I already blogged a long time ago about my friend Sandy who shares an inside joke about her being quintessential. Her legacy is enthusiasm.
I have a stuffed panda named Quincy, but I'd be accused of anthropomorphism if I actually said he is leaving a legacy of unconditional acceptance. So I won't write about Quincy, either, although he knows I have loved him since third grade and will never part with him no matter how old and grey and unstitched he becomes.
Speaking of coming unstitched, I am in pain right now. The only thing I'm inclined to do is keep my ankle inclined. I have it propped up on a pillow with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish cloth. I believe it's a stress fracture because it's been gradually getting worse for the past month. It wasn't a traumatic injury, nothing heroic to blog about. Yet I blog about it anyway, of course. (Although, this is the same ankle I broke while playing volleyball during March Madness 1995. If you recall a recent Hodgepodge story about said ankle, that injury is forever linked to the words "Can it wait till halftime?")
In the mornings I can barely walk. In fact, a couple days ago I crawled to the bathroom. Do you have any idea how ridiculous it feels to crawl across your bedroom floor with a full bladder? Trust me, it's enough to make a grown man laugh.
As I type this, I am on the sofa. I have crutches next to me, plus a cell phone, a blanket, and water.
I was fine during the day, with a few minor give-ways of the left ankle. I always hold onto the railing when I take stairs, but it's absolutely critical now because I had it go out on me while descending with a load of laundry. In a few seconds, it was fine. I even had an okay time getting my house ready to host care group as a last-minute change of venues. But after everyone left and I sat down to get my head together to teach art tomorrow, my ankle began to throb. I couldn't flex it one bit without pain. I was able to crawl to the steps to get my son's attention for assistance with the aforementioned therapies. Steve, what a guy. He's good to his momma.
I then proceeded to email my boss to let her know I think it's wiser not to teach tomorrow. Teaching art requires quick movements to set up for a 9:20 class. And standing for an hour. And taking trips up the stairs for supplies. I am afraid of falling; did I mention that? I need to get an appointment with the orthopedist.
If you've been around this blog for any length of time, you will know that between my sons and me, we have probably put at least five orthopedists' kids through college and quite possibly grad school.
Talk about lousy timing. We have an art show coming up on May 4th following the spring concert. You know, the biggest deal of the year for this class??? And oh, yes, Mother's Day. We are supposed to be doing a special paint project (acrylic on canvas) . I can't afford to miss a day. Nor can I afford to fall.
Quick, for the letter Q, please offer a quiet prayer for me, for grace of healing and peace about the timing of this supposedly fractured foot.