I am currently wearing what I lovingly refer to as “my stupid boot.” I hate this thing. It’s hot. It’s big and annoying. I’m already clumsy without adding extra weight to one foot. Now I run over random walls and door frames in addition to all the normal things I trip over. Add that my daily driver is a Jeep, which has little to no leg room for changing into said MSB after I’ve driven to work, and you have the perfect storm. I. Hate. This. Stupid. Boot.
In March, my lovely husband and I went to test drive a very large truck. We like to trail ride and rock crawl, so this was a rig for that. It was big enough that we would be able to take Tuck or another person if we wanted, unlike all of our previous ones. I got up in it fine. When it came time to get out is when all the good stuff happened. I looked down from a pretty good height and thought, “I can totally hop out of here.” And I could. Unless I caught my second foot on a roll cage and landed four foot down on one foot instead of two. I literally hit the ground and crumpled into a heap. I had always heard people say that, but seriously, I was a pile of person. Then I laughed, of course, because how embarrassing is it really to almost kill yourself in a strangers driveway? The truck was so tall it took my husband a minute to realize he couldn’t see my head. He asked if I was ok and I said something along the lines of, “Well, I didn’t break my arm, so that’s good.” At this point the seller came back out and started talking to my husband about the test drive. Again, big truck, so he couldn’t see me lying there in said heap in his driveway. I finally convinced myself to get up and hobbled myself to the Jeep. No one asked why I was walking so funny and I gratefully crept into hiding to lick my wounds. I sat there trying to decide if I was really hurt or I was just old. I now know it was both. By the time my husband finished his standard thirty minute conversation with arandom person, I knew I was hurt, but figured it was just badly bruised. The turning point was when we got out to eat and I couldn’t get my shoe on. So then came the humiliating trip to the walk-in clinic, where I got to retell this story several times, to find out I had indeed broken my foot. Seriously. I’ve decided I will never survive old age. I’ll need a keeper full-time to make age appropriate decisions, because no doubt I will be a danger to myself and those around me. Anyway, I ended up in MSB at that time for five and a half weeks. I couldn’t drive at first. You don’t realize how much you truly hate relying on another human being until you’re doing it against your will. People were great, but I hated every minute. When I went back for my first follow-up, I was graduated to a Darco shoe, which is basically the thing you used to see people wearing with a cast to walk. I wore it for ten days. Ok, maybe it was only a week. I really did. But I couldn’t figure out the point. My foot could flex and bend and it didn’t keep pressure off of it. How was this different from a regular shoe? I still don’t know, but apparently it is. And I know that little fact because when I went back for a follow-up, my doctor was not impressed. My foot was obviously not healing because *groan* I hadn’t worn the shoe. He told me I had to go back to the shoe or next time I get my very own cast or possibly get to schedule surgery. I bet he hasn’t heard an adult say “suck” that many times in his career. But I was seriously over having a bum foot. I basically whined like a little kid since my husband wasn’t there to shame me into acting like an adult. Needless to say, I just went back to the full boot. I can’t be trusted in the shoe. I walk stairs. I chase my kid. I help feed cows. I get in the creek. The options are endless. So it’s MSB for several more weeks. I’ve reconciled myself to the fact that surgery is inevitable. I mean I almost have a week of vacation saved up and that just can’t happen. Today I am off to my second Predators hockey game in said MSB. I actually went the first time in the rain of all things. But it was the playoffs. I mean the playoffs! And I scored seats on the fourth row! I was not staying home. At least I don’t need the classy bag this time (see below). It drew quite a few comments about my commitment to the team. It was great. Except for actually wearing it. That was annoying. But this boot is made for walking and I have places to be and things to do until they forcefully make me sit down. I have a feeling I will not be a good patient. Oh well, go Preds!