This week I have mostly been trying to soothe an angry leg. That’s the best way to explain it, it is mightily pissed off at something. Not sure what. It’s been walked, exercised, dunked in water, massaged, iced and raised but it is still angry.
I even bought it a new pair of shoes, but still its sore, swollen and grouchy.
At the end of last week it was behaving, limp was nearly gone, aches nearly eased and general pain was subsiding. But somewhere along the way we have fallen out again. I think it maybe down to the fact I took it to Chiswick on Monday. Chiswick would make anyone mad. I am taking it back to homeland on Saturday. Perhaps the healing waters of Birmingham will help?
I’ve been in shoes for a few days now. It is strangely liberating, very scary and quite bizarre to be part of the two shoes brigade. Do I need a membership number and badge??
My walk is coming on slowly. I am slower than I was in my boot as I walk through the aches, which today seems to be everywhere from the knee down and also try to focus on heel to toe. I like to describe my current walk as ‘gimpy’. I’m gimpy when I start walking, then it smooths out and then becomes gimpy again as I get tired. My physio keeps shouting at me to glide. I was supposed to glide on crutches, glide on one crutch, glide in my aircast and glide now I am on shoes. I feel like I should be decked in sequins about to talk to Brucie, post Strictly Waltz. I don’t have the heart to tell him (physio, not Brucie), that I have never glided anywhere in my life. I am clumsy and abrupt and an Achilles rupture is not going to suddenly make me a glider.
If you catch me in the middle phase of my walk I could be mistaken now for a slow walking casual lady who lunches. At least my crutches gave everyone notice that all was not well with the leg. Now I just look like a slow walker. I experienced this today when I held up traffic as I made my way back from physio. Ass-hat motorists.
I have been told that I have a look of fear on my face when I am walking. I think this is my concentrating face. I can feel it contort as I walk. When I am in shops I also now get asked if I am lost or looking for something. Apparently this is my new walking demeanour. Dazed, bewildered with a look of complete fear on my face at all times.
This is too many things to work on at once, so I’ll concentrate on the walking and apologise to everyone for the faces.
Since I kicked one crutch away last weekend everything has started to move a lot quicker, including me.
I have in no particular order…walked to physio, navigated the London underground system, mastered an escalator and gone back to the office. I am down to zero wedges in my boot, I think there is a Latin word for this, but as English escapes me most days…
If I was pregnant this would probably be called my ‘nesting’ phase as I prep for birth. In this instance the birth is my appointment with my surgeon next Tuesday and the potential for me to wear two shoes. In honour of this momentous occasion I have brought a new pair of Nikes, I am so pleased the fashion elite have deemed trainers as this season’s shoe du jour. They will be graced by some Tom Cruise style heel inserts, I’ve always wanted to be a couple of inches taller.
I’ve gone back to work part-time, day on day off and out of rush hour. It was bizarre to back in the middle of Covent Garden. I was found slowly wandering in awe outside the office by a colleague. I’m pleased that I haven’t lost all my London etiquette skills and even with a boot and crutch I still stand on the right on the escalators.
In four days a great deal has happened, I wonder what the next four will bring. I am now bookable for coffee, adventures, run-ins and general things you can do on two feet.
I’m down to one crutch so this morning I made myself a cuppa and carried it. No flasks, backpacks or faff.
When it comes to getting off crutches, I have accepted I am a late bloomer. I should have been walking a while ago but for reasons unknown I just couldn’t get it. On Friday my Physio took a crutch away and asked me to walk down the corridor. I’m an options person so I would have taken anything, anything else other than do this. I tried, I hopped, shuffling, cheated, did everything but successfully walk with one crutch. I nearly cried but the practical part of me knew tears would blur my vision and unstable me further.
I was sent off with the advice of not to think about it. Stand, march on the spot and try to walk but don’t think about it.
The former was done with gusto – its amazing what you can do when you have Grazia to occupy your mind.
I tried walking on Saturday, the steps flowed better but would still have been judged as a hop by anyone. Failure.
On Sunday morning I tried it again and it just clicked. I don’t know why, how or what but it just made sense and before I knew it I was walking around my flat and then before I knew that I was walking around a pub with a pint of cold cider.
Who knew these things could happen??