The Boot

You would think that having been trapped at home for over two weeks with nary to do but watch TV and try to get a wireless connection with my somewhat dysfunctional laptop card, I would have posted many, many times to this blog. But, alas, I was a bit despondent being stuck in bed with my leg propped up in a giant space boot while my foot healed from surgery.

Surgery! you exclaim, worried about the health of your favorite elfin blogger. What was wrong? Are you okay? And I have to explain, embarassed though I am, that I had a BUNION. Not life-threatening. Not extraordinarily painful. But ugly, and sort of uncomfortable, and very unsexy to think about, write, or say out loud. BUNION! It's like an onion for your foot.

Way before my surgery, the doctor blatantly lied to me and said I would have to wear a boot and stay home for a week. I took two weeks off after he revised his statement upwards. Then, just before I was put under sedation, he told me, "Oh, you'll have to wear the boot all the time, even when you sleep." What? How can anyone sleep with a boot on? Unless they're drunk? And can I be drunk? (As it turns out, no. But I can be high on Vicodin. Yay!)

I was wheeled into the freezing operating room and woke up afterwards with the doctor standing over me explaining post-surgery rules and regulations while I was still all cotton-mouthed and muzzy. He told me he had found a cyst in my bone but that I would be fine. I remember mumbling, "The CIA got me, just like Bob Marley," but he didn't believe me. And then I was cold and my foot hurt, so FMC put his coat over me and a lovely nurse gave me Percodan and sent me off to be with the fluffy, pretty clouds and the pink elephants for several hours.

I spent from March 18 until April 5 in bed, with my foot propped up on pillows, staring at the TV and the laptop and covered in cat fur and my own stink (because I could only bathe sporadically, with my foot wrapped in a plastic bag and duct taped to my leg like a Bob Vila project gone awry.) FMC was unbelievable kind, and has continued to be so, despite having to cook, clean, shop, drive, and pretty much take care of me 24/7 during recovery. He didn't whine once, which is more than I can say about me, who still whines constantly about my foot and most other aspects of my life.

I'm now in a "driving sandal", which I am sure is a medical term, though I own cute strappy sandals and chunky-heeled sandals and darling Hawaiian sandals, and this is not what I consider a sandal in the best sense of that word. I am mostly ambulatory and back at work and am doing mostly nothing except looking for other work. Because in other news, I quit my job!

It's just non-stop excitement around here. Stay tuned for further bulletins.