It’s the simple things we take for granted, previously unthought-of tasks like carrying hot steaming morning beverages without scalding oneself or ruining the hall rug, navigating through bloodhounds in the middle of the night whilst trying to crutch to the restroom, and, for that matter, going to the restroom period. What does one do with this cumbersome faulty appendage? I can’t put it on the floor and I’m too much of a weakling to hold the somehow-it-turned-to-lead leg in the air for more than a few seconds. And then there’s the whole sleeping (or in my case not sleeping) issue. The doctor’s instructions are to keep my ankle elevated higher than my heart. In order to do this, I have to lie on my back and use four pillows for resting the thankfully-temporary-until-my-swelling-subsides heavy Frankenstein boot. Yet, I’m not a back sleeper; I lie on my stomach to fall asleep, and then on my side to stay that way. (Brief aside: my mother trained herself to sleep motionless on her back to avoid pillow-related facial wrinkles. She’s funny that way; I’d rather have sheet wrinkles.) Needless to say, I got very little sleep last night.
All this admittedly deserved discomfort/inconvenience has my mind racing to invent ways to cope for the next eight weeks. Firstly, I need to MacGyver a way to attach cup holders to my crutches and exchange my typical coffee mug for a travel one. Next, I need a leg hook in the throne room. I don’t know what, if anything, I can do about the back sleeping issue so I guess I’ll just enjoy fewer sheet wrinkles.
Did anyone read friend Allene’s “Queen of Inappropriate Attire” comment on yesterday’s yes-I-broke-my-ankle post? Although this happened years ago, it’s one of those things I’ll never live down in her eyes. Allene and her husband Jim, David and I, and Jim’s sister Toni and her then-husband went to Palm Springs together for a needed weekend away. My first mistake was packing a turtleneck (it was short-sleeved at least) as part of my hitting the town in July heat outfit. Hey, it looked good with my skirt and beauty before pain has/had up until the past few years been my mantra. This is a part of being my mother’s child. The next day, we planned to take the tram up to cooler climes and hike. As David and I arrived to meet them, I was greeted with guffaws and ribbing. Never being much of an athlete or a hiker, I chose a mini skirt and pumps as my outfit du jour. I yam what I yam.
So, as Allene implied, it should come as no surprise that I fell off my shoes and broke my ankle. Honestly, I don’t think the problem was that I wearing “inappropriate” wedge heels; the issue was that I have spent too much time as of late dressing practically. Perhaps it’s time to get back to the real me, as soon as I figure out who that is. After I finish serving my eight weeks of purgatory, please join me for a high-heeled hike. It’s obviously been too long.