Groundhog month

Since the doctor saw a shadow on my X-ray, I’m due for another six weeks of crutches.

I should be walking normally by June, they chuckled. (Actually, they were really nice and sympathetic, but I’ll go mad if I can’t make someone the villain in this story.)

This is unacceptable. I have a three-year-old hellion who never stops moving, a sick cat, a paper due, four thousand library books due on campus and no way to park within a mile of the drop slot, a novel that’s so close to being done that I can taste it, a potential move, two trips involving air travel, a filthy house, an unbearable urge to go running, and an overdeveloped case of liberal guilt pulling me to volunteer seven days a week to deal with this month.

Can’t you freaking take these feet off and give me stronger models?

And while you’re at it, fit my kid for new hands. He’s been asking and I figure it’ll be like an early birthday present.

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5 thoughts on “Groundhog month

  1. I don’t think I’d “met” you when the original injury happened…did you blog about it here? I did notice in an earlier post that you said crutches…can you tell us what’s going on? In any case, I’m sorry that you got that news today. Much empathy…I spent a few months on crutches this past year and found it incredibly hard!

  2. Just popping back by to say I hope things are calming down a little! Couldn’t get your list out of my mind today…my goodness, you’re busy and I’m so sorry you have to stay on the crutches. (((((Hug)))))

    • Oh, outsidevoice and faemom, you’re the grooviest.
      re: your query, outside—stress fracture in late October, which I finally saw a doctor for in mid-November. Luckily, it’s in my foot, I said, so I can put some weight on it (three previous fractures to hip were tougher because sitting and standing both hurt). I don’t mind too much, since Peanut is mobile and really listens well (doesn’t run off, stays close when necessary, doesn’t take flying headers off the couch onto my foot, etc.) so we’re okay there. It’s just hard not to be able to carry him when he’s tired or lovey. No worries. Another two or three months and all will be well, right? Besides, it’s just the same malicious gods who got a whiff of my need to plan and control, and who have been throwing me curve balls ever since.

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