10 March 2019: Recovery Under Weigh
I broke three metatarsals in my left foot on 27 February, a Wednesday. They are little breaks in little bones, so the Physician's Assistant I saw last Monday said the only treatment necessary is to stay off my feet as much as possible, with the foot elevated, and nature will take care of the problem in two or three months.
For the first week, 27 February through 6 March, I didn't see any progress. Even though I felt something wrong with the foot with every step, I was never in a great deal of pain. I mostly felt, Keep away from my damn foot or I will scream and assault you. That was never necessary. I stayed safely at home.
My sister, Debbie, is recovering from a major operation to...wait for it...her left foot. Her problem is much more serious than mine: her recovery is in its seventh month. Which of us is more mobile is a question, but I tend to think she can hobble farther than I can totter. At any rate, I have been visiting her every week, since tackling buses and the train is still scary for her. That was now out of the question. I hated to leave her isolated, and unvisited, in New Jersey for however long it takes before I can go to her, so I asked her to come spend a couple of nights here. I said I would get one of my sons or their wives to pick her up and take her home. Not a problem: her semi-estranged husband said he would drive her. (Jay drives for Uber and Lyft anyway: the first job he's ever had he really liked and was good at. Too bad he had to wait until his mid-70s to discover it.)
Debbie is really my little sister: seven years younger and six inches shorter.
I am in my pajamas; she is not.
We didn't do anything exciting, given our relative infirmities: we watched movies on my big ass TV (thank you, Alan, who up-sold me from the smaller TV I would have bought on my own), talked, and ate. Having company certainly made it easier for me to ignore all the things I coulda, shoulda done in my apartment and spend hours with that foot elevated. By the time Jay picked her up early Friday morning, I could see definite progress and healing had occurred. Why, when I get up in the morning now, I can actually see bones in my foot! A few hours later, when the swelling has increased, not so much, but even a glimpse of bone structure is exciting.
I had a long-standing date to go out to dinner with my middle son, Alan, and his partner, Olga, for dinner, using the generous gift card they presented me with at Hanukkah. I had to call off our meal the Saturday night after my accident, but by the time Debbie left for home, I felt brave enough...and had enough cabin fever...to venture out. The excursion was a mixed success.
The meal itself was a pleasure. The restaurant...Del Frisco's Double Eagle Steakhouse at Chestnut Street and 15th...is housed in an old bank, built when banks were palatial, the service was impeccable, and the food was, I thought, amazing. Olga and I split an order of filet mignon medallions and an order of seared tuna: both delicious. Our orders was large enough that I have a left-over medallion and some mashed potatoes for my dinner tonight. Alan, of course, found the seasoning on his filet mignon too salty. He is notoriously picky, but managed to eat most of his very large portion before beginning to complain. Typical.
Aside from the meal, however, the excursion was an eye-opener. I am not yet ready for prime time. The center city crowds and the uneven sidewalks were scary, and the walks to and from my building to Alan's car had a few heart-stopping moments. Despite the fact that the paving in front of my building is smooth and regular, navigating it on my own was frightening. Nothing to hang on to. Next time I'll ask my chauffeur to escort me between the door and the car. FanSee
For the first week, 27 February through 6 March, I didn't see any progress. Even though I felt something wrong with the foot with every step, I was never in a great deal of pain. I mostly felt, Keep away from my damn foot or I will scream and assault you. That was never necessary. I stayed safely at home.
My sister, Debbie, is recovering from a major operation to...wait for it...her left foot. Her problem is much more serious than mine: her recovery is in its seventh month. Which of us is more mobile is a question, but I tend to think she can hobble farther than I can totter. At any rate, I have been visiting her every week, since tackling buses and the train is still scary for her. That was now out of the question. I hated to leave her isolated, and unvisited, in New Jersey for however long it takes before I can go to her, so I asked her to come spend a couple of nights here. I said I would get one of my sons or their wives to pick her up and take her home. Not a problem: her semi-estranged husband said he would drive her. (Jay drives for Uber and Lyft anyway: the first job he's ever had he really liked and was good at. Too bad he had to wait until his mid-70s to discover it.)
Debbie is really my little sister: seven years younger and six inches shorter.
I am in my pajamas; she is not.
We didn't do anything exciting, given our relative infirmities: we watched movies on my big ass TV (thank you, Alan, who up-sold me from the smaller TV I would have bought on my own), talked, and ate. Having company certainly made it easier for me to ignore all the things I coulda, shoulda done in my apartment and spend hours with that foot elevated. By the time Jay picked her up early Friday morning, I could see definite progress and healing had occurred. Why, when I get up in the morning now, I can actually see bones in my foot! A few hours later, when the swelling has increased, not so much, but even a glimpse of bone structure is exciting.
I had a long-standing date to go out to dinner with my middle son, Alan, and his partner, Olga, for dinner, using the generous gift card they presented me with at Hanukkah. I had to call off our meal the Saturday night after my accident, but by the time Debbie left for home, I felt brave enough...and had enough cabin fever...to venture out. The excursion was a mixed success.
The meal itself was a pleasure. The restaurant...Del Frisco's Double Eagle Steakhouse at Chestnut Street and 15th...is housed in an old bank, built when banks were palatial, the service was impeccable, and the food was, I thought, amazing. Olga and I split an order of filet mignon medallions and an order of seared tuna: both delicious. Our orders was large enough that I have a left-over medallion and some mashed potatoes for my dinner tonight. Alan, of course, found the seasoning on his filet mignon too salty. He is notoriously picky, but managed to eat most of his very large portion before beginning to complain. Typical.
Aside from the meal, however, the excursion was an eye-opener. I am not yet ready for prime time. The center city crowds and the uneven sidewalks were scary, and the walks to and from my building to Alan's car had a few heart-stopping moments. Despite the fact that the paving in front of my building is smooth and regular, navigating it on my own was frightening. Nothing to hang on to. Next time I'll ask my chauffeur to escort me between the door and the car. FanSee