All you nagging commenters were right; also incidental adventures
On Monday I called the nurse-advice line associated with my health insurance and described the history of my injured ankle. The nurse said I should be seen by a medical professional who could decide if I needed an X-ray. I hadn't gotten around to the call very early in the day and then they had to call me back, so my clinic was closed by then. I slept poorly and finally got up at 8:30, fed the cats early, and called my clinic. They have same-day appointments and offered me either 10:40 or 2:30. I took the second, naturally,
Pat who is not on DW and I have a writing date on Tuesdays, unless we don't. We'd missed a couple of days during the holiday chaos, but had agreed to meet today. When apprised of the appointment, she asked where my clinic was and then said she could drive me there after we had lunch. She picked me up at 12:30 and we went off to our usual haunt, the Uptown branch of Pizza Luce. This establishment presented an alarming face to the world. The parking lot was full of trucks and vans and a kind of tank truck. We parked on the street and approached a couple of Pizza Luce employees who were having a smoke in the back, and they told us that they were closed because a pipe had burst, but they'd be open again tomorrow. We wished one another joy of the lovely weather, and Pat and I got back into the car and tried to salvage our plans. Pat started heading for Patisserie 46, a wonderful place but sometimes a bit short of food for me. I suggested that Blackbird was closer to the clinic. She dropped me off in front and then had to range around finding parking, but eventually we were seated in the tiny booth in the very back. We'd given up on the idea of a writing date because our time was too short by then, but we had a very nice lunch. They are still serving breakfast at 12:50, so I got a tofu scramble with gigantic pieces of broccoli and a lot of spinach and hash-browns. The server also asked me if I'd like a side of avocado, and of course I would, but it turned out to be an entire avocado half. After a highly physiological conversation about aging, exercise, and bone repair, we repaired to the clinic. I thanked Pat fervently and went in.
The doctor who saw me was very pleasant and somewhat stunningly cute. He poked at my ankle and said that he would call it a bad sprain, with no need for an X-ray, but that if I wanted one for absolute assurance, he'd send me downstairs. At this point I felt I was all in, so I said I'd like the X-ray. He said for the sprain he'd recommend an Ace bandage followed by physical therapy. When I went back upstairs a couple of medical assistants showed me how to put on an Ace bandage, and I put my sock and shoe back over it and left. This was a mistake. They hadn't told me what would happen next, but they also hadn't given me the usual papers you get before leaving.
About five minutes after I got home one of them called to say that I actually had a small fracture on the outside part of my foot, and the doctor thought I needed a walking boot. Could I come back for it? It was 4:04; the clinic closes at 5:00. I rushed about cursing loudly and getting ready to go out and get back on a bus; but Raphael, who was also rushing about finishing up some work, told me that it would be possible to give me a ride. We got there at 4:37. I had a short wait during which a lot of people left, but then the other medical assistant called me in and showed me how to put on and adjust the boot. She said I should wear it during the day for two weeks, but not sleep in it.
It looks like a giant robot foot. It's gray and square and just enormous. I was told I shouldn't wear a sock with it because wrinkles could cause problems. However, the instructions say primly, "Comfort may be increased by wearing a cotton or cast sock. (NOT INCLUDED.)" Gosh, thanks so much, manufacturer of giant robot boots. That's so helpful. I have ordered a cast sock online. I regret to say that it does not appear to contain the cast of Hamlet, or Slings and Arrows, or Noises Off, or Arcadia. False advertising, I say. It will be here Friday.
I complained bitterly about the boot, which felt awful, all the way home. I adjusted it a couple of times and it wasn't quite so dire, but the thought of clumping around in it for two weeks was and is depressing. I told Raphael that while the stated purpose was to immobilize the injury, the obvious real purpose was to be too cumbersome for me to walk around in.
Cassie does not like the boot. She got down on her belly when she saw it and slunk backwards as I walked towards her. Saffron failed to note it at first, until she tried to walk past me, when she started and skittered by in a big hurry. She later sniffed it thoroughly and decided that it wasn't dangerous. Cassie is now sanguine about it if it's just sitting or standing about, but if I move towards her she starts going in figure eights. She really wants to be a pace cat and walk very slowly in front of me, but she has to keep checking on the boot.
I am sincerely grateful to everybody in the comments who told me to see a doctor and get an X-ray. However, I hate this damn boot. I've taken it off twice, lying about with my foot up for half an hour until the horror faded, and then putting it back on. This time the adjustment is much better. But it's still enormous and, in my opinion, likely to trip me if I try to move much. My mother asked me if I remembered the time my middle brother had to wear a plaster cast for eight weeks at the height of summer -- he got his leg caught in the wheel of his tricycle when he was three, and had to learn to walk a second time when the cast finally came off. It stank to heaven, much like Claudius's deeds. I am glad I don't have one of those. And I'm glad it's not summer, or any part of hiking season. But this boot. Ugh.
