I’m getting around these days much like a herd of turtles. Traveling about at the speed of smell. On good days, when my knee actually, you know, bends and cooperates, I hobble around like gang busters. Trying to get caught up on my daily business of not letting the house go completely to hell.
And I usually over do it. Because moderation? I know nothing of this concept.
Then I find myself unable to walk at all and OH DEAR GOD, why did I paint the bedroom purple? When I spend SO MUCH TIME staring at the walls from traction, I think a soothing taupe may have been a better choice.
So I tire of that game, strap some ice to my knee with a little duct tape, lather, rinse, repeat.
I was unable to do the grocery shopping this weekend, so I e-mailed my list to Fiddledaddy. He’s awesome at pinch hitting when I’m unable to do the shopping. But sometimes he veers from my carefully planned list. Take this weekend, for example, when he brought home this.
I was not amused. And the tags are still on the thing because IT IS OF NO USE TO ME. It will be going back in a hurry. Fiddledaddy tried to demonstrate the proper way to walk with a cane, but frankly it did not help me. At one point Fiddledaddy was exasperated and declared me uncoordinated. “DUH!” I said, as I took a swing at him with the offending cane. “HAVE YOU MET ME?”
Then we went to visit with the in-laws over the weekend. My sweet MIL, who has had her own share of knee issues and has repeatedly told me NOT to sit with my leg tucked underneath me but I never listened, offered me first her crutches, then her walker. Replete with horn.
My MIL is a good deal taller than I am, so when the children got a look at the crutches, they cried out in unison, “COOL, MOMMY WILL BE WALKING ON STILTS!”
She went on to explain the merits of the walker, and how I can hang things from it while I go about my daily chores, shopping, what have you.
Then she asked me if I desired her old toilet seat thingy with the bars you use to lower yourself onto your destination.
I politely declined.
I threw the crutches, walker, and horn into the back of the van, and hobbled away.
They all sit, in the company of the cane, unused, in the back of my closet. With all of my stylish heels that will probably never ever see the light of day again.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I wear heels only when pigs fly. I am simply being uncharacteristically dramatic.
To say that I may be getting a little punchy may be an understatement. I see my orthopedic specialist on Wednesday. When I’m hoping he prescribes something to aid me in an attitude adjustment. And maybe, just maybe, that he can put the spring back in my step. The giddy back in my up. The Walk This back in my Way.
OR, teach me how to use that dad-blamed cane. As something other than a weapon. 🙂