"You sure have a cute crack on your metatarsal," said the doctor with the kind-hearted voice, my friend's dad. "You did one good job on your foot."
The good news is that I saved 89% on x-rays by going to a place suggested by another friend (I paid $50). I have very good friends.
The bad news is that it looks like I'll be getting a cast, and my mind is asking, "Won't that thing be heavy and further hurt my knee? Won't I have one wimpy leg when it's off? Won't it get stinky? How will I shower? Don't casts make your skin all flaky in there? How in the world am I supposed to go hiking this summer? I'm still not going to be able to sleep, am I? Will I be able to wear anything besides a skirt or dress every day?"
The other good news is that a cast is not surgery.
Though I realize that it is completely illogical, what I really want is for something magical to happen and for my foot to be back to normal.
All from walking. I didn't trip. I wasn't on uneven ground. I wasn't walking too fast; in fact, I was walking rather slowly. All I did was walk, and wham! what I imagined for the next two months of my life changed in an instance.
I don't know how to end this post because really I'm already throwing a pity party for myself. It could be much worse, yes. But so much could be much better, couldn't it? Maybe I should go re-read that optimism book, or get a massage, or play a game, or sleep, but I don't think any of that is going to hold off the pity party for long. Ideas? (And don't say service, please, because then I'll just groan again at the lameness of movement right now.)
I think I'll at least start with the things I am grateful for in this situation . . .
- the TLC I've been getting from Michael and his family
- an understanding boss
- generous and helpful friends in the medical field
- Ibuprofen and Tylenol
- the cookies that we made last night that are waiting for me in the kitchen