Remember Das Boot? I do.
My ankle saga. Although I’ll surely blog about The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 2 soon eventually.
The original orthopedist referred me to a surgeon which was a bummer after two months in Das Boot. Incidentally, the new doctor specializes in dancers and the unique injuries they face. Including using stage names apparently.
I haven’t danced in a long time but it’s cool to see a doctor who understands what it’s like.
He didn’t rush me into surgery. Instead he has given me cortisone injections each of the two times he has seen me. And prescribed more physical therapy.
My reaction was something like @#$#^#$%#@#. As you might imagine six months post-fracture.
In two weeks, I will spend seven nights in Washington, DC, where I lived for ten years, for a combination of business and pleasure. These are some of the things on my to do list.
DC people, what am I missing? If one of your favorites opened in the year since I left, I’d love it if you told me about it in the comments.
- Five things I’m jealous of right now
To set the scene, have this song playing while you read my sad post.
The date was May 31. I broke my ankle. It was also the day when I last wore anything resembling cute shoes.
Every few days, I duck into my closet and pull out shoes to try on. I do so hoping that my ankle will tolerate some stylistic improvement. I have at least one hundred pairs of shoes and boots, all of which stare at me every morning as I get ready for work.
At this point, even my comfy but vaguely geriatric Campers would be an upgrade.
“FINE,” I said to myself, “I’ll just buy awesome flats to get me through to boot season!”
But this is what 6PM.com offered me:
When I’m done sobbing and feeling mad, I plan to ask @possessionista for ideas.
Actually I am broken.* My ankle is. I’m stuck in Das Boot for at least four more weeks. It could be longer and surgery isn’t out of the question.
I am giving myself a little time to sulk about the fact that I’ll effectively be hobbled all summer. And then I will move on.
First though, can I be ticked about the doctor who first examined me and said that my ankle wasn’t so swollen? He, Dr. Janitor we’ll call him, gave me an air cast (that didn’t properly immobilize me) before sending me on my way. I am tempted to mail him a copy of my MRI report.
Hmph. Fortunately the care I have received at my real doctor’s office has been terrific if not exactly punctual.
Know what’s funny though? I couldn’t even tell you which bone is fractured. This is involved. Also this and this. There’s more but if you have read thus far, you obviously love me more than my mother.
Speaking of Mom, if there’s a bright spot in all of this, it is that my wobbly bits may get a partial pass when we see each other at the beach soon.
“Injured! Pitiful! Unable to exercise! Mother me, Mommy!”
If that doesn’t work, I’ll just hide and drink a lot. Thanks in advance for the well wishes.
*In case you clicked my link hoping to watch Kristen Stewart star in Marcus Foster’s video for “I Was Broken” here it is:
Because some of you have asked, yes, I am still in Das Boot.
I have worn it with jeans, sundresses, cargo pants and skirts. Das Boot helps me get around with less pain but I still hate it.
On Tuesday, I see the doctor again. Wish me luck!
It doesn’t look so bad…
Until you put left and right side by side.
I twisted it Thursday and it still hurt like a mofo Friday. I went for x-rays. Just a bad sprain.
“Here are your crutches, your air cast and Vicodin prescription, OneChicklette. Off you go.”
@DadUnmasked thinks I need to invent a better injury story. Mine is boring: I stepped off a curb onto uneven pavement. Boom!