I was walking. I had put Allie’s swim clothes in the washer in the mud room, and I turned around to go back into the kitchen. All of a sudden, I was sitting on the floor in excruciating pain. My best guess is that I somehow miss-stepped and instead of using the bottom of my foot like most people, I stepped on the top of my foot. I realize this implies that it was my own weight that caused two bones in my foot to break. Believe me, if there was another way to tell it, I would.
Anyway, as I was sitting on the floor in tears because of the pain, Chris was on the phone and the girls were running around gleefully. Allie stopped her gleeful running long enough to say, “Why are you sitting on the floor, Mommy?”
I told her I hurt my foot, to which she replied, “Oh,” and continued running around like a crazy girl. A few minutes later she stopped in the doorway again. “Mommy? Why are you still sitting there?”
It was at this point that I decided Chris wasn’t going to get off the phone anytime soon, and that I would receive little sympathy from my daughters. I crawled to the couch and asked Allison to bring me a bag of ice.
Only I should have been more specific because about ten minutes later she arrived proudly holding a gallon ziplock with two lonely pieces of ice inside. By this time, I had done some research on my phone and found that the urgent care center near our house was open for just 30 more minutes.
Chris got off the phone and found me in a whole lot of pain on the couch. I told him the happy news about still being able to make it to urgent care if we hurried. He looked at my foot and said, “Are you sure we should just rush right in? Why don’t we wait until the morning?”
I would have kicked him except I was in too much pain. Instead, I crawled up the stairs, took a couple of Advil, and begged for more ice.
The next morning, Chris stayed home from work to watch the girls, and a good friend of mine took me to urgent care. I told her she could just drop me off, but sweet girl that she is, she insisted on staying. Three hours later, after urgent care, x-rays, and orthopedics, it was confirmed that I had fractured my 3rd and 4th metatarsals, and I was given a walking ‘boot’ to wear for the next six weeks. The doctor said that I could walk on my heel, swim, and ride a recumbent bike if it was tolerable. It definitely could have been worse.
I might have scoffed at the idea of swimming or using a recumbent bike except for the fact that I had joined a gym a month earlier. I didn’t want to waste the money I paid for the membership, so I packed my wildly unattractive swim suit and headed to Gold’s Gym.
After 20 minutes on the bike (which is harder than you’d think for a machine that keeps you in the exact same position you’d be in if you were on the couch with your feet on the coffee table), I checked out the pool schedule. Water aerobics was starting in just 5 minutes.
I had planned on swimming laps, though I use the term ‘swimming’ loosely. I can’t really swim in the sense that I use alternate arm strokes while keeping my face mostly under water except for taking breaths. I swim more in the sense that I can be in water that is over my head without drowning. I do this weird modified breast stroke where my head is always above water and I kick both my feet out at the same time. I imagine I look like a large frog, only more awkward and, well, less green.
I figured water aerobics couldn’t be any worse than that, and it might even be better. I joined about 30 others in the pool. As anyone who has witnessed a water aerobics class may guess, I was the youngest by about 40 years. Also, I had the perkiest boobs, a title I certainly couldn’t claim in the larger gym population. Score.
The class was really pretty fun, and at times, even strenuous. The truly fabulous part was that due to the acoustics in the pool area, I couldn’t understand a word the instructor was saying. I’m pretty sure everyone else, whose ears were 40 years older than mine, couldn’t hear anything either. So for the whole hour, we all just sort of flailed our arms and legs about in our closest approximation of the instructors’ demonstrations. It was such a hoot that I may even continue to attend the classes after my foot as healed.
Speaking of things I may continue to do after my foot has healed: I LOVE my walking boot. At first I thought it was really uncomfortable, but it turns out that it just felt uncomfortable because walking on a broken foot hurts. Go figure.
As my fractures have begun to heal, I’ve come to adore my boot. Around the home, I wear my boot on my right foot and an Eddie Bauer ‘wicked good clog‘ on my left, and I have to admit, the boot gives the clog a run for it’s money. It is just so spacious, what with it’s velcro straps and all. Also, it extends a good inch and a half past my foot, which means it has saved me, on several occasions, from stubbing my toe on the kitchen island. What more could one ask for in footwear?!?
I’m thinking of ordering another for my left foot. Of course, after the overalls incident of 2003, the fashion police probably won’t allow it.
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