I need to make a plan before I take a step, walk with care to my destination. iPhone? Reading glasses? Book? Chapstick? I don’t want to have to backtrack. Every step hurts. While I’d like to protect my foot, it is too swollen for any footwear except my stretched out slippers. Mostly I’m barefoot, which contributed to my now swollen right foot. After hobbling to the living room, I drop my things off on the end table and take a seat. MA has filled the blue plastic basin with water and ice. I plunge my foot in and gasp – just once. Blue, the cat, comes and stares at the floating ice, takes a sip of water. It’s cleaner than rain puddles.
How many toes did I break? Two, I think. The top of my foot has an isosceles triangle of a bruise. I swish the water around. Is the bruise the same as yesterday or have the colors changed? Not sure.
How strange it feels. As my foot grows colder, my checks grow warmer and I weep. No sobs. My voice shakes when I speak.
“This is the last straw! I’m so depressed.”
“No. Don’t say you’re depressed,” I’m told.
I need to express how I feel but I don’t have to say; it. I can write it.
Yesterday, the afternoon sun was hot and blinding. I was in a hurry to pull down the shades. I rushed to the windows, barefoot, as usual these days, and slammed my toes into the leg of a chair. I let out a howl, hopped on one foot. I didn’t know my own strength – leg strength. These months of daily walks over hills and dales led to calves of iron.
I’ve had a broken toe before, was told nothing could be done so I didn’t ponder seeing a doctor.
Sitting there, an impatient patient, I had a silent word with myself.
“You are so lucky! This is temporary. Big deal. Look at the view you have while soaking your foot. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. The last straw? Or what?”
What can I learn? More patience? And I should have appreciated those daily walks more than I did. I’ll sure miss them now.