I just walked to the laundry room all the way down the hall while wearing two shoes. Yes, that’s right two – count ‘em – shoes. One on each foot, including the one with the bones all smashed to bits.
That’s actually what the surgeon told me. “Well, normally we might do surgery in a case like this, but the truth is you’re just all smashed to bits. There’s just nothing big enough for me to put a screw through, so good luck with that.”
You’d think they’d have some super glue or something, wouldn’t you? But apparently not, so I’ve been hobbling around for two months with a protective bootie and a pair of crutches, which is even less fun than being attacked by rabid monkeys on a banana bender.
It sucks. There’s really no other way to put it. You can’t do anything. One foot is lame, and both hands are taken up by crutches. You have not one free appendage. You can’t carry a glass of water to the table. You can’t browse about the market carrying your purchases. You can’t take the laundry down the hall or even open a heavy door. And heaven help you if you need to go more than half a block because holy mother of God, carrying your entire body weight around on your arms is freaking exhausting. You’re sweaty and panting all the time.
It puts you in a mood. It does. It makes you feel like you might want to throw the crutches to the ground and jump up and down on them and set them on fire and then bite someone because no tantrum is really complete without a good bite.
But this morning for the very first time, I put on real shoes. Okay, they were sandals with Velcro strappy bits, but nonetheless, I put on shoes. And I walked – walked! – down the hall. Then, for a victory lap, I walked back. I am now so utterly pleased with myself I don’t know what to do. Tap dance maybe.
Walking today. Running again soon. I can feel it. Any minute now…