But I’m too tired to come up with anything good. Please make up an action-packed story for me. Thanks.
What really happened is this: As I walked through the front door, I tripped on a shoe someone had left out. I faltered, twisted my ankle, and fell. I heard the snap of my bone break; it was … unpleasant. We went straight to the E.R., where they confirmed I’d broken the hell out of my fibula.
A week later I had surgery to repair the break with a plate and screws. I’m in a fiberglass cast for six weeks, after which I will graduate to a walking cast/boot.
Oh, and I’ve been diagnosed with clinical chronic crankiness. It’s a thing. Unfortunately, there is no cure. Sadly, it’s only the people around me who really suffer.
Some notes about this ankle-breaking experience:
The orthopedist recommended a knee scooter, which I had never heard of but then tried, and now I believe that knee scooters are the most magical invention ever invented. Crutches are for suckas. Seriously, I may look like a moron on it, but it’s so much easier getting around.
- I’m temporarily camped out in our living room—it’s easier to get around on the hard floors and no stairs. Also, when people come in the front door, I can screech GET OUT OF MY ROOM! It’s fun.
- Sponge baths can hardly be called “baths.” Yuck. There’s no substitute for a good shower.
- The pain killers I’ve been given—they’re the hard core, knock-me-right-out kind—put me back in the E.R. a week after the surgery. I woke up last Sunday and suddenly couldn’t keep down foods or liquids. Pffftt. Once injected with anti-nausea stuff and lots of saline, I was back to normal and haven’t had trouble since. I’ve been able to cut back quite a bit on the drugs this past week.
- All of this is sooo not worth the handicap parking.
- I’m bored silly. If I open the blinds, I start doing that Rear Window/Mrs. Kravitz thing, and quickly close them before I witness any neighborhood crimes or gossip-worthy activities.
All this is to say that there is an explanation for the low profile I’ve been keeping. I’ve been sleeping 12-18 hours each day, which leaves little time for anything exciting to happen to write about. Toss in Netflix and, well, there goes my day.
