Waiting for the other shoe to drop....

Six weeks after breaking my foot I am back into regular shoes. Yay!! It's still a bit tender and my confidence needs a bit of work, but it's time to move forward.

Let me tell you I will not miss pushing Maggie in her chair while limping behind it in either the walking boot or the "Darby"  shoe that I've been wearing since April. We were a bit of a pathetic site. Yesterday at the museum some concerned lady said to me, "Why are you doing the pushing with your sore foot?"  I just smiled and said, "what are you gonna do?""  She smiled back, but in a sad and sympathetic way.

Too bad I didn't have a basket, we probably could have raised some real money.

Yes. It is time to lose the special shoe.

When I went to the orthopedist yesterday he asked about the pain and function.  I told him pain was manageable but stairs were still difficult. My instructions are to use the Darby shoe as needed but I should expect to need it less and less. Good news.

 As he wrote in my chart and we talked, I mentioned that I had to hurry down the stairs in the middle of the night without the shoe on and felt like I had set myself back a little bit. He continued writing and said without irony and without looking up, "well, don't do that." (Makes sense). I just said nonchalantly, "well, it was a bit of an emergency because my daughter's trach broke and the nurse was yelling for me to help her."

His head whipped up and he looked right at me and said, "What did you say?"
Thinking he didn't hear me, I  pointed to my neck and said, "she has a tracheostomy, and her trach tube broke."

I really was just saying it in passing because it explained why my foot was still sore.  It was just light conversation as the appointment was wrapping up.  But he was clearly and completely surprised by my statement, and I think my nonchalance was just as surprising as what I said.

 He stared at me with that perfectly calm doctor face, but his eyes were wide. Without looking away he said, in that perfectly calm doctor voice, "Yeah, I can see where that might require you to hustle."

His calm demeanor and voice were totally betrayed by the sudden rapt attention and wide eyes.

I've seen doctors remain calm on the outside when they clearly weren't inside and it can be very scary. But this time it was funny.  He has absolutely no reason to know anything about Maggie. He is my doctor, not hers, and not affiliated with any doctor or hospital that I use with Maggie. Her trach, broken or otherwise, didn't effect him professionally at all. But he knows what having a broken trach means and was concerned. It struck me very very funny to see his surprise give way to his immediate professional reaction.

As I walked gingerly back to my car -- in my very own shoes -- I found myself giggling.

Who else could have that conversation and interpret all the nuances the way I did?
Hardly anyone.
Who else would find it so very entertaining?
I'm thinking no one.

That made me laugh even harder.

Chivalry is not dead, it's limping along nicely.

The healing process continues for my broken foot. It's been four weeks today and there is real progress. In fact, I just graduated from the ginormous boot to this very ugly sandal/shoe.

It was really time too. The boot was squeaking and making scraping velcro noise with every step. In fact we arrived at a wedding the other day just as the bride was about to walk down the aisle. We waited for her to enter and then slipped in the side door. Unfortunately she arrived at the altar and the music stopped and, in the sudden quiet, the church echoed with the squeaks and scrapes of my boot as we made our way to our seats. I felt like doing the homecoming queen wave and saying, "Yes we're here and sorry we're late."

Though it lacks in aesthetic value, this shoe is a whole lot easier to deal with than the boot. It's not nearly as tiring for one thing. I can move about much easier. The foot is still a bit tender and I have to get off of it, but things are definitely easier.

This morning I was taking the streetcar to the hospital. I saw it coming when I was still a half a block from the stop. I tried to run, but that just wasn't happening. I'm certain I looked ridiculous, but I was bound and determined to make that streetcar. I did, but had a more pronounced limp when I got there.

The streetcar was crowded, not packed but standing room only. To my delight and surprise a man in about his 30's stood up to offer me his seat. I politely waved him off because I wasn't going very far. Still it impressed me. I took up a position by the door and pulled my book out of my bag. I saw a younger man looking at me and to be honest, I made sure my purse was closed. Nice of me, no? I felt especially guilty when he too stood up and offered me his seat. I thanked him but said I was just going a few blocks.

To those who scoff at chivalry as anti feminist I say simply pshaw. It was a very kind offer from not one, but two different gentlemen, one of whom I had pegged as a thief. They had more class than I did. They saw a person who they thought needed assistance and they offered it.

I figured I must really look like I need help today and imagined what they saw if they were looking out the window as I hobbled to the train. That make me smile to myself.

Then it hit me: Maybe it wasn't my foot at all.

Maybe it was my AGE.

I stopped smiling.