I feel for The Mom, I can only imagine what an utter nightmare The Boot has been – and I should know, I once had The Claw.
We are a clumsy lot. When I was in residence chez The Mom, I went outside in the winter, in a pair of crappy Ugg boots, and, contrary to The Mom’s advice (advice which she gives me each and every time I venture outside in the winter) I was not careful on the ice, and I did indeed slip and fall. Thus, off we went to the emergency room, where I was put in a queue of little old ladies – I may technically be younger than they are, and you wouldn’t know it to look at me, but on the inside, from a skeletal point of view, I am a little old lady. Anyhow, it was the kind of day where several little old ladies would appear with broken wrists – and the hospital people were ready for us.
I had a cast put on and instantly became useless and terrifying to all the birds. Nobody liked The Claw. I couldn’t get dressed by myself, couldn’t get into most of my clothes (The Claw was big), couldn’t do anything that required two hands, couldn’t drive, and couldn’t swim. The last point being a real issue as the way I cope with my various chronic maladies is to work it out in the pool. The Claw was on for six weeks. After two days, everyone – me, The Mom, the pets, the neighbours – had had enough of it. And since it was my right wrist, and I am left-handed, after the first week, I was ready to saw the damned thing off myself because you know, as long as I could write, who cares? The right wrist was obviously only holding me back.
Though, at least I had the good sense to injure myself during the winter. The idea that the pool, the gorgeous outdoor swimming pool that I fly across the Atlantic to use every summer, would be open and I could not go in would have simply been too much.
I don’t know how The Mom managed to go over and not get in. I mean, sure, broken bones make it tricky to swim, but you know, what about a flap? Or a float? I remember constantly negotiating with my doctors to see about getting something in a removable wrist cast. Their point was always something along the lines of, well do you want it to be messed up forever, to which my constant reply was, I really don’t care, my entire body aches most days, what’s one more bloody thing, and all I want is to be in the pool. Eventually the doctors came around to my lunacy, and just said no. Don’t negotiate with a madwoman; we have different priorities.
Anyhow, so I’ve been witnessing The Mom’s month of The Boot from afar and I can tell she’s going sitir crazy. I would too. She loves walking, and the opening of the pool, that’s a date in the diary that no one misses. The outdoor swimming season is short and you’ve got to get a jump on it.
But, and though I know The Boot is a massive inconvenience, I am glad that The Mom went to have her black foot looked at. The Mom is new to being unwell, or having her body not function properly, and as someone with rather too much experience in that area, I feel it is my duty to guide her. Though in retrospect perhaps my approach of ignore it and it’ll go away or you’ll get used to it and stop caring is the reason she was reluctant to go to the doctor in the first place…