It occurs to me as I stare at the same 4 walls while on mandatory immobility for 14 days, that my ability to harness blog fodder is at an all time low.
Car trips to anywhere other than doctors appointments are nearly non-existent due to difficulty maneuvering the offending leg. We discovered this when Fiddledaddy attempted to wrench me into the van after surgery.
My leg cast extends from the bottom of my calf to the top of my thigh. It is removable, but only for a beloved daily shower and an hourly icing using my industrial sized ice pack. It doesn’t matter really though, since I can’t bend my leg at all.
Thankfully, Fiddledaddy brought the van to pick me up. I would have had to be roped onto the hood had he brought the Prius. After moving the middle van seat as far back as possible, I still had to sit and lean back into the opposite seat. My leg would not clear the door. I considered just letting it hang out of an open window, but feared it might be distracting to other drivers. Finally I lay down in the seat and lifted my leg higher than humanly possible, especially considering my lack of grace and mobility. It barely cleared the front headrest. I then used the front cup holder as a leg rest. Giving Fiddledaddy special instructions not to hit any bumps, pedestrians, or other vehicles.
Lather, rinse, repeat when we had to have the drain removed the next day. The day of the Big Hemorrhage. When I could put no weight on it at all.
Getting around the house has been a bit troublesome. So, mostly I stay in my room. Which is not a bad gig since I have my computer. And, well, the bed. There’s a large picture window as well, and I have a birds eye view into the kitchen. Where my pills are.
I have fashioned my leopard print office chair into a makeshift wheelchair when I get too antsy. I can motor about my room and fling myself across the cheap linoleum into the bathroom with ease. Since we have yet to change out the carpeting in the rest of the house, I have been stopped dead in my tracks at the threshold to the hall more than once. And by dead in my tracks, I mean that the chair comes to a full and complete stop while I continue onward.
I think I’m getting pretty adept at maneuvering myself around on the crutches. Or “crunches” as Jensen calls them. Which is really not far off since I often put them down onto my own foot. I am constantly knocking them over, and they make a nice loud clatter, bringing everyone running. Prepared to find mommy splattered on the floor.
This is especially entertaining in the middle of the night.
We’re hanging onto our sanity by a slim margin, people. Nine more days of this, and then we’ll see what adventures my dance class has to offer. Dance class is code for physical therapy, in the event you are new to my saga.
On the bright side, dance class will mean that I get to go on a car ride.
Baby steps, folks. I’m clinging to those baby steps.