I'm still here, just trying to get back into the swing of things at work after my convalescence. Offspring gets highly tickled to see me clomping around in my aircast boot, and has nicknamed me FrankenFoot.
Stomping around like Lurch on a bender is playing havoc with my left side. Who knew that such unbalanced gait would make the whole left side of the body sore? The verdict of the ortho guy was that he doesn't see a break after all, but when the ligament tears away slightly from the navicular bone on the top of the foot, it dislodges a section of the bone, and can look like a fracture on x-rays. So, in shorter, easier-to-understand terminology: it ain't broke, but it damn sure feels like it. He oohed and aahed over the bright purple hue of my toes and mashed on my left knee hematoma ("big-ass lumpy bruise", for those of you not fluent in medico-speak) a bit. When he heard me gasping for breath like a landed salmon, he mumbled, "That area will continue to be tender for a while. I wouldn't be surprised if the ankle heals before the hematoma does." Yeah. It probably would have healed faster if you hadn't been mashing it like prizes were gonna magically fall out of it at any given moment, Doc. I'll forgive him 'cause he's cute, though.
I'm working on yet another post (rant) in my (seemingly unending) string of epistles (diatribes) on the culture of fat. Prepare to be on vacation when I finally get around to posting it.
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