...you'll be back another day.
I feel an apology is in order even before I start my latest rant. I've whined plenty about this broken ankle. But after almost eight weeks of agony, how much pain is one wimpy woman expected to take? Menopause, with its associated hot flashes and "mood swings" (aka psychotic breaks), was enough to deal with, or so I thought. Then in the midst of that came the tumble down the stairs that gave me my first-ever broken bones.
Six weeks post surgery and I was starting to feel I might actually walk again. Or at least limp from place to place. Today I decided I might be pushing myself too hard in my desperation to get back to my normal life (not sure why I'm in a hurry--I rather enjoy sitting in front of the tv all day "incapacitated"). My ankle ached after my morning exercises, so I thought I'd go soak it. In the pool. While laying on a float. Yeah, that's my kind of therapy.
I had (possibly foolishly) been trying to walk without assistance. Because every muscle, ligament and tendon in my ankle and foot was crying out to me to stop the insanity, I decided to break from the stoicism and actually use one crutch as I worked my way to the bathroom to change into my swimsuit. Mission accomplished, I set my crutch against the sink while I brushed my teeth. How this happened I'll never understand, but the crutch slipped and slammed into one--and only one--spot: my extremely sore and swollen ankle. Pardon my language, but it hurt like a son-of-a-mother. I actually cried like a baby. My dear, sweet husband came to my rescue and helped me back to my seat (yes, after eight weeks of living there, the prime spot in front of the tv is now and forever mine).
Certain my bone was protruding from my flesh, I was actually afraid to look at the damage. Mark convinced me that, as much as I was in pain, there was really no way an aluminum crutch could have seriously re-injured my ankle unless someone had bashed me with it. So I iced my ankle for a while, cried a little longer out of the frustration of it all, then headed outside for some real physical therapy in the form of a nice, relaxing dip in the pool.
Please, dear Lord, save me from myself before it's too late.