Das Boot

I graduated to a boot today – well, technically it’s a Nextep Contour Foam Walker, or “air cast.”   Apparently, I'm supposed to be walking on it by the end of the week. 

I was shocked because a) the ortho tech told me I’d be getting fiberglass and b) it still HURTS like crazy.

It just does NOT feel ready.

I don’t think I’m a wimp about pain, but maybe I’m a wimp about pain.  You tell me:  I walked two hours after abdominal surgery; I walked ten minutes after (drug-free) childbirth. 

So when I say it does NOT feel ready, I wish someone would listen.

But (and I was not flexible to begin with, as I said just a few weeks ago) even I can tell how stiff my ankle – even my toes – have gone just in one week.  Guess it’s like your mama always told you:  “it’s going to freeze that way.”  (oh, wait, that was about what my father used to refer to as a “pisky punim.”)

So I both agree that it should be MORE mobile, mobility is a Very Good Thing, but disagree that it should be bearing weight just yet.  I lay in bed this evening for a good long time with the boot off, staring at this terribly hurtful foot, and willing it to wiggle around, just a bit.

My toes are more mobile.  And I am forcing myself to stand on it, just a teensy bit, instead of merely hopping.  But it’s hard, very hard.

Plus, although the boot comes off and goes on kind of easily, I cannot do it myself.  See the above mention of flexiblity.  Maybe some people can touch their toes, but they are WAY out of my reach and that means that I’m relying on Ted to put it on for me. (I can take it off by flinging the velcro fasteners open and hoping for the best)

In terms of scary stuff, today was EASILY the worst day since the accident itself.  A cast is nothing – you wave it around, kids can bounce near it with relative impunity.  A naked broken ankle, covered in greenish bruises, looks small and naked and twitchy.  Pisky?

(Hmm…I just looked it up, and “pisk” is apparently just the Yiddish word for “mouth.”  I always thought it was something fairly rude.)

All offers of sympathy are welcome; I’ll just sit here whimpering graciously.