Since people keep asking me how my foot's doing, I'll just answer once and for all here on the great big internets. (crack me up)
It's still broken.
The bruising appeared early last weekend, and turned all sorts of purple and black - across and around and under my toes, mostly, which I think it weird. It's now a muted purple/green and doesn't look as gruesome. I should've taken pictures, but decided that no one needed to be subjected to that, so I didn't. You can thank me any time.
When I'm wearing the boot, the swelling seems to be a lot worse, and then my toes go numb, and my leg starts itching, and I get all kinds of cranky, so mostly I keep it off. All I'm doing is sitting around on my rumpus anyway, right?
I haven't walked or driven or even stood for any length of time in almost 2 weeks, and for a person as active as I am, well.... you draw the conclusion. I feel trapped and homebound and like a drain on society. Ha! People keep commenting that it must be nice to be waited on hand and foot, but I gotta tell ya: I'm not enjoying it so much. When I need a drink, I'd rather be able to get up and get it myself. When I have to ask someone, I feel like a burden, especially when 30 minutes later I have to ask again, and 20 minutes after that, my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth and I'm still waiting. It infuriates me to have to depend on others; I really hate being so needy. I told Darren to just buy a couple of feed sacks and tie 'em around my neck. Hey - it works for horses, it could work for me!
Thank God for Cara, my nurse friend who finally laid eyes on me crutching around all hunch-backed, and adjusted my crutches properly. She saved me from a debilitating case of Quasimodo Syndrome, which I'm certain was setting in. It's amazing how much easier it is to get around on those things when they're adjusted correctly!
Even so, my house is full of stairs. You can't get IN without climbing stairs. Not in the front, nor in the back. Once inside, you can't get to a bathroom without traversing more steps. Even though the downstairs bath is down a short flight of only 3 steps, let me assure you, my friends: three mere steps with no handrails, ample bazooms, a pair of crutches, a foot that won't bear weight, and general hurriedness combined with profound clumsiness does not a pretty picture make. I've fallen three times. Imagine, if you will, leaning over and trying to hop down one step. First of all, I HAVE to lean over to even see the step over my bahombas. Secondly, when I lean over, my center of balance is all screwed up. I sometimes think we should video my bathroom treks, especially on those occasions when I'm not wearing a bra and the clap of boobs-on-belly sets off seismic activity that's picked up in Marin County CA. Surely we could win $100,000 on Funniest Videos, which would then allow us to install an elevator.
Going up is much easier. I use my right knee and my left foot, which leaves only one position for my butt: up in the air. I've actually gotten pretty fast at ascending to my bedroom. The cat stares and cocks her head, but no one else has had the nerve to laugh out loud yet.
Pain-wise, for the past two days, it's been mostly non-existent unless I'm waking on it. Which, of course, I'm not supposed to be doing. The broken bones should be healing just fine, but the ligament is what the doctor is worried about. Next Wednesday, we'll reX-ray and go from there. Until then, I have to try to stay off of that foot. Anyone have a feed bag I can borrow?