Behold, the boot:
I had a dream last night that rather than cutting my cast off today, the doctor simply wrapped another layer of fiberglass casting tape on my leg and told me to come back in three weeks. What upset me the most about this was not that I'd still have to be in a cast, or even that he wanted to schedule my appointment three weeks out (which would be the longest I've gone without seeing him). No, the part that upset me the most was that my cast was red and he used a yellow roll on top of it. One roll isn't enough to cover the entire cast, so there were huge pieces of red poking through the yellow. My cast looked like it had been modge-podged with clashing colors. Did he really expect me to go three weeks with a cast that DIDN'T MATCH??? How could he even suggest such a thing?
(Thanks, Mom, for that little personality quirk. Also, we can both rest easy tonight knowing that I finally got around to rearranging all the children's books in the girls' room according to size.)
Fortunately, the first thing my doctor said when he saw me was, "It's graduation day! Let's get you out of that cast and into a walking boot!"
I wasn't absolutely positive that he was serious until we walked into the procedure room and there wasn't a single roll of yellow tape to be seen. After he cut the cast off and inspected the surgery site, he told me to try to flex my ankle just a little. I anticipated a lot of pain, but you guys, it felt SO GOOD to move that foot! Sure it hurt a little, but it was that good kind of hurt. Like when you're really tense and your husband gives you a back massage and you start shouting things like "Ow! That's the spot! Ouch baby, don't stop!" And you don't even care what the neighbors think because it just hurts so good!
I was so excited that as soon as the boot was on and he gave me the go-ahead to stand up, I tried to do so without the help of my crutches. I'm sure you can imagine what happened when, after six weeks of bearing absolutely no weight, I attempted to put all my weight on that leg. Let's just say that it's a very good thing I'm not easily embarrassed, because although my doctor grabbed me by the arm and picked my body up off the tile floor, I'm pretty sure that every last shred of my dignity is still sitting on that floor in a pile.
Needless to say, I'm not quite ready to be walking unassisted. I'll have to use the crutches for a few more days as my body re-learns how to move and bear weight. I firmly believe that talking to my tendon will help this process, so all day I've been saying things like "It's okay, little guy. You're doing great! Look at how much weight I'm putting on you. You're doing an awesome job!"
I told you: NO DIGNITY.
My doctor assured me that the muscle I lost will return pretty quickly once I begin using that leg more. I asked him if that included the muscle in my butt, then went on to explain how I'd never noticed how much your butt works when you walk, but since I haven't been walking, I've lost a lot of butt-muscle! And on top of that, I've recently been struggling to maintain my weight. In fact, I'm losing it from places I'd like to keep it. Why is it that when I lose weight it comes from the places I'd really don't mind having a little some'n-some'n, like my butt and my boobs?
And when I heard the words "boobs" come out of my mouth, I suddenly realized that I'd said too much.
He doesn't care. In fact, I'm sure he'd rather NOT know anything about my boobs or my butt (or rather, my lack of butt). He is a FOOT doctor, for cryin' out loud! Not only that, but he's a professional. A male professional. I know there's something in your head that, once you start approaching the line between appropriate and inappropriate, tells you to STOP TALKING. Apparently my achilles tendon is not the only thing in my body that has been disabled...
Ugh! I can just see it now; my first brush with the tabloids: LAWNMOWER GIRL SEXUALLY HARASSES DOCTOR!