So, a week ago last Wednesday, I did something remarkably stupid. I broke my leg crossing a street. No car hitting me or anything other than not paying attention and a pothole. It wasn't even a large one, just wide enough to catch my ankle, snap the end, and send me stumbling across the road to land on the grass.
I didn't think I broke any bones but the x-rays say that I did. But, instead of casting it (which I guess ER doesn't do), the doctors gave me a boot, an appointment for six days later with a doctor, and told me to have a good day.
Last Monday, I got a cast on it. A bright purple and beautiful one. And that has introduced a whole new set of uncomfortable healing pains. Cold toes, aching joints, random swelling, and everything else that makes each day hard to face.
It's been a rough week or so for me. Fluffy wasn't being very compassionate about me breaking my leg and spent much of her time angry at me. It make senses since she's taking care of a two month ago, a three year old, and a four decade old all at the same time. We fought a lot, but things have gotten better now that I can walk somewhat on my own with crutches.
I'm uncomfortable and feeling useless. My armpits are bleeding from the crutches and every day is introducing a new discomfort in my leg and toes. The doctor says its fine, but I'm looking at 3-4 more weeks of this so it's hard to see the bright side of things.
On the other hand, getting off the codeine means that I actually wrote something this week. It isn't the greatest thing in the world, but it's hot enough that I'm going to sell it underneath one of my shameful bylines. That way, something good will have come from my discomfort.