Thursday, October 17, 2013
Last Sunday was two months since my fall, and I celebrated by eating Peruvian chicken and driving home from New York City with James, Edie, and a bag full of bagels.
Just before we left for New York I got my walking boot off. My orthopedist gave me an air cast to wear, but instead I just wore an ankle brace I picked up at Target for $16. I'm usually a stickler for following medical advice to the letter, but I think after two months, I'm wearing thin.
I think, somewhere in the recesses of my brain, behind where I keep the logic, I thought that once the cast came off, I would throw my crutches away and regain everything I had lost. Have a real Mary Lou Retton as Tiny Tim moment*. This is not so. I limp. If I concentrate, I can minimize it, but, it's there. I have a hard time going down stairs. When I get into the car on the driver's side, I can't swivel in, because my ankle can't support that amount of torque. And it hurts. All the time. And I'm tired. All the time. My stamina is shot. I do normal things: stairs, laundry, cleaning, walking, bending--and then I fall into bed at night like I've run a marathon, and sleep like the dead.
This is annoying, but interesting, and I'm working everyday to get stronger, and more flexible, and just back. But, I can walk, which is all I've wanted for two months. I can carry a glass of water from one room to another. I can get up and go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I can rock Edie and lay her in her bed for a nap. I can't yet carry laundry down the basement steps, but, I never liked doing that anyway.
I find myself continually surprised by the date. I feel like I missed the end of summer. Which I did. Same with the beginning of fall. So, now, I find myself in mid-fall, and can't quite get used to it.
No one likes a complainer, especially when the complaint is temporary and relatively minor. But here it is: this has been the hardest two months in recent memory. It has been achingly frustrating, and the time has passed very, very slowly. But, as I start moving forward, I have to acknowledge the help I've had: my running buddy bringing her 8 year old daughter to play with Edie. Watching the two of them eat popsicles in the backyard greatly assuaged my guilt at not being able to do anything; Annie keeping me company and watching Twilight and hefting Edie around even though she's already carrying baby around all the time. My sweet mom, who stayed with me for almost two weeks, and took Edie out twice a day, and showed her pumpkins and sang her songs and let Edie wear her hat. Who sat with me while I binge-watched Call the Midwife and showed me how to start a cross-stitch. And whose leaving made me so sad I didn't return her half-read book to the library until it was a week overdue. Everyone who sent me cards and packages and texts and reminded me that this was temporary, even though I was too grumpy to admit it. And James. James, James, James. Who put up with my longest running bad mood on record. And did everything, everything I asked him to do, and was gracious about it the whole time. To James, my legs.
And my heart.
Status Report, cont.
Fraiser (and lots of it)
Call the Midwife (fantastic, watch it)
So You Think You Can Dance (thanks summer programming)
A Nearly Perfect Copy
The River Between Us
The Ocean at the End of the Lane
Life: An Exploded Diagram
Convalescence Projects 1, 2, and 3**
About a zillion friendship bracelets
Like, two dozens photos of my feet