Fractured Foot, Fabulous Friends

Deja Vu All Over Again. At least I had a pedicure the day I did this.


This is a post from 2009. When I redesigned the blog, I pulled down all of the old content and wondered what I might do with it. This post tells the sad tale of my broken foot. Even sadder, I repeated the injury last week, and then some. In addition to fracturing the same bone in my foot, I snapped another one, and bruised my ribs. It was a similarly Graceless move; I was walking down the stairs in the dark, missed a step and tumbled. Kind of like this:



Having emerged from a hazy, Percocet infused week, I realized that I had written a related tale on this very topic. If you've seen it before, my apologies. But as the Graces you doubtless are, you will give me a pass when I tell you that sitting and typing with bruised ribs is, well, not quite the medieval torture describe in lesson #1 below, but no fun. I'll be back in form soon. Meanwhile, I'll post when I can. Cheers.







Well, Graces, the picture tells the story. I am indeed laid up, on crutches nursing a fractured foot. The true tale of the spill is embarrassing beyond belief--I stepped off the curb, fell, and broke my foot. Here are some of the alternative versions I am working on:

--I was picking my daughter up at gymnastics (which is true; I was en route to the gym when I tumbled). Upon arriving, I was inspired to attempt a backflip off the balance beam and didn't quite stick the landing.

--While ice skating at the local rink, I found myself in a race with Apolo Anton Ohno. As I began to pull ahead, he stuck his skate in my path and caused me to fall. Given the swiftness of my pace, I feel quite fortunate that I escaped with a mere fractured Calcanius bone.

--While crossing the street, I saw a family of 4 enter the intersection, putting themselves in the path of a speeding city bus. With no thoughts of self, I jumped into the oncoming traffic, and shoved the family to safety. The speeding bus nicked my fleeting foot as it whizzed by, and fractured it.

I welcome further suggestions from you, Graces.

There are several things I have learned about life on crutches. I am happy to share them in the event that you find yourself in this unfortunate position:

1. Underwire bras and crutches do not mix. The underwire hits exactly below where the crutch does, pinching that oh-so-tender skin with every movement. But if you are anything larger than a B-cup, commando is not an option (all that hopping and bobbing associated with being a uniped becomes downright painful on the girls). I have opted for sports bras, at least until the crutches are done. While less figure flattering, at least I am spared the agony of constant pinches to the side-boob flesh. But I do miss my Fantasie bras.

2. I am in constant terror that my currently over-used posterior (all I can do is sit!) is going to spread to the width of my couch. Furthering this terror is the fact that it is impossible to wear normal pants with the cast. First off, anything but the widest flares won't fit over it, and secondly, I spend so much of my day with my leg raised on a pillow that I require the freedom of movement required by knits, not jeans. So I live in sweats (ok, they're pretty nice sweats but still) and the accompanying fear that I will outgrow all of my normal pants without even knowing it.

3. It is possible to exercise, sort of, with a broken foot. I spent about 45 minutes doing yoga stretches, crunches, bicep and tricep curls and other (hopefully) physique preserving moves this morning. As a person accustomed to regular exercise and the urban-dweller's recommended daily allowance of walking, my improvised gym session made me feel lots better.

4. Crutches have improved since the old wooden things associated with Tiny Tim. Mine are a rather attractive matte pewter shade, fairly light weight, made of tubular metal. If I didn't hate them so much, I'd like them.

5. Baths are preferable to showers. Balancing on a wet, potentially slippery surface on one foot, and then having to navigate your way out is liable to result in another broken bone. Much easier to sit on the side of the tub and slowly immerse yourself. Just be sure to drape a towel over the edge before you sit down. Cold porcelain and bare flesh are a bad combo, especially when sudden movement is considered high risk.

6. My friends are the greatest. One brought tulips and chocolates (feeding my fear of fatness, but also much enjoyed), another brought a delicious, healthy, not-too-fattening lunch and stayed to eat it with me. Company is what I crave most--if you have read more than 3 words of this blog you will know that I am a social creature and I wilt a bit after too much solitude. When I start obsessing about the position of the lamp cords in the living room, it really is time to move--even if it's just to another room. Other friends have taken my kids for meals, sleepovers, outings and assorted drop-offs and pick-ups. Another brought dinner. Roses. Groceries. Graces one and all. Would I sound biased if I pointed out that all of these friends were women? Perhaps these skills are governed by XX chromosomes only.