The other day, I had in the normal course of events, come to the conclusion that is seemed necessary for me to obtain an avulsion fracture of my right ankle.
I was gathering rocks in the creek bed for my back door 'flower bed' makeover. And it just went over. The ankle I mean.
Don't even know if I stepped on a wobbly rock. I probably did. It was so unexpected that I'm not really sure. And you KNOW how I hate surprises. And as a matter of fact, after my first words which were... "Really? REALLY?... a few choice expletives were added.... sort of like sprinkles. You know on ice cream.
(Or on Cupcakes. Like that?)
Boy you really have no fear of death do you?
(Nope. Not as long as you feel the need to spill your guts on the internet. I'm good. . . Thanks.)
Now the weird thing was, it didn't really hurt that much. But no matter how I tried to un-hear the distinct SNAP sound I had heard, I figured I was done for one way or the other.
Since it didn't hurt too much and I didn't want to waste my trip, I looked for a few more rocks and put them in my bag and then clambered up the bank and walked back to Suzie Cube who was looking concerned, trying to measure the pain level and functionality of my right foot.
And what was really chapping my shorts was the fact that I had deliberately worn my new Duluth Trading Company walking boots for the occasion. You know... to be wearing good sturdy shoes for the terrain. Because I am not an idiot.
(Ah, ah, ah... hold on there...)
Okay, I wasn't being an idiot THAT day.
(Fine then, continue if you must.)
By the time I got home and took off my boot and took a look at the bulbous protuberance morphing itself into an alarming sign of doom on the outside of my ankle, I knew what I had to do.
I will not bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that yes, an Xray confirmed that it was broken and I had to stay off it until I could see the orthopedist in a few days.
They were very LONG days. Crutches. A walker with wheels that I bashed around the house in. Because it really wasn't designed to be used as a wheelchair. The misuse of equipment resulted in aforementioned bashing. Put a really nice ding in my kitchen table leg.... twice actually. There were tears. Feigned joviality. Grim resignation. Sore muscles from doing weird things with crutches, and other matters that I don't care to discuss.
(Oh thank the Tendon!)
You're a sick piece of punctuation, you know that?
However.
All that changed when I went to the Orthopedist. They took fresh pictures which I got to see and told me that with something called an 'air cast' I could walk on it! I told the doctor that I could kiss him. I'm old now. I can say that stuff to the young whippersnappers and they aren't alarmed at all.
When I left through the waiting room, carrying my crutches, I wanted to shout... "I'm healed!" ... just to give everyone hope. But I DO have some semblance of decorum when I'm in public places, and I kept my joy to myself. It seemed a terrible waste though. It WOULD have been fun. Maybe when I'm REALLY old, I'll start doing that kind of thing. It will be something to look forward to, you know?
So today I have been wearing my little cast and my Doc Martin boots and doing housework and laundry like nothing ever happened.
Well, not really. I'm walking carefully, and it DOES hurt a little. I feel like propping it up right now as a matter of fact, but compared to what was going on here yesterday, I feel like an olympian. Because I can walk. Walking is so COOL!
Which brings me to the last observation, and then I'll let you go.
Wanna hear my pseudoscientific assessment of being unexpectedly physically impaired?
(Not really.)
Well, buck up ()...here it is:
I became aware during the three days I was unable to get from ‘here to there’ without great difficulty, was that.... I think…. we ‘throw’ our consciousness ahead of ourselves about I dunno…. three to five seconds before we decide to do something. Get up. Go pee. Have a glass of water. Open the refrigerator… anything at all. And if it is more complex than those routine things....say, making yourself a good strong cup of My Chai, then we are throwing out a sequence of thoughts in a detailed line between us and our intended goal, waiting for us to catch up to them.
Ordinarily, we are able to keep up with that three to five second delay and seamlessly carry out our task, so we don’t NOTICE that our consciousness is not… strictly speaking.... right there with us in the spot we are standing or walking or running or whatever.
So basically, the main reason that we get so thrown OFF by our infirmities is that whenever we have something that needs doing, our poor consciousness keeps having to run back and forth between the thing we are aiming to do and our sluggish body which is still trying to accomplish the first movement. In effect, our consciousness is constantly saying…. "Are you there yet? Are you there yet? Are you there yet?” in all manner of carping voices in various states of alarm, annoyance or outrage.* Which as you can imagine only makes us feel like bashing something to bits, or crying our eyes out. [I usually opt for the latter.]
Of course, if you follow this through logically…. unless we are sitting like a slug on the couch with a beer in our hands, this means that most of the time we are walking around pretty much without our consciousness firmly attached…. to whatever it is that our consciousness is attached TO.
I’m just sayin’.
I don't know if that makes you uncomfortable or not. But it kinda gives me the willies.
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*Which is why I think this guy Ram Dass wrote a book called "Be Here Now". Do you think he wrote it while he was recovering from a broken ankle?