Today is the day. Four weeks of a colorful cast whose luster wore off about 15 minutes into wearing it. Six weeks of non-weight bearing. Six weeks of being less than proficient in driving a scooter. Ladies, you know the feeling you get when you take your bra after a full day? This is the same feeling except I will need a weed wacker to shave my leg along with a trough of lotion for the disgusting dryness that has occurred.
Let me just say, I will not miss contemplating invitations based on the ease of navigating the scene and the degree of difficulty accessing the restroom. That seems to be a priority in my thinking. To meet that theme, I will not miss the negotiations with my bladder at night. “Do you really need to go?” I would ask this because it took a whole lot of effort to get up, hop to my scooter, run into the wall several times before getting out the door, and then stopping in the hallway to hop my way to the toilet. Exhausting. Most of the time I told my bladder, “You’re fine”.
I am transitioning back into my trusty walking boot. It has been sitting alone patiently waiting for me to acknowledge its need. And to think I actually have missed it. I won’t take it for granted again. It’s sleek, black style goes with anything including my mask. It blends in and isn’t so obvious. I think I will appreciate it more since the last six weeks have had me be a human Pogo stick.
I don’t know how long I will need to wear it or how much physical therapy I will be having. It’s amazing what a little freedom will do for the psyche. I want to scream “peace out, bitches”, but I think I will do that internally while pumping my fists wildly. Just so you know, I might have the freedom to engage with society, but it doesn’t mean I will do it. It just means I have options. Remember my aversion to people? Cast or no cast, I will be extremely picky in that area. I actually like my cast better than most individuals in society. So, if you need to find me this afternoon, I will be fighting the deep juggle that would be my hairy leg.