Broken bones don’t give you more time

On the contrary, having a broken ankle means I have less time to do all the things that must be done. None of the things that must be done have changed. This leads to intense frustration as my foot swells into an eggplant. And I still haven’t figured out how to carry things with crutches. The last time I hopped around with something under my chin, I nearly passed out.

Today’s goal: getting all the school forms that need to be signed by the allergist to the allergist. This will involve begging the receptionist at the allergist’s office to get them signed and sent back to me in two weeks time instead of the usual five. I hope the crutches make me look very pathetic so I can stir the long-dormant sense of sympathy that is so often irrecoverably buried in said receptionists from years of abuse by belligerent patients.

Wish me luck.

Can I remove my own stitches?

I think I can. If I tape an exacto blade to the end of a stretched-out hanger, I think I can snip the little suckers myself. If the weird stabbing skin pain doesn’t go away by tomorrow, I will do it. Don’t tell anyone.

I’ll try and post a new photo of my purple toes and brand-new white cast tomorrow, if I can locate my camera. I think someone hid it so I wouldn’t crawl around looking for it. Actually, the cast isn’t a cast, but a half-splint (plaster) covered with ace-bandages. I’ve already snipped off the ends of the cotton stuffing because the tickle was driving me mad. Don’t tell anyone.

Surgery is over

Surgery on my broken ankle happened Wednesday. I’m still recovering because I didn’t know that stitches would hurt like crazy. And my toes are turning purple. Luckily that’s my favorite color.

For the surgery they gave me a popliteal nerve block. That was nifty: the anesthetist stuck a needle in the back of my knee and my leg went bye-bye. They also gave me a sedative to put me to sleep. Unfortunately, I began waking up in the middle of surgery and they had to use a stronger narcotic to knock me back out. The result: severe nausea for the rest of the day.

Happily, that’s over now, and I’m just dealing with the post-op pain. Stitches suck.