Dear Diary,

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.

Sometimes, a setback like this is best viewed with a sense of humor. In case you missed it, I took a tumble down some stairs that resulted in one broken ankle and one sprained one.

My minor issues are nothing compared to the hurdles some people scale every day, so I’m going to try to observe and learn all I can during my little respite. It’s only been nine days, but I have a few observations already.

1) You may as well leave your humility at the Orthopedic Clinic. You’ll need help getting through doors, getting into a car, or getting into the shower. Your spouse, friend or parent (maybe all three if they take turns) will be your personal “go-getter” and there is no way around it. As soon as you get propped up on the couch, you will find that whatever you need is in a different room, on a different floor, or still in the car.

2) Everything takes longer – much longer – than normal. Add 30 minutes on to your morning routine, longer if you have to negotiate stairs or deal with pets. If you are a multi-tasker, your life will be shattered. Making coffee is  suddenly a complicated process - resign yourself to drinking it while sitting right in front of the coffee maker. Crutches don’t come with cup holders.  Do you need to go to the potty? LEAVE RIGHT NOW. Choosing something to wear is a bit easier when your wardrobe is suddenly reduced to items that fit over the cast (in my case, three sundresses and two pair of yoga capri pants), but getting those items in the laundry is yet another task my poor overworked husband has to do.

3) You will be amazed how many times a day you hit your foot, toe or leg. I’m not even counting stubbing your toe, or kicking a chair leg. Dragging your foot on the carpet or accidentally kicking a pillow will still send shooting pains up your leg. The weight of the duvet will make your toes throb in the middle of the night, and then those same toes will freeze when you kick off the covers.

4) Keep a note pad handy. I’ve discovered six redecorating and cleaning tasks in my living room alone (I have some free time to spend staring at walls). You might want to keep a blog to record some thoughts because you’ll probably never have this much quality “alone” time again.

5) Four to six weeks is a daunting amount of home-bound down time to someone who is usually busy “doing”. I’m worried about my brain melting and my backside spreading. I’ve always hated daytime TV, but I’ve suddenly started to care about Hoda and Kathie Lee. I talk back to the newscasters, particularly the weatherman. And just how many episodes are there of “Say Yes To The Dress? I now have online classes scheduled and books to read, but Netflix is quickly becoming an obsession. On the upside, did you know there was a YouTube channel to help you exercise while wearing a cast?