I have suggested that for 2013 I would like to run around less. If I could just slow down and enjoy more my immediate surroundings, I might not find myself so manic, searching, and scattered.
Well, I got what I wanted: last Wednesday, I sprained my foot and have not walked for 5 days.
Already recovering from a chest injury, I was in mid flight of a jumping-jack as part of the warm-up for work’s Wednesday evening “Serbicizing” exercise class, when I landed on an errant dumbbell. The toes of my left foot curled under the heel to support the rest of my falling body. I jumped up as soon as I landed, but I knew that something horrible had happened to the left foot.
I sat recuperating on a box deliberating which gym exercises I could continue to do now with a busted left arm and a busted left leg. There weren’t any more possible exercises. It was time to go home. Class members brought me some ice so I could limp out to my car.
I drove home in some pain, cooked Jamaican beef patties by hopping around the kitchen, and eventually got to bed.
Thursday morning, I couldn’t walk and the left foot had swelled. I called in sick. Both Natasha (who broke her left foot in the gym two years prior) and Greg counseled that I see a doctor. I don’t see doctors! And even if I did, how would I get to the doctor’s office? Greg gamely offered to drive me in my car to my Pacific Heights doctor for an 11:40am consultation. The doctor sent me across the street to the hospital for x-rays. We learned that afternoon that the foot was not broken, just sprained, and I should expect 2-3 weeks for full recovery. Greg mitigated my hopping with a pair of crutches he bought secondhand for $5 at the nearby Community Thrift.
All’s well that ends well? No! I crushed my foot before a fun three-day weekend. I don’t like injury. I don’t like being waited on. I don’t like inconvenience. I don’t like people feeling sorry for me. I don’t like staying inside when the rest of the world is out having fun. I don’t like unproductivity. I had best get over these dislikes.
I can hop around my apartment. I set up a stool brigade in the kitchen to make way from the stove to the refrigerator. When the hopping leg wears out, I crawl to the bathroom. Crutches work well outside, but for at most 4 or 5 tiring blocks. I have food for days. I can make tea instead of going out for coffee.
I did manage to attend a party Friday night to feel more social. After the party, I spent the next 36 hours at Greg’s apartment. He kindly ran out to get food to bring back to the apartment. I cooked dinner for him and made oatmeal cookies. We exchanged our standard roles of my frantic need to see the whole world for his more deliberate urge to stay home. I am ever-so grateful for his care and do have a greater understanding of how fun and yet how odd it would be to live with him.
Nonetheless, it is Memorial Day Monday, one of the sacred twelve days off from work. I have not been outside today. Yesterday, my only “tour” around town was a taxi ride from Greg’s couch to my couch. Yes, world, I have learned the lesson of the broken foot. I’m ready for my life to go on as a mobile Dudek.