Pamela
This entry was originally posted at https://pameladean.dreamwidth.org/189259.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Pat who is not on DW and I have a writing date on Tuesdays, unless we don't. We'd missed a couple of days during the holiday chaos, but had agreed to meet today. When apprised of the appointment, she asked where my clinic was and then said she could drive me there after we had lunch. She picked me up at 12:30 and we went off to our usual haunt, the Uptown branch of Pizza Luce. This establishment presented an alarming face to the world. The parking lot was full of trucks and vans and a kind of tank truck. We parked on the street and approached a couple of Pizza Luce employees who were having a smoke in the back, and they told us that they were closed because a pipe had burst, but they'd be open again tomorrow. We wished one another joy of the lovely weather, and Pat and I got back into the car and tried to salvage our plans. Pat started heading for Patisserie 46, a wonderful place but sometimes a bit short of food for me. I suggested that Blackbird was closer to the clinic. She dropped me off in front and then had to range around finding parking, but eventually we were seated in the tiny booth in the very back. We'd given up on the idea of a writing date because our time was too short by then, but we had a very nice lunch. They are still serving breakfast at 12:50, so I got a tofu scramble with gigantic pieces of broccoli and a lot of spinach and hash-browns. The server also asked me if I'd like a side of avocado, and of course I would, but it turned out to be an entire avocado half. After a highly physiological conversation about aging, exercise, and bone repair, we repaired to the clinic. I thanked Pat fervently and went in.
The doctor who saw me was very pleasant and somewhat stunningly cute. He poked at my ankle and said that he would call it a bad sprain, with no need for an X-ray, but that if I wanted one for absolute assurance, he'd send me downstairs. At this point I felt I was all in, so I said I'd like the X-ray. He said for the sprain he'd recommend an Ace bandage followed by physical therapy. When I went back upstairs a couple of medical assistants showed me how to put on an Ace bandage, and I put my sock and shoe back over it and left. This was a mistake. They hadn't told me what would happen next, but they also hadn't given me the usual papers you get before leaving.
About five minutes after I got home one of them called to say that I actually had a small fracture on the outside part of my foot, and the doctor thought I needed a walking boot. Could I come back for it? It was 4:04; the clinic closes at 5:00. I rushed about cursing loudly and getting ready to go out and get back on a bus; but Raphael, who was also rushing about finishing up some work, told me that it would be possible to give me a ride. We got there at 4:37. I had a short wait during which a lot of people left, but then the other medical assistant called me in and showed me how to put on and adjust the boot. She said I should wear it during the day for two weeks, but not sleep in it.
It looks like a giant robot foot. It's gray and square and just enormous. I was told I shouldn't wear a sock with it because wrinkles could cause problems. However, the instructions say primly, "Comfort may be increased by wearing a cotton or cast sock. (NOT INCLUDED.)" Gosh, thanks so much, manufacturer of giant robot boots. That's so helpful. I have ordered a cast sock online. I regret to say that it does not appear to contain the cast of Hamlet, or Slings and Arrows, or Noises Off, or Arcadia. False advertising, I say. It will be here Friday.
I complained bitterly about the boot, which felt awful, all the way home. I adjusted it a couple of times and it wasn't quite so dire, but the thought of clumping around in it for two weeks was and is depressing. I told Raphael that while the stated purpose was to immobilize the injury, the obvious real purpose was to be too cumbersome for me to walk around in.
Cassie does not like the boot. She got down on her belly when she saw it and slunk backwards as I walked towards her. Saffron failed to note it at first, until she tried to walk past me, when she started and skittered by in a big hurry. She later sniffed it thoroughly and decided that it wasn't dangerous. Cassie is now sanguine about it if it's just sitting or standing about, but if I move towards her she starts going in figure eights. She really wants to be a pace cat and walk very slowly in front of me, but she has to keep checking on the boot.
I am sincerely grateful to everybody in the comments who told me to see a doctor and get an X-ray. However, I hate this damn boot. I've taken it off twice, lying about with my foot up for half an hour until the horror faded, and then putting it back on. This time the adjustment is much better. But it's still enormous and, in my opinion, likely to trip me if I try to move much. My mother asked me if I remembered the time my middle brother had to wear a plaster cast for eight weeks at the height of summer -- he got his leg caught in the wheel of his tricycle when he was three, and had to learn to walk a second time when the cast finally came off. It stank to heaven, much like Claudius's deeds. I am glad I don't have one of those. And I'm glad it's not summer, or any part of hiking season. But this boot. Ugh.
Pamela
This entry was originally posted at https://pameladean.dreamwidth.org/189259.html. Please comment there using OpenID.