I broke my ankle three weeks ago. Here’s where I would normally tell you the totally truthful way it happened, one that would subtly underline my constant willingness to sacrifice my personal dignity for the sake of heroism and hearing it would make you want to send me flowers and food and gifts of all kinds.
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.