It’s almost four weeks - tonight, in fact - since I broke my ankle. I still have at least three weeks to go with some form of cast on, and moving around on crutches, before I will be able to go back to walking on both my feet (with a cane, for a while)(will I remember what it’s like to wear a boot on my right foot?). It’ll take some training for me to get my right leg to stop recoiling at the feeling of weight or pressure; I’ve trained that particular aversion into it quite solidly.
People have asked me about signing my cast. The longer this thing is on me the less I want to even think about it being around once I don’t need it. I want it to go back to the plaster dust it was as soon as I don’t need it anymore. There’s nothing about the experience of having this lump attached to my leg that I want to be nostalgic about. Not one bit.
The scar, on the other hand, that I’ll hang on to. The metal plate under the scar I’m not sure of. They tell me it can come out in a year or so, if I wish it. Some people find having it in there uncomfortable. I will wait and see. If it bothers me, sure, but only if. I’d much rather avoid another surgery that might take me off of my legs again.
What’s possibly the worst about this experience is that it’s happened during this time of year, when the cool crisp grey outside makes me want to wander around in it for hours. Crutching, though, crutching is hard work. Pair that work with the kind of heightened vigilance I feel in terms of who’s around me, who’s walking towards me quickly, what if they bump into me, these things make me such a fucking target, anyone knows they could just knock me over… THOSE are feelings I do not like and will be glad to leave behind. Once I can start to build up the strength in my ankle & leg again it will be very difficult to resist pushing myself too hard, to get myself back to solid.