Slip-sliding away
On January 1st, I went to a fabulous Hair of the Dog party hosted by a friend who knows all about food. I left behind me when David and I went home a backpack containing his slippers, my shoes, the pillboxes with my medication in them, and various items like an umbrella, some spare underwear, a hairbrush, and emergency candy in case the metformin is too effective.
On Tuesday the temperature warmed out of the single digits below zero F to an amazing 12 degrees above it, so I put on a lot of layers and went over to retrieve my pack. When I left there was a nasty wind. The sidewalks were mostly clear, with patches of ice here and there that had resisted residents' attempts to remove them. It was easy to walk safely. Larry's house is not far from us at all, but it's not readily accessible by one bus. In other weather I'd have taken the nearest bus and walked half a mile at the far end. But it was really not very pleasant. So I had looked up the bus times, and I caught a 23 to Bryant Avenue and then picked up a number 4, which deposited me one and a half short blocks from Larry's. Larry gave me back my backpack, a round of goat cheese I'd forgotten was in there but that he had fortunately found when looking for some identification of the owner, and the leftover goatsmilk butter from the party.
I was there for five minutes at the most, but when I came out it was snowing furiously, mostly sideways. The final result of this meteorological drama was that there was too little snow to even shovel. But there was enough to cover the sidewalks, clear patches and icy ones together, in a uniform layer of white. I was careful walking back to Lyndale to get the 4 bus. Lyndale was almost unrecognizable because of the snow mist, and the sky seemed so close that you could touch if it you didn't mind the wind's blowing snow up your sleeve.
The southbound 4 stops on Bryant a quarter of a block past 38th Street, while the westbound 23 stops right at the southeast corner of 38th and Bryant. I was making my way cautiously back to the intersection, since there was too much rush-hour traffic for jaywalking and it's a four-way stop there, when I saw the 23 coming along Bryant. It wasn't my 23, which wasn't due for 15 minutes; it must have been the previous one running a few minutes late. I lost my head and began to hurry. Just at the intersection I hit a patch of ice under the snow. My feet went out from under me and I landed on my butt. This in itself was fine. I was wearing a lot of layers. But while my left foot had just shot straight from under me, the right one slid and then hit a patch of dry pavement under the snow and my ankle bent sharply as I went down. It hurt a lot. I couldn't really poke it through my boot, but I moved it around, which was possible, and decided that while insulted and possibly sprained, it wasn't broken.
A woman driving west on 38th stopped her car at the stop sign and called to me, "Are you okay? Do you need a hand up?"
"I'm not sure," I replied inanely, still wriggling my foot around and thinking it over.
She pulled her car around the corner to the curb, got out, and helped me up. She was a little bit of a thing, but when it didn't work for me to get up just holding onto her hands, she bent over and got me to use her shoulders for leverage, and straightened up. My ankle was very displeased, but I was able to hobble to her car, and she gave me a ride home. I thanked her until she got uncomfortable, and then we had a conversation about winter, and exchanged first names. She saw me up the front steps and into the house, carrying my backpack, and wanted to help me upstairs, but I told her I'd just text my housemate, and we hugged one another -- I'm not sure this was very Minnesotan, but it seemed a spontaneous idea that we both had -- and then she went on her way. I wished later I'd gotten her last name because I felt like sending her flowers or something wildly extravagant but appreciative. But she didn't offer it, and asking seemed intrusive.
I took off my boots very carefully and put my coat away. Raphael came downstairs just then to put some things out for the mail carrier, and so ended up taking my pack upstairs for me. The stairs don't really have enough room for two to walk abreast, but fortunately I was able to get up them without much problem. I was starting to feel hopeful that I hadn't damaged myself much. I was once walking down a sidewalk in late spring with one of my college roommates when she suddenly fell down and sprained her ankle, and she was in much more pain and much more disabled, at once, than I was now. (When she was up and about again she took a ruler along to the offending patch of sidewalk and measured the vertical distance between one section and the next. A sixteenth of an inch was all it had taken.)
I looked up what the Mayo Clinic has to say about treating minor sprains, grabbed a small bag of frozen green beans from the freezer, and a dishtowel to wrap it in, and iced my ankle. Raphael brought me a thinner towel when I didn't feel the cold was getting through. I took the extra-plump pillow that I sometimes use to prop myself up when reading in bed and used it to elevate my foot.
When I eventually looked at the injury while getting ready for bed, there was a big swelling over the ankle bone and a kind of ghost bruise on the top of my foot, and the entire foot was somewhat swollen. It actually didn't hurt much if I didn't bump or flex it.
I dutifully iced it every three hours til bedtime, and at least began my night with that foot elevated, though I don't sleep well on my back and didn't wake up in the proper position. The cats were somewhat suspicious of the extra pillow for the first couple of nights, but last night Cassie decided to sleep on it. I haven't had to take any painkillers, though there was certainly an uncomfortable moment when Saffron trod right on the anklebone while investigating the strange pillow. And standing straight up from a low seat so that the ankle flexes is really not on. The real problem is that I keep overdoing things. I only iced it twice on Wednesday and did a marathon scooping of cat boxes, so I spent Thursday penitently icing every three hours and not walking around or going downstairs except once to feed Naomi.
It seems better day by day, but the ghost bruise is getting stronger, unsurprisingly, and there's still some swelling. However, I can get my shoe on and stump around carefully, so I feel I got off fairly easily.
Even with such a minor injury, though, I keep falling asleep every time I elevate and ice it, and my brain isn't working as well as I'd like. That's getting better, too, though. By the time I think I don't need to elevate my foot any more, the cats will be used to the extra pillow and I probably won't be able to remove it.
