MFA Monday: The Girl With the Broken Foot

Doesn't that thing look nifty? If someone just handed me a picture I might be tempted to say, "Cool ski boot! Let's hit the slopes!"

Sadly, it's not a ski boot.

And sadly, it's mine.

Last week, I broke my foot. In the afternoon I was running all over town towing my kids to choir practice and running errands; in the evening I was running up and down the bleachers at my son's middle school for his annual Christmas band concert; and at night I was sprawled out, half in the house and half out in the 12-degree cold screaming in pain while the puppy ran laps around me.

I stepped out into the dark on the stick he'd brought me to throw for him. I wish I had a better story than this, but it's all I've got. I broke my foot stepping on a stick at eleven o'clock at night.

You'd think the thoughts that filled my head while I lay writhing across the doorframe would have been along the lines of: "How am I going to finish Christmas shopping?" "How am I going to fix Christmas dinner for 13 people?" "How am I going to make it to the Army Navy game in Philadelphia in two days?" "How am I going to manage to get three kids around for school for the next two weeks?"

But no. My first thought was, "Crap. In three weeks I leave for the first residency of my grad school experience and I'm going to have a stinkin' cast on my foot and forever I'll be known as the girl who broke her foot on a stick."

Face it, first impressions are long-lasting. They last a lot longer than broken bones. I'll show up in June to the residency all put together and SOMEONE will say, "Oh yeah - I remember you. Aren't you the one who broke her foot?"

Also, I'm concerned enough about the new airport security. I've heard horror stories of people trying to get their insulin pumps through lately, and add to that crutches and a cast.... and let's not even go to the imagination place where I'm trying to drag my luggage for ten days through the airport with a cast and crutches. It's not a pretty thought.

The good news is that after four days of heavy resting, icing, and drugs, I can now walk without the crutches. And I recently bought a pair of boot-cut jeans that fit very well over the boot, so all you can see is the bottom of them. And if all goes well, I might actually be able to wear regular shoes by the time I leave. 

You can guarantee if I can squeeze that purple foot into a pair of regular shoes by the time I go to the airport, I'll be doing it.

But I still probably won't be hitting the ski slopes any time soon, and that really is a bummer.