Back on my feet again (and yes, that is plural!)

Well, I am proud to say that I am off my crutches now, and that most of the entertaining things that have happened to me have come to an end. Now, I just have my walking boot and am still hobbling around Somerville... only now I can actually carry things! On Friday, the doctor looked at my crutches and said something along the lines of "I thought I told you get rid of those?" I gave my excuses for why I was still using them, but in the end, he won.

That day, however, I did more walking than I had done in a while, in a museum and then through Davis Square to a church where a friend was in a play. Then, I decided, heck that was so much fun yesterday, struggling to walk wherever I was going and making anyone with me walk a third of the speed they usually walk, why don't I do it again? This time, I think I'll go to Lowell with my band for the Lowell Folk Festival! BRINGING UP THE REAR is all I have to say about that. Although, we think that the cast didn't hurt our tips.

So, I have decided to go to Guatemala. This is going to be interesting... a different kind of adventure this summer. Whoa, I'm leaving the house, look at how crazy I am! This blog might dwindle as the foot heals. I hope, indeed, it dwindles very quickly!

Movie Making is Not for the Broken Foot(ed)

If you have been in any kind of face to face conversation with me of late, they you should know that my band was chosen to be in a movie. Now, because as part of my contract, I am not supposed to blog about the movie, let's just say it's about forest animals that retaliate against a developer. We are the band in one scene. Well, yesterday, everything was going nicely and the cast and crew were all very accepting and even caring about my foot. The down side was that my foot had been inside of a 3-sizes too large cowboy boot for several hours, and needless to say, was swollen. The very worst thing to happen yesterday was a moment I had dreaded. The director told us to walk off stage. I looked at how far the stairs were from where I was standing, and felt overwhelmed. There was no way I was going to make it. I realized this is way that many people who have trouble walking, like people with M.S., feel. Something so simple as taking 10 steps was impossible for me.

Luckily the assistant directors arranged for me to exit on the other side of the stage with only 3 steps. We did the take 5 times. I was counting how many steps I was taking. Each time I stepped in the too-big boots with only the support of a thin sock, my foot hurt, and I wondered how much damage I was doing.

After we finished that scene, I took my boot and sock off to reveal a balloon, I mean, my foot, no a balloon... it was bad. Eventually I got some ice and good advice from the medic. Today I brought my walking boot down to the stage with me, and my foot sat cradled inside until I had to get on stage. But 80plus degree weather in pleather cowboy boots again created a balloon of my foot. So, now I am sitting on my bed, foot elevated, ice pack on, and ankle in pain. I hope I didn't hurt it too!

I've gotten a lot of sympathy the past few days as well as "You're such a trooper!" Well, let's hope that they are right, and the little voice in my head that says, "You're such an idiot" is wrong.

Frozen Dinners Club

So, that's right. I have now become an official member of the "Frozen Dinners Club." You might not have heard of it, but you can spot its members scourging the frozen food isle of your local grocery store for entrees that all boast less than 400 calories. What are they looking for? Well, as I discovered the other day in my local Shaws (which I never shop at unless desperate, and people with broken feet are indeed desperate) they look for sales. Then they look for dinners that tempt their appetites (and in my case, minimal amounts of processed meat). This particular day, last Sunday, Shaws was offering 5 Lean Cuisine entrees for $10, and 3 Kashi entrees for $10. Not bad, said I, and with a desire to continue the minimization