Out but not down
By By Melissa Cason
Wednesday morning I was affixed with a new accessory to my wardrobe.
It's black, has Velcro buckles all up the front and weighs about as much as a Jack-O-Lantern.
In the last several months, it's become a familiar friend – my walking boot.
I write this column from the comfort of my home, confined to the couch with my throbbing, no-longer-broken foot propped up on a pillow.
Wednesday, I underwent minor surgery – if there is such a thing – to repair the bone I broke several months ago.
Milk may do a body good, but after chugging gallons of it with the hopes to avoid surgery, I found out it was too little too late.
Think back to when you were a child and had a dentist appointment. What's the last thing you would do before hoping in the car to go to his office?
Brush your teeth, right?
As if the dentist wouldn't notice your lack of brushing and flossing if you gave it one thorough brushing right before you walk through the door.
I've never been much of a milk drinker but after breaking my foot and surgery became an option, I became quite familiar with the dairy aisle.
My doctor's reaction was much like my dentist's: Nice try.
As you read this, I've still got about another three days before I'm "cleared to walk."
That's the medical term for able to get up off the couch.
I'll have to spend a few more weeks in my luxurious boot, which means I'll get to hang on to my new nicknames at least through Halloween.
I've heard "hop along" more than I can recall. "Peg leg" has been a popular one as of late, and my co-workers have already decided that if at least one piece of metal is implanted into my foot to assist the bone in healing, they'll call me "the Bionic Woman."
I can see that one lasting for a while.
Hopefully, my foot saga is coming to a close.
One day, in the not-too-distant future, maybe I can put my boot in the back of my closet where it will never see the light of day again.
But, maybe – just maybe – I'll bring it out each Halloween to become my alter-ego, the Bionic Woman.
