Day ten of “summer of cast” started out poorly.
First of all, I turned off the alarm at 8:25am and rolled over for a few more zzzs because I slept fitfully last night with some leg pain. Wriggly and Zip decided to join me for a few minutes and took up their usual spots under my arm and behind my knee - which means I can’t turn over or get out of bed without persuading them to move. I finally pushed them out of the way and wiggled over to the side of the bed only to discover it was now 10:25am. Jeez.
I went through my routine of getting my good foot into a brace, and a walking shoe onto my cast, then got the crutches and eased up for the walk to the bathroom, which takes a few minutes as my body remembers how to deal with my cast, sore foot, crutches and bruised palms (from the crutches). Avoiding mirrors is best during this time. I rummaged through my three possible (and clean) wardrobe choices that will fit over my cast, then chose the easiest (closest) item – a sundress, and balanced on one foot while I pulled it over my head. This was complicated by stopping in the middle to also pull on a sports bra, which, I know, doesn’t exactly look great under the dress but does make me feel more “officially dressed” for the day. My “good” leg wobbled a little but didn’t let me down.
I crutched it over to the sink and did the usual morning routine – moisturizer, deodorant, toothpaste, then sat down on the stool to put in my contacts. My heart jumped a little when I half dropped the contact case and lost my right contact for a moment. I sat there, staring at the case, the vanity top, the washcloth near the sink – it had disappeared into thin air. I slowly examined everything again, and while turning over the case (which I was still holding), I found it – stuck to the bottom. Aha! I pinched it between my finger and thumb and reached for the bottle of solution. Apparently, this contact wasn’t satisfied with its unsuccessful attempt at freedom, so it flung itself in the air (I swear this happened). I actually sat there, staring at my finger for a minute, trying to make sense of what had just occurred. On an ordinary day, I would carefully get down on the floor and look for this little bit of what can only be described as wet saran wrap. This cast kinda (really) inhibits my mobility these days, so that option was out. I had to grab my glasses and just start scanning the floor, my lap, the stool, the cabinet – trying for a glimpse of any little drop. I resorted to just scraping my finger along the floor – and there it was, now sporting a few dog hairs but nevertheless good to go after a good rinse.
I grabbed my tote bag and loaded it up with items I thought I might need during the day. Getting up and down the stairs is not something you want to attempt often with this cast. It involves bumping down stair by stair on my butt, with my crutches tied in a bundle next to me, pulling the tote bag. Not pretty – and best tackled alone, since the stairs are steep and narrow. Plus, these stairs are the “scene of the crime” that resulted in my journey through Summer of Cast, so I like to avoid them.
I had come up with the idea that washing my hair would be easier in the kitchen sink than trying to stand on one foot, blinded by shampoo, in the shower. I have a tall stool and a nozzle at that sink, so it seems logical (maybe I’m desperate after five days without a shampoo). Shampoo, conditioner, shine spray, the hair dryer, a turban, a towel, a brush all go into the tote bag. Now I had a ten pound tote bag tied to my left crutch and two dogs that are excited to finally go downstairs. We all juggled for position at the top of the stairs – why is it that the same dogs that refuse to come when called also refuse to leave your side when you want them to? I tied my crutches together, lowered the tote bag down about three stairs, and start ed bumping my way to the bottom. Getting down takes some time since I have to stop every few stairs to reposition the crutches and the tote bag. Half way down, I realized I was getting quite a carpet burn on my butt (not typical) and it dawned on me that I had forgotten one important piece of my wardrobe for the day. I contemplated reversing course, but I was already starting to feel fatigue in my good leg. To complicate matters, my phone starts ringing, so I have to dig it out of my sports bra (the only place I could stash it).
“Hi Sugarpop, how is your day going?” My husband has started an endearing habit of calling to check up on me while I’m homebound. I hesitated to go over my entire morning thus far, so I just blurt it out…
“I’m halfway down the stairs, I need coffee, and I forgot to put on any panties!”
I’ve read all kinds of articles in Glamour and Cosmo about keeping the flame alive by sharing little intimate secrets with your husband, like picking an unexpected time to tell him you aren't wearing underwear.
This was not what they had it mind.
I heard the hesitation in my husband’s voice as he tried to digest the sentence he had just heard. To his credit, he recognized the frustration in my voice and just soldiered on. “Oh, no, honey. Do you really need them today? Are you going to be OK?”
Well, that deflated me in a hurry. I felt a little foolish letting a short but challenging journey get me so flustered. I held the phone out a second before telling him that yes, I was going to be fine today.
After we hung up, I gathered up my stuff and continued bumping down the stairs, making a mental note to stash some extra underwear in my tote bag for emergency use. At the bottom of the stairs, I paused a bit before untying my crutches and I stole a quick glance at the clock.
It was 11:40am. Dear Diary, day ten is halfway over.