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 It’s
been six weeks since I broke my ankle. The first air cast walking
boot they gave me at Urgent Care was humungous. I believe Sasquatch
could have worn it and been comfortable. It jutted out inches beyond
my toes and reached my knee. It was as if I had broken my entire
leg. That doctor instructed me to not take the cast off except to
shower. Yes…. I wore the dang thing to bed. I. Hated. It.
Putting a pillowcase over it, I tied it with a lovely ribbon or a
piece of twine depending on my specific mood of the night. Usually,
it was the twine as I was growly by the time I limped and lugged the
dang thing all day. Somehow the plain, ugliness of the twine matched
my disposition. Upon going to an orthopedic doctor and more x-rays,
I was told it would be six weeks in the boot or perhaps longer
(because of my age). Bah Humbug. What’s so special about our Golden
Years?
The good doctor proceeded to poke and prod as he examined my
swollen, technicolored foot. He asked if I had any questions. I
pleaded with him to get me a smaller boot…..without being charged
for the first awe-inspiring, massive yet too massive boot. He
assured me he could do that. I did get the desired diminutive boot.
I am ready to do battle if my bill comes and shows two of these
horrid things.
Doctor asked if I wanted to keep the first boot. I told him I did
not but had only worn it a few days so could I donate it somewhere?
He informed me schools will accept air boots for their athletic
departments. They keep them on hand for any injuries that happen
while the students are on the field, court, venue or arena. They
will slip one of these on the player that is hurt till they get him
or her to a hospital or medical care. I thought this a brilliant
solution and eagerly donated said boot to the next inept, yet huge,
victim.
Upon trying to learn to walk in the darn thing, the first thing I
thought was that I looked like a “Star Wars” Storm Trooper. There is
not a dainty or feminine way to promenade with that thing velcroid
to your appendage. It’s a defining stomp or nothing. Somebody get
busy and invent something better. Please! I can’t believe it’s 2025
and we are still wearing these dumb things. Improve air boot casts
and TED hose and you will be a multi-millionaire.
The goofy thing has, of course, a higher sole than any shoe you may
have. That makes for a mighty limp and resounding sound as one goes
about their business. My dog and cats are forever running from that
thing that engulfs Mom’s foot and makes her walk differently. It’s
positively pitiful watching them run from me. I can’t realistically
run after them, plus if I tried it made my walking louder and scared
them more.
Vacuuming was a real trip. Literally. Hard to balance. I used a
walker at first, then a cane. I thought the vacuum would be a piece
of cake. Not so much. A close friend took me to Target and bought a
newer lightweight one. I actually practiced using it in the aisle.
Some of the models were too much for me and my new adorned foot.
Note to you……if you see people vacuuming in a store aisle, please
don’t judge them insane. There may be a practical reason for taking
down the show models and sashaying down the corridors.
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Having accomplished that, I proudly went on to use my handy dandy
floor scrubber. I have a Bissell model that I love. It’s kind of
like a Swiffer with two pads and a motor on it. It’s just the right
weight and does a good job. Having used it for a long time, I took
no precautions as I started scrubbing the floor. I. Chose. Unwisely.
In a matter of seconds, my boot slipped on the spray from the
machine, making me twirl like a top. The cord wrapped around me like
a burrito with the contraption. So, there I stood, in the middle of
the laundry room, surveying my predicament. The floor was wet,
making it difficult for me to walk. I was bound tightly and had no
idea how to get to the outlet to unplug myself. The dog is barking
hysterically, one cat’s caterwauling, and the other cat made a rapid
retreat upstairs. Assessing my situation, I promised myself …upon
rescue….to buy one of those old lady thingamabobs that can call 911.
I pondered if I could get to the phone, how would I articulate my
conundrum. Had I been taken hostage by a hostile house appliance?
But I digress.
I waddled and tottered and toddled until I got the plug to come out
of the socket. Then held the sweeper/mop like a crutch and made it
to the nearest chair. There I rested and gathered my wits about me.
I untangled myself, deemed not to mop with this slippery boot ever
again and regaled myself and my homestead for injuries. Heavy sigh.
Why does life have to be so hard?
Another plea for those making a fortune on designing a new cast
boot. Make it so the sole isn’t slippery, and one can get a bit of
traction. Sheesh!
My new doctor told me I could sleep without the boot. Praise God!
The problem is that my cat, Fergie, knows Mom has a booboo on that
foot. He wants to knead it and sleep on it to comfort me. It’s not
comforting.
Six weeks later, I'm wearing high-top leather boots. We called them
clodhoppers when we were young. I’m in heaven.
“Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you respond to that.”
Pastor Charles R. Swindoll.
L. Maxine McQueen may be contacted at
maxmac.1@juno.com
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