I am free of the plaster and stitches, an alarming and intense process. And in a boot, and out of the boot for long stretches of --- stretches. The toes are very swollen, but that's normal under these conditions. One small fracture blister, which I thought I could feel, and sure enough.
Movement is painful and frightening, but it also feels so good. Dylan gently rubbed that foot yesterday, with rubbing alcohol. SO much dead skin.
Physical therapy is my full time job now.
I think I expected that this would be about twice as bad as the broken wrist. Harder, but doable.
What I've discovered is that it is an order of magnitude more difficult. Mere keeping clean is a fearsome process. I'm terrified of bumps in the sidewalk, and indeed have not ventured out again after my two tries. A momentary loss of balance puts me in a panic.
The pain is less intense most of the time. But much more threatening. My anxiety is dull, but overwhelming. The immobility preying on my mind.
After the wrist fracture, I walked, sat in the garden, got out in the sun.
This. This. I'm older and this is so much harder.
That the world is disintegrating presses in on me.
The ribcage pain is down to a low growl, nothing a bit of tiger balm won't cure.
The issue today is how vulnerable I feel. Trying to keep clean. Myself - oh what I wouldn't give to sit in a hot bath or shower. The kitchen clean enough to prevent incursions of mice or roaches, feels insurmountable. Every chore I would have done in a minute, takes a half hour, multiple trips, exhausts me, and is not done well or completely.
Like breaking the front door glass on my way out to the hospital for surgery. Repaired on Monday. The toilet in back has a slow clog. I was up in the night to the main toilet, when I stood up - the floor was wet. I was hurrying, and missed a bit. Mopping up piss at 2AM with one foot, feels both annoying and risky.
Everything feels annoying and risky. I keep trying to do as much as I can, and suddenly there is the edge far closer than expected. I fell in the bathroom the 1st night home. I fell again a couple of days after surgery. The helplessness, the terror of doing more damage, is constant. Still, I have to remind myself to slow down, be deliberate, and take another trip.
Trying to keep my upper leg muscles in shape, not as diligently as I'd feel good about.
Feeling frail and angry and inadequate.
And scared.
