All bad things must also come to an end

Four weeks. Four long weeks.

In these four weeks between X-rays since I fractured my fifth metatarsal in a pot hole after dinner with Mountain Man, many things have happened. I was pushed around Disney World in a wheelchair. I relearned how to walk on crutches and navigate the TSA. A mass murderer hid out along my drive to work. Later that same afternoon, in an unrelated event, we learned that SJ had passed away. For his memorial we heard Coldplay and Norah Jones and had speeches by board members including a former vice president. I giggled at Jony saying “aluminum”. I watched the San Francisco Symphony, from the eleventh row center orchestra, play some famous Russian pieces by composers I’ve already forgotten. I met up with a friend for dinner on his trip back to Portland, OR from Morocco. I was kicked off the beach by the cops during a birthday party. I’ve turned down more opportunities for dates than I’ve accepted. I heard Mumford and Sons and Dave Matthews at the Bridge School Benefit Concert. I’ve been driving The Cravat’s Mini Cooper which was sitting unloved in his driveway—Myrtle has been idle and jealous. I named the coop Miss Moneypenny. I’ve put more miles on Das Boot than the doctor expected.

It has been a long four weeks. I am tired.

I had my checkup X-ray this morning. The system was broken, so when my doctor, who was kind of cute for a doctor—turns out they aren’t usually as hot as McDreamy and McSteamy—well, when he walked into my room, I told him he couldn’t look up my X-rays on his computer and would instead have to go to the lab to see them. Disappointed, he retreated, and I was left to contemplate my actions over the last four weeks. To consider all the things that may have set me back a bit.

When he returned, I was prepared for the worst and hoping for the best. But he held my foot and told me that it was healing nicely. That I could go back to wearing regular shoes when I’m ready.

I was surprised. Really? I told him that I hadn’t been the best patient. He squeezed my foot gently and said he wouldn’t tell. I smiled. He asked how bad. I told him some of it. Particularly about how I walk a couple miles every day in Das Boot. That made him reconsider. We talked about Perl and how she needs lots of exercise. I made a compromise that for the next two weeks I’d wear Das Boot to walk the dog. I decided I’d also wear it if walking to lunch.

Then I asked about the four things I’d like to do and when—running, golf, biking, and driving my car. He decided I could drive my car now. But I hadn’t told him my clutch is a little sticky. I was also looking for excuses to keep Miss Moneypenny for longer. He said to try the bike next. I guess I’ll have to get the seat on it soon. He said I’d have to wait on the running. He wasn’t sure about the golf. I said I have to turn my feet when I swing. He shook his head and said no twisting. So no golf until I can also run. The basic rules he set down were that I can do whatever I want, but if it hurts, stop doing it.

He looked at my hand. Now I realize it was my left hand. Ring check? Well, when he did, he asked what I do for work. I explained that I need my hands for that more than my feet. Then he told me all about how he bought the MacBook Air, just got an AppleTV, and is cancelling his cell service early so he can replace his Droid with an iPhone 4S. When he’d walked in, he saw my iPhone 4 and wanted to know if it was a 4S. I was sorry to disappoint him. He told me how much he loves all his devices because they are so easy to use and he’s not that smart. I’m hoping the end of the sentence was meant to be that he’s not so smart when it comes to technology.

We talked about where we went to school on the east coast and how much California spoils us. Eventually, I’d finished lacing up Das Boot and we had to go our separate ways. It was one of the few times I wish I had a card so I could tell him to call me sometime. But I hadn’t even done a ring check, so it was probably futile.

I wore Das Boot the rest of the day. I had to walk the two blocks to lunch and back and again for a meeting. Then I left it on at an event at the Computer History Museum because it is a good conversation starter. I’ve worked Das Boot into my wardrobe by wearing short skirts and long black socks. It is distracting enough that most people don’t notice it right away. Especially the seven-foot-two ex-basketball player. He said it was too far away for him to see. Good point. Others have laughed and said it wasn’t good camouflage, but still today I had coworkers ask me what happened and they have seen me around in the last four weeks.

It’s been a long four weeks. I’m exhausted.

I came home late and figuratively ran out the door with Perl for our evening constitutional. I can walk a lot faster in Das Boot now than I could in the beginning.

When we arrived home, I decided it was time to face my fears. I slowly undressed Das Boot, gently raised my alien foot out, and placed my foot into my left shoe as if I were Cinderella putting on the missing glass slipper.

The shoe felt foreign. It seemed taller than the one I’d been wearing for four weeks without its mate. It was awkward.

I walked around the house. The sensation of wearing matching shoes became familiar. I fed the cats. I brushed my teeth. Wearing shoes almost felt normal.

Wearing shoes in my pajamas was a little abnormal. But I wouldn’t want to rush normalcy, now, would I?

It’s been a long four weeks.


3 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Mom on October 26, 2011 at 1:30 pm

    Sounds like you are making progress! Cautious is always best because the alternative is not nice! and you want to play more later!
    Enjoy all your renewed sensations!


  2. Posted by The Cravat on October 27, 2011 at 8:46 pm

    Why “Miss Moneypenny”?
    Take your time with her, though, and good luck with your continued recovery.


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