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Oops. There goes my lifestyle, changed again—for what? The fourth time within a year? There was the broken ankle/leg with non-weight-bearing which finally morphed into weight-bearing in that black boot; then there was the whole huge change of moving out of the house and into the cottage—which I absolutely adore.

Today I saw the orthopedic surgeon, proudly showing off my new, lightweight brace. He approved, showed me where and how it is supporting the ankle. Of course I had questions? May I go to the bathroom barefoot in the night? Yes. You have no idea what a relief that is. Struggling into either the boot or the brace is a pain in the middle of the night when all you want is to answer nature and then go right back to sleep. Besides, sometimes there’s a certain urgency to my night trips.

Next question: may I drive? Yes, if I practice in an empty parking lot and find that I can stop in time and control the car. My right foot is, he told me, a clumsy foot. But unless I make a miraculous mobility recovery, the car presents problems. It’s a VW Bug convertible, and the walker won’t fit. I love my car. I’ve had it eleven years. It’s my sporty car to keep from being a stodgy grandmother. I don’t want to sell it (probably $500) and buy a new car. Dilemma, but at least I don’t have to solve it today.

Then the kicker question: how long do I have to wear the brace? As long as I’m walking. “The rest of my life?” I queried, and I’m sure my voice went of the chart for squeakiness. He, a taciturn man, nodded and said yes. I’m still processing that in my mind. First of all, there go all my cute shoes, and I am sentenced to wearing orthopedic shoes with ankle socks. Second of all, it isn’t at all like running carefree through the grass. I will always be awkward, which I guess is better than not being able to walk. I’ve actually wondered how much that was a sentence to the walker, whether sitting in it or walking.

We will be getting an electric wheelchair, but I thought of it as something in the far-off future. I don’t want to put myself in a wheelchair now, because of that old adage, “Use it or lose it.” Spend 24 hours without walking and there’s a strong possibility that you’ll never walk again.

The physical therapist should be here in a day or two, and I’ll run some of these questions by him. I know however that I have to get serious about exercising and recovering the strength I’ve lost.

Another piece of good news in all this is that the doctor says the brace should help alleviate the terrible ache and pain in my left hip, though, as he emphasized, it takes time. But if that pain lessens, I’ll be more willing to walk and do exercises. Right now, it hurts. And yet, I guess I have to walk to heal the hip. Seems to me I’m caught in several circular dilemmas.

Who thought, the night last spring that I fell, that I was triggering all these changes in my life?

News from the home front

 If you heard a loud whoosh about 2:30 this afternoon, that was me letting out a long sigh of relief. I went to the trauma  reconstructive surgeon who said my ankle was beyond repair. There’s dead bone in there. No surgery. He will take the conservative approach and wait for it to heal which means keeping me off my foot for some time to come. I gather I may end up with a misshapen ankle or a limp or something less than ideal but my dancing days and days of vanity are long over and that doesn’t matter. I am relieved big time.

How did my ankle get in this shape without treatment? Probably the fact that I walked on it for two weeks, then walked on it in a boot for two more. My neuropathy became a big part of the discussion--it prevents me from feeling pain in my feet, and therefore pain doesn’t do its job of warning. Probably why today the foot doesn’t hurt.

We are looking into electric wheelchairs and knee scooters and the like. I suspect I’ll need the wheelchair and my walker occasionally if not always the rest of my life. That’s okay too.

This doctor comes highly recommended, and we—Jordan, my brother, and I—all liked him immensely. He’s calm, slightly funny, gives you a feeling that he’s very capable. Explained things fully and carefully. I go back in two weeks for new x-rays. Meantime the burden is on me to protect the ankle, not put weight on it, etc. At this point I could do further damage.

My brother watched me go from car to steps to wheelchair and was quite critical of the fact that I was weight-bearing even though I barely did a hop on the bad foot. There was no way around that little strip, although we’re working on ramps, etc. Meantime John further put the fear of the Lord in me. Actually I feel God has been good to me tonight—I talked to him this morning and said it was my turn for some good news. He listened.

The alternative is major surgery which I wouldn’t have wanted at any age but I sure don’t want at my age.  Plates and screws won’t do it—plates slip. He said they’d probably put a rod up through my heel. No thanks.

So on to bigger things. I guess I’ve lost my excuse for not getting serious about a new project. I have one loose end to wrap up and then I must begin to think ahead. At least the work that I love is something I can do while staying off my feet.

Jordan is staying tonight because we were fairly convinced I would be facing surgery and be a quivering mass of Jello. So now she says, “What are we going to do the rest of the evening.” She’s cooking bacon and eggs, and it smells delicious. Excuse me while I head for the kitchen, having told you all more than you ever wanted to know about ankles and surgeons.