Episode 2: Boot-ros Boot-ros, Golly!
After Dr. Z gave me the boot, I hobbled out of his office and limped east. My gait was awkward and halting. At this pace it seemed like it would take me forever and a day to get back to my office, so I reckoned I had time to make a few phone calls.
First I called MadDawg, because that girl knows a thing or two about getting the boot, having worn one herself fairly recently. Next up, I dialed my mother and told her my stress-fracture news. Still focused on my extreme self-consciousness about wearing the bulky boot, I was whiny and looking for sympathy.
“Are you getting enough calcium?” my mother asked.
“I eat a lot of yogurt,” I offered.
“Ok, what else?”
“Um…turkey sandwiches?”
“You really need to make sure you’re getting enough calcium.”
Right-o. Don’t correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I heard her say that it’s medically necessary for me to start consuming a lot of ice cream. Finally – some science I can get behind.
“Sorry to tell you, kid, but you’ve got my feet.”
Well, I figured as much. Each passing year brings greater awareness that I am my mother’s daughter – I’ve inherited her green eyes, her tendency to cry during sappy movies/dog food commercials, her dislike of Neil Young, and now – her fracture-prone feet.
“Maaaahhhmm!” I whined, “What am I going to do? This boot slows me down! I walk everywhere – it’s going to take me forEVER to get places!”
“You can milk this thing,” she advised, “Get help. Get people to give you rides.”
“This is New York City, Mom. No one has cars. The only people who are going to give me rides are cab drivers, and I’ll have to pay them.”
“Well, aren’t there services for the disabled?”
“I’m not disabled!” I shrieked into the phone.
The conversation was deteriorating rapidly. I took some deep breaths and let my mom try to pep-talk me back to an even keel. After we hung up, I continued the pep-talk with myself. I reminded myself of all the ways that the boot did not represent the end of the world. I reminded myself of the blessings I could identify in this situation. I thought of bigger things & grand schemes, which made this seem like a minor little stumbling block. And I reminded myself that awkwardness and embarrassing situations make great writing material, and I resolved to spill out the details here on the ol’ bloggy-blog.
And whaddya know? Me and the boot (who I’m thinking of naming “Tootsie”) went on to scale great heights that day…
The boot and I conquered 120 steps in the Bronx. How do ya like that, Dr. Z?!
[Read the rest of the Gimp Chronicles here.]
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