Hoping nobody else has been laid low by winter,
Pamela
This entry was originally posted at https://pameladean.dreamwidth.org/189048.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
On Tuesday the temperature warmed out of the single digits below zero F to an amazing 12 degrees above it, so I put on a lot of layers and went over to retrieve my pack. When I left there was a nasty wind. The sidewalks were mostly clear, with patches of ice here and there that had resisted residents' attempts to remove them. It was easy to walk safely. Larry's house is not far from us at all, but it's not readily accessible by one bus. In other weather I'd have taken the nearest bus and walked half a mile at the far end. But it was really not very pleasant. So I had looked up the bus times, and I caught a 23 to Bryant Avenue and then picked up a number 4, which deposited me one and a half short blocks from Larry's. Larry gave me back my backpack, a round of goat cheese I'd forgotten was in there but that he had fortunately found when looking for some identification of the owner, and the leftover goatsmilk butter from the party.
I was there for five minutes at the most, but when I came out it was snowing furiously, mostly sideways. The final result of this meteorological drama was that there was too little snow to even shovel. But there was enough to cover the sidewalks, clear patches and icy ones together, in a uniform layer of white. I was careful walking back to Lyndale to get the 4 bus. Lyndale was almost unrecognizable because of the snow mist, and the sky seemed so close that you could touch if it you didn't mind the wind's blowing snow up your sleeve.
The southbound 4 stops on Bryant a quarter of a block past 38th Street, while the westbound 23 stops right at the southeast corner of 38th and Bryant. I was making my way cautiously back to the intersection, since there was too much rush-hour traffic for jaywalking and it's a four-way stop there, when I saw the 23 coming along Bryant. It wasn't my 23, which wasn't due for 15 minutes; it must have been the previous one running a few minutes late. I lost my head and began to hurry. Just at the intersection I hit a patch of ice under the snow. My feet went out from under me and I landed on my butt. This in itself was fine. I was wearing a lot of layers. But while my left foot had just shot straight from under me, the right one slid and then hit a patch of dry pavement under the snow and my ankle bent sharply as I went down. It hurt a lot. I couldn't really poke it through my boot, but I moved it around, which was possible, and decided that while insulted and possibly sprained, it wasn't broken.
A woman driving west on 38th stopped her car at the stop sign and called to me, "Are you okay? Do you need a hand up?"
"I'm not sure," I replied inanely, still wriggling my foot around and thinking it over.
She pulled her car around the corner to the curb, got out, and helped me up. She was a little bit of a thing, but when it didn't work for me to get up just holding onto her hands, she bent over and got me to use her shoulders for leverage, and straightened up. My ankle was very displeased, but I was able to hobble to her car, and she gave me a ride home. I thanked her until she got uncomfortable, and then we had a conversation about winter, and exchanged first names. She saw me up the front steps and into the house, carrying my backpack, and wanted to help me upstairs, but I told her I'd just text my housemate, and we hugged one another -- I'm not sure this was very Minnesotan, but it seemed a spontaneous idea that we both had -- and then she went on her way. I wished later I'd gotten her last name because I felt like sending her flowers or something wildly extravagant but appreciative. But she didn't offer it, and asking seemed intrusive.
I took off my boots very carefully and put my coat away. Raphael came downstairs just then to put some things out for the mail carrier, and so ended up taking my pack upstairs for me. The stairs don't really have enough room for two to walk abreast, but fortunately I was able to get up them without much problem. I was starting to feel hopeful that I hadn't damaged myself much. I was once walking down a sidewalk in late spring with one of my college roommates when she suddenly fell down and sprained her ankle, and she was in much more pain and much more disabled, at once, than I was now. (When she was up and about again she took a ruler along to the offending patch of sidewalk and measured the vertical distance between one section and the next. A sixteenth of an inch was all it had taken.)
I looked up what the Mayo Clinic has to say about treating minor sprains, grabbed a small bag of frozen green beans from the freezer, and a dishtowel to wrap it in, and iced my ankle. Raphael brought me a thinner towel when I didn't feel the cold was getting through. I took the extra-plump pillow that I sometimes use to prop myself up when reading in bed and used it to elevate my foot.
When I eventually looked at the injury while getting ready for bed, there was a big swelling over the ankle bone and a kind of ghost bruise on the top of my foot, and the entire foot was somewhat swollen. It actually didn't hurt much if I didn't bump or flex it.
I dutifully iced it every three hours til bedtime, and at least began my night with that foot elevated, though I don't sleep well on my back and didn't wake up in the proper position. The cats were somewhat suspicious of the extra pillow for the first couple of nights, but last night Cassie decided to sleep on it. I haven't had to take any painkillers, though there was certainly an uncomfortable moment when Saffron trod right on the anklebone while investigating the strange pillow. And standing straight up from a low seat so that the ankle flexes is really not on. The real problem is that I keep overdoing things. I only iced it twice on Wednesday and did a marathon scooping of cat boxes, so I spent Thursday penitently icing every three hours and not walking around or going downstairs except once to feed Naomi.
It seems better day by day, but the ghost bruise is getting stronger, unsurprisingly, and there's still some swelling. However, I can get my shoe on and stump around carefully, so I feel I got off fairly easily.
Even with such a minor injury, though, I keep falling asleep every time I elevate and ice it, and my brain isn't working as well as I'd like. That's getting better, too, though. By the time I think I don't need to elevate my foot any more, the cats will be used to the extra pillow and I probably won't be able to remove it.
Hoping nobody else has been laid low by winter,
Pamela
This entry was originally posted at https://pameladean.dreamwidth.org/189048.html. Please comment there using OpenID.