A week has passed, and my ankle is still messed up.
“Go to the DOCTOR!” you say, and to that I reply, “I did!” Last Friday my sister was in town and the two of us went to Fleet Feet where she bought some amazing socks, and I was fitted for running shoes. Although the shoe fitting wasn’t nearly as awkward as a bra fitting, I will admit that taking off my socks and shoes and having a young man stick his finger under my foot for arch assessment felt a bit strange.
Young Man at Fleet Feet: Now I’d like to watch you walk.
Me: Yeah, I bet you would, Sparky.
Anyway, what he REALLY wanted to do was watch me run so he could study my style, but my ankle was hurting so badly that running was impossible. Walking was nearly impossible. (The only thing that didn’t feel nearly impossible to me that day was eating a big veggie sandwich from Great Harvest. I killed that one.) When my sister went home, I headed to the doctor who ordered an x-ray. (Sadly, they couldn’t read the x-ray until Monday, so I spent the weekend not really knowing if my ankle was broken or sprained.)
Anyway, on Saturday, our school hosted the Fall Festival which is a pretty incredible event where the price of admission includes food, drinks, pony rides, a petting zoo, games, prizes, balloon sculptures, caricatures, etc. Not included in the ticket price? Everyone who attended Fall Festival was greeted by yours truly. Because I was taking the money.
Here is an actual photo of me taking the money.
I could write a book (not really) about the sad/maddening things I witnessed at the Fall Festival, but I’ll spare you. No. Wait. Two things. 1. If an event is scheduled to last from 3:30 until 7:00 and you show up at 5:00? Don’t ask me to cut the ticket price in half. It makes me feel awkward because I really want to help you, and it makes you look cheap because I see that you have a wallet full of cash. 2. If every piece of Fall Festival correspondence has gone home with a statement that says something like, “No drop-offs are allowed. All children MUST be accompanied by a paid adult.”, don’t drop your kids off. Yes. They’ll probably be okay. BUT, what if they fall off of a horse or choke on a hot dog or simply raise the type of ten-year-old hell that shouldn’t really be raised at a family event? You are not above the rules.
By the time I got home Saturday night, my ankle felt like it was the size of a baby head. I limped out to the garage and took another x-ray. (Our radiology equipment is outdated, but it still does the trick.) Sure enough.
On Sunday, I took it easy and worked on a boatload of freelance.
On Monday? The doctor called and told me that my ankle is not broken. Also, I am NOT growing a baby in my left foot. What I have is a sprain, and what I need is eight weeks of taking it easy.
And that’s unacceptable. BECAUSE, remember those running shoes I was fitted for? Wait. Let me reword that. Remember those running shoes for which I was fitted?! They were $140 at Fleet Feet, which made it pretty easy to walk away and say, “I need to see what’s up with my ankle before I commit to such a pricey pair of shoes.” However, yesterday I found them on sale at Running Warehouse, and after finding an additional coupon code, I managed to get them for 2/3 of their suggested retail price. All of this means that I need to get back to running because I now have running shoes. And a good sports bra. And cute running shorts with underpants sewn in. (The only two things left on my list are arch supports and some foot hugging socks.)
One more thing.
Henry is still itchy. BUT, with the veterinarian’s approval, I have taken him off of all medications except for the twice daily antihistamine. The poor guy has been on antibiotics for the past five weeks, along with steroids, flea preventatives, mite injections, and antifungals. Yesterday he received his final round of vaccinations. It just seems to be too much. (I know I’m not an expert.) SO, we’re now blank slating him for a week to see what happens with The Itch.
Oh! One more thing. I spun more yarn.