Anticipating adieu to the boot

Today, I head to my orthopedic specialist for an evaluation of my ankle. I have no pain. I have taken a few steps without my boot here and there to test the foot. I now shower standing on my foot. I have mastered getting in and out of the boot. I have even modified my weight training routine so I can lift in the boot.  

But nothing beats the anticipation of thinking I might be free of my boot today. 

First though, I have to survive a trip to the dentist. This never used to be an issue, the dentist. I have good strong teeth. Four and a half years ago I had a fall, and my top teeth smashed my bottom teeth. Or vice versa. So, frequently, every trip to the dentist reveals new damage that the impact has caused over time. Cracks in my teeth enamel, which, thanks to high fluoride toothpaste are “healing.” You won’t find my in the fluoride hating camp any time soon because I have x-rays that show how my damaged teeth have improved. 

Health scares like the teeth, the boot, and the other crazy things that have happened to be in the last five years serve as a great reminder— warning I am about to embark into cliché land here—of making sure you live your life the way you want to live it. I reflect a lot during these injuries. And I really do believe that fatalists have a point: Whatever will happen is going to happen, we can’t stop it. That’s not to say you don’t have to move yourself to the place you need to be. That merely means that whatever you fear or expect usually doesn’t happen where or how you think it will.

Like the ankle.

I broke it walking near my house. I wanted a salad and there’s a restaurant a little more than a mile a way that has the biggest salads I have every seen. Earlier that day I had moved all the furniture out of my living room by myself. I went to the gym for a fitness orientation and body fat evaluation where I learned my body fat was 21.8% and I was in excellent condition. And the woman who performed the evaluation for me helped me set new weight increments and design a new routine for my winter goals. And I came home and broke my ankle.

  
I didn’t do it roller skating (which I did the week before). Roller skating certainly provides a challenge for my legs and their unwillingness to cooperate with my brain thanks to cerebral palsy. I did three laps around the skating rink. I also didn’t break my ankle at the trampoline park where I celebrated my 40th birthday a couple months prior. My friend got stuck in the foam pit though, that was funny. But no one broke anything.

I broke my ankle walking. 

I have traveled to, among other places, Tunisia, Yemen, Djibouti, and Russia. And I seriously hope to visit Somalia. Soon. 

Because I broke my ankle trying to procure a salad. I mean, really, do you think the idea of pirates scares me? I work retail. The idea of some lunatic opening fire in the front end of our store strikes me as a more likely event than the prospect of a kidnapping.

  

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