June 22, 2019 – The broken foot – the ordeal begins. My wings have been clipped again.

         YUP – I’ve done it now.   Russ was mowing the lawn, I was cleaning out the shed and there was a 4’ by 8’ piece of 1 inch thick plywood in the way.  I’d shuffled the darn thing around for years – it was a left over piece from the construction of the big shed [circa 2007] and was in my way, again. 

         “In my way for the last time,” I said fuming about it.  I drug it over to the pickup truck where I’d tossed the last four empty wooden brick pallets on board and then unusable door screens from previous storm doors, along with assorted junk.

         I lifted it and tossed it on the truck and darn if it didn’t bounce back, and instantly slide off and Karate chop my right foot from a height of 4 feet.

         I saw stars. I cussed like a sailor.  Then I bent over in pain and I was angry. That darn piece of plywood was going to the dump.  I grabbed it again, slammed it onto the back of the truck, and then managed to hobble into the house and plunge my right foot in a bucket of cold water with ice cubes up to my ankle.  I did this cold treatment then thaw, then back to cold, alternating for the rest of the afternoon.

         By mid evening I realized this wasn’t just a bruise, this was more serious.  I couldn’t stand on it at all.  This had to be broken, I was sure of it.

         Into the Emergency Room at 11:00 p.m. and out at 4:15 a.m.  It was a long and tiresome ordeal just to have x-rays taken and get confirmation of broken bones.  I was fitted up with a temporary splint, crutches and sent home with instructions to make an appointment with an Orthopedic doctor.

         Oh my, my world is upside down.  One good thing, at least I am not hospitalized and can recuperate at home.

         But this sure puts the kibosh into my plans.  I just had the second 15 tons of Belgrade pavers delivered for my driveway.  I’d only gotten in 10 rows the first day and now . . . I couldn’t touch it for weeks.

         Doctor said it was a clean break and an air boot would be the best thing.  “Three weeks off your foot, and I mean off your foot, not waltzing around in the air boot.”

         When I asked, “You mean the air boot is for negotiating the bathroom.”

         “Yes and keep it elevated and come back in three weeks and we will see.”  The doctor left the room and his nurse assistant proceeded to “boot” me.

         Of course my nurse friend was the one to ask, “Fracture?”

         “No.”

         “Good, that means no pins or screws . . . .” and she filled me in on the consequences of that scene.

         It scared me to death listening to that possible scenario.

         What did I learn in this experience?  The E.R. is the same as usual – the worst place in the world to be.  They may have a rolling x-ray machine where they took pictures of my foot – three ways – but I still sat there for countless hours not being advised if I had a break or not.

         Anyone who has ever been to a small, rural county hospital E.R. knows what I am talking about.  Me and the fractured wrist young man who arrived only minutes before me were funneled through a slow as molasses in January.  No, I will revise that – Sloth slow is more like it.

         The upside?  So far I haven’t really found one.  The down side?  It has been only six days and I am bored beyond belief.  I have yet to figure out what I can actually do – with my booted foot elevated.  Read, sew yo-yos, write by hand, but actually type into the computer – I haven’t figured out how to do that.

         Right now, I have my foot down typing this. [Breaking the rules.] Got to go – must keep the booted foot up.