A Tired Older Woman: Loses Weight and Keeps It Off! by Annie Acorn
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Those of you who follow this blog know that I have managed to break two bones in my right foot without even trying. This contretemps resulted in my having to utilize a pair of hospital provided crutches for a couple of days with what I would have to admit were dubious results.
Part of the problem as I worked my way through my home was the lack of consistent guidelines among the professionals as to the care and feeding of these two silverine monsters. As I had traveled from the Emergency Room to the X-Ray department to the doctor’s office, the height of these seemingly innocent instruments of torture had risen, shrunk, and risen again, followed closely by a hot debate as to the proper positioning of the hard-as-rock rubber coated hand bars. Finally, I bolted them as I thought they should be and stumbled on, still full of hope in my innocence.
Quite honestly, none the discussion surrounding my crutches had made much of an impression as it had washed over me, because no matter what state they were in it didn’t seem to make any difference. Tall, short, in the top, middle, or bottom guide hole, I was miserable however these differentials were configured. No matter how rested I was, no matter how much I concentrated on following directions, I turned into a quivering mass of screaming muscles within a few minutes of beginning to use them whenever I tried during the next 24 hours.
In an effort to offer me an acceptable alternative, my new BFF, my orthopedic surgeon, provided me with an air cast that I refer to as my moon boot for the paltry sum of $55.00, which may or may not be covered by insurance. At least, I think that was my physician’s motivation.
Yes, the air cast holds the bones firmly in place, so that they may in time heal. Yes, this short squat little troll is more comfortable than a traditional cast. Yes, it is nice to be able to take it off when I go to bed or get into the shower. But…
Now $55.00 isn’t a great deal of money in the overall scheme of things, but neither is it the price of a dollar store door buster. As you may or may not recall, my father was a world-renowned penny pincher, and this acorn didn’t fall all that far from the tree. So, when the Velcro strip that was supposed to hold the innersole in place worked free and disappeared about halfway through the third day of our relationship, I began to get concerned, and I am afraid things have continued downhill. Is it possible for an inanimate object to dislike its new home? I admit that I am beginning to wonder.
Working hard not to worry about slipping on the lost strip at some point during the darkest of nights, I gamely strapped the contraption back on, only to discover that the innersole had now developed a mind of its own.
The first hint of rebellion was when it began sticking its tongue out at me. No, now, don’t laugh. I’m serious here. Would I lie to you?
I swear, whenever I begin inching my way slowly forward, it works its way through the open toe of the boot at approximately the same pace. About the time I reach the end of my home’s main hallway, the thing protrudes far enough to easily trip me, which makes me concerned that this has been its diabolical plan all along.
Believing that if we were both willing, we could at the very least reach a state of détente, I sat down and attempted to reason with it. Frankly, I didn’t have much choice, since I had no desire to fall flat on my face again.
It took me a few minutes of intense conversation, but then it hit me like a ton of unwanted bricks. Just my luck, the moon boot that I had pulled out of the hat had turned out to be a classically passive-aggressive male, and we gals all know what that means.
It stands next to my chair now – alert, ready, and seemingly willing, and yet as soon as I take that first step towards my bed, it will silently begin once again to stick its tongue out at me. Now, I ask you, is that any way for a so called gentleman to treat a sweet, little old lady or even a tired, older woman?
“You’ll love this,” the medical assistant who fitted me with the boot had stated with enthusiasm as he had worked. “It was developed as a result of the space program.”
At the time, I had felt quite cutting edge, and as we all know, authors are verbal, not technical, but still… It now seems to me that it’s no wonder the astronauts didn’t walk very far once they got to the moon. Is it possible that they, too, could only take twenty or so steps before being tripped by a similar traitor? Is there a passive-aggressive female version lurking out there?
Who knows? If NASA had overcome the Velcro strip issue, Neil Armstrong might have hiked far enough to find the lost civilization of ancient aliens that the History Channel keeps advertising is probably up there somewhere. Now, I acknowledge that I write fiction, but that would’ve been something really exciting for all of us to witness, wouldn’t it?
Still, despite my ongoing difficulties with my equipment, I am told that things are beginning to heal, and as is often the case, the best is still yet to come, because soon my physical therapy will get started. I’m really looking forward to this next stage in the process, although I must admit that I’m beginning to lose some of my optimistically inclined innocence. As long as it doesn’t involve any equipment…
One Last Gift To Go (Annie Acorn’s Christmas) by Annie Acorn