strapped to my foot with my keys and phone held precariously in one hand, I thought, “How can life get any worse than this?” Two weeks into my first semester of college, I had broken my foot, in the most mortifying manner. An unsuspecting curb had made me slip as I walked home, and after the mile and a half trek, riddled with breaks every two minutes, I had a realization: I was not going to walk this off. After an Urgent Care visit and a few frantic calls to my parents, a nurse stepped into the room and confirmed my fears: I had broken my foot.
Now this hairline fracture on my fifth metatarsal obviously brought a lot of problems, but as I stood in my dorm room I was faced with the most pressing one: how am I supposed to climb into my lofted bed? The six rungs that would have normally been an easy ascent seemed insurmountable and the longer I stood there, the more obvious it became that I wasn’t going to make it up the first step, let alone the next five. With this dilemma, I knocked on my RA’s door for a solution.
The next five hours were a blur. As I sat on my floor questioning the meaning of life and my existence, my RA figured out a way to get me a temporary room in a different building with an elevator and a bed closer to the ground, at least until my foot had healed. I spent the next two hours with my friends packing up all the stuff I assumed I would need for the 8 week healing period. From clothes and snacks to toilet paper for my new private bathroom, I made my way to my temporary dorm room. I had just started unpacking, placing all my things in their specific place in my room, when I heard a knock at the door. Expecting to see my friends, I opened the door to be faced with a shocking sight: two members of the campus police.
Standing at my door, the cops began speaking in serious tones, reading off their notepads as they explained the situation – I had been reported for burglarizing a public property. My heart dropped. Burglarizing? What could I, as a girl with one working foot, have stolen? Then came the real punchline – what I was allegedly caught stealing. Not money or electronics or anything of a real shock value. Apparently, I was the prime suspect in a case involving stolen… toilet paper. I stood dumbfounded as they solemnly informed me of my crimes as a toilet paper bandit. Toilet paper. Of all things. As I gave them my side of the story, I realized that the very same RA that had helped me get this room had mistakenly thought I was stealing my own belongings and reported it to the campus police.
Two weeks later I found myself in the Texas A&M Student Conduct Office, explaining that the toilet paper I had apparently stolen was my own, paid for with my own money. Thankfully, I was unanimously found innocent, and as I walked, or rather hobbled, out of the building, I had a newfound pep in my step, the weight of committing a “crime” finally off my shoulders.
Now, as I walked to my classes, each journey taking an extra ten minutes, I had learned two life lessons. Firstly, never trust a curb in the dark. Walk with caution, or you’ll end up with a boot on your foot and embarrassment deep in your soul. Secondly, if a broken foot couldn’t stop me, nothing can. Moving out of my dorm into a new one, late night study sessions, long walks across campus, many visits with my orthopedic doctor, and of course, my short run-in with the police, all accomplished with a broken foot and a dream. To whoever is reading this, this is your sign to never give up. When life throws you a curveball — or a curb — strap on your boot, grab your crutches, and keep pushing through. You’ve got this.