Day Five (in the Broken Foot House). And I am still unable to put my foot to the floor or even move it much without squeaking. This situation is currently causing me to be sulky and stroppy and behave in the manner of a three year old.
How is it possible that I can stumble and fall on Tuesday evening, and at Sunday lunchtime still be in a position where I am planning down to every miniscule detail how I am going to manage to wash my hair and be clean and presentable enough to leave the house for our church carol service this afternoon?
It is a very steep learning curve to acceptance when all your plans are turned upside down like this! Part of me still thinks I’ll be walking about by the middle of next week. That’s the same part of me that thought, on Tuesday evening, that I’d be back to work by the end of this week, and perfectly okay by today. Bah!
Maybe the fracture clinic tomorrow afternoon will give me some concrete information and help me come to terms with what the next few weeks will hold. I am not enjoying this feeling of being in limbo at all.
I keep thinking about the different aspects of Christmas that are going to be affected by this. The whole hiding-and-wrapping-and-stashing of presents. The filling of stockings on Christmas Eve. I fear that One is going to have to be my elf (and indeed she has offered) – but what about her presents? She may be a mature and sensible 15 and a half but she needs some surprises too! What about Christmas Day itself? We were planning to go round to Mum’s house (and take roast potatoes with us). If Mum comes here instead, lovely, but the prospect of cooking seems impossible in my current state! I’m hoping by then I’ll have a little bit more mobility. We’ll work it all out and it will be fine, I know, but I want this to be a true record of my grumbles and worries and fears.
This is my blog, so please allow me this moment of whinging. In a minute I’ll pick up my knitting and do another row of scarf. And find my sense of humour and perspective again.