It seemed amusing at the time...

It all seemed like an amusing side story a few months ago. I spazzed out while gazing at my tinfoil dinoturkey and missed a half step leaving a restaurant. (see Tripping) ER doc told me the ankle was sprained and would need a few weeks in an aircast and a few weeks hanging out with E, my favourite physiotherapist, then I would be back on track.

But that mother refused to heal, E. didn’t think it was just a sprain, and it became more of an annoying eyeroll as I limped around painfully for months in my ankle stabilizer. The bone scan validated that there was in fact a bony injury in my ankle and two in my other foot (what?) so my doc conferred with a specialist. “This happens in 6% of serious sprains and usually clears up within 6 months. Get an MRI and I’ll look at it then to see if an injection would help with pain.” My doc put my name on the MRI list – months ago.

Then I walked way too much during a Thanksgiving trip to London, flaring it up a bit, and capped it off with being shoved around while haunting. (see The Ups and Downs of Haunting) I was back on crutches, unable to bear weight and pretty pissy. I finally convinced my lovely family doctor to send me to a specialty clinic where Dr. G dashed all my dreams.

This was no happy making consultation where anyone assures you it will all be fine soon. This was someone turning a firehose on all my dreams of travel for the next long while. At least he was pretty sure he knew what he was going on with my ankle and it’s quite possible I will need surgery. Oh, and it takes a year or more after receiving my MRI results before any surgery will be scheduled and then some rehabilitation time. And I should not be doing any unnecessary walking until that’s all done. What?

What about trekking in the Himalayas this spring? No!

What about travelling around India this spring with no trekking? No!

What about climbing Macchu Picchu in the summer? Probably not. Depends on the MRI but don’t put money on it.

If I need a vacation, I am allowed to sit on a lounger on a beach as long as someone is around to help me out & I minimize walking. Well, it’s something and it requires that cabaña boy of whom I’ve long dreamed.

So here I am in the aircast, on crutches and back in the kind of pain I was in the first days of breakage thanks to the latest ankle traumas. At the moment I can’t cook, vacuum, do laundry, do yoga, walk the dog or even make it down the stairs and out the building. There is a chance it may be years until I can run around on a healthy ankle again. I am down to my last roll of toilet paper. This is feeling a LOT less amusing these days.