diagnosis: grim

See the two red lines? That's where the fractures are. They're healing perfectly. Nothing to worry about.

Now, see those two circles? Take a look at the one on the left. Notice the vertical black space between the two bones. That's my healthy left foot.

Compare that space to the one on my right foot. See how the space is wider and longer? That's bad. It's a torn ligament. What's worse is, the reason the gap is so wide is because the other 4 metatarsals are sliding off to the right, away from my big tone bone. That's very bad. As the podiatrist said, "We're dealing with a substantial injury here. This is serious."

Then he had a Come To Jesus meeting with me.

Under no circumstances am I to put any weight or pressure on the foot - for FIVE MORE WEEKS. That means no walking, no standing, no stepping for balance, no driving, no kickball (ha!), and get this - no placing my foot on the ground when I'm sitting. NO STRESS WHATSOEVER.

There's no magic that will pull those bones back to where they're supposed to be; our only hope is that they don't slip further apart. It's imperative that I stay off of it. The doctor conferred with one of his surgeons today, who agreed that if it separates a fraction more, it'll require surgery. They'll recheck it in two weeks to see if it's continuing to slide. "Trust me," he said. "You do not want a bone fusion in your foot at 39." It would mean a lifetime of painful and limited walking. As it is, this injury alone could nag me forever. Told ya it was grim news. At least it doesn't hurt much anymore.

He prescribed a wheelchair. I wonder if I can borrow one instead of paying high rent for one?

Looks like I'll be learning real fast how to get over myself and lose some pride. I'll be asking for help. I won't be trying to sweep the kitchen myself, or throw a load of laundry in myself, or walk around in my boot - however carefully - ever again. I owe it to my family to let this thing heal so they don't have to deal with months of recovery instead of weeks. And I owe it to myself, damn it.

Over the last several months, so many things had started coming together in my personal life. One, my health was under control and I'd lost 60 pounds. Suddenly, I can't walk anymore, or dance, which were my two main forms of cardio. I've got to figure out a new workout strategy that doesn't involve my feet. Any suggestions?

And two, I'd finally conquered my intense dislike for housework and devised a system that was working for me. My house was staying CLEAN, and the laundry was never piled up. Even though Darren and the kids have taken over all of my former chores, it still realllllly pisses me off that all those months of hard work and getting things in order are going up in smoke. You know the saying... "If you want it done right, do it yourself"? I have to accept the fact that since I can't do it myself, I have to be content with how it's being done.

For someone as active as I am, being immobile has been torture. Five weeks seems like a lifetime, but at least there's light at the end of the tunnel. I can do it. What's harder for me is this: I have to swallow my pride and ask for help. I can't keep using my foot, and Darren can't keep carrying the extra load by himself. Neither can Dani. We need outside help. That's the hardest thing I've ever had to admit.