Broke

I have been meaning to write. I especially had all the time to write when I broke my foot early March.

But I didn't.

The first two weeks of having my foot in a plaster cast, I wasted the time by moping around, being miserable at having to become an invalid and immobile (because I was on crutches) and making everyone miserable too. Or rather, the sight of me lying on my back with foot raised and struggling while walking with the crutches made everyone miserable.

The next two weeks I was doing my best to adept to the situation. Which, I think, I did quite well. Managed to sweep the floors, clean some parts of the downstairs bathroom, cooked simple dishes (the simplest dish, the pasta, would take me an hour or so to prepare). What I didn't get to do and didn't want to do was to climb up and down the stairs. Too scared of falling on my face and breaking more bones in my puny body.

The cast came off after four weeks but the foot hadn't healed completely. The family rejoiced because it meant that I could walk with some help from the crutches and a wee bit of bearable pain. The very first evening, they took me to a sushi dinner. The weekend, we visited my mother and I'm pretty sure we went to some shopping place to eat and gape at expensive stuff.

Today, the seventh week, I had another x-ray of my foot (in total, my foot was x-rayed four times) and the fracture has healed "beautifully," said the doctor. But it's not over. I have to start physiotherapy to strengthen the muscles which had gone to sleep while foot was in cast. I guess that explained why I feel extremely tired after climbing up the stairs. And the pain akin to muscle pull around the ankle area of the broken foot.

So, I will have to attend two sessions per week, with each session lasting 90 minutes. There'll be six sessions altogether. And another appointment, minus the x-ray, with the doctor end of next month.

Let's hope I will be running by then.