More than 20 weeks ago, while volunteering at a wetland taro farm in Waialua, I fell into the loi and broke my first bone in 40 years.

Trying to impress my family and friends by working unusually hard (they were quite surprised since hard labor is not in my character), I was oblivious to my surroundings. As I was hauling a wheelbarrow full of weeds, my right leg slipped deep into the muddy pond while my left leg was still standing on the bank, snapping my ankle outward and breaking it in two places.

In an instant my normal life — consumed with shuttling kids to school, activities and events — came to a screeching halt. I was suddenly disabled and forced to be still — contrary to my daily rat-race routine.

Completely out of commission from work, play and even basic daily activity for the next three months, I found myself utterly restless — almost lost — without the constant hustle and bustle.

Of course, there were benefits. My family and friends waited on me. I didn’t have to do chores. I had a ready excuse for why I couldn’t get anything done right away. I could occupy handicap seating.

But I was so used to being on the move nonstop, never having enough hours in the day to accomplish everything and always wishing I had a little more downtime. Now I had too much time … and too little mobility.

I never realized the hardship of not having full use of a limb until I found myself struggling to hold a plate of food while walking with crutches, trying to bathe while balancing on one foot in the shower and hobbling up and down stairs — things I had taken for granted. In fact, I had little compassion for my husband when he was recovering from two knee surgeries until our roles were reversed.

The situation got worse when multiple X-rays showed my ankle was displaced, and three doctors advised surgery to fix it — making the recovery time even longer. If left untreated, they warned, I could get post-traumatic arthritis, a painful condition that can rob you of normal function. But the thought of my first surgery and going under general anesthesia really scared me. I shuddered at the idea of having metal plates and pins in my leg.

On the day of the procedure, just before being wheeled into the operating room, the surgeon ordered a final X-ray to measure the gap he was going to close. Miraculously — thank God! — it fell just under the threshold that required surgery, and at the last minute the operation was canceled.

Cleared to return to normal activities while my ankle healed on its own, I anxiously jumped (OK, crutched) back into my daily routine. Although I am still limping, I gained new perspective while being forced to slow down: Appreciate the simple things in life and be careful about wishing for downtime. Also, hard labor is not my forte.

“She Speaks” is a weekly column by the women writers of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. Reach Kristen Consillio at kconsillio@staradvertiser.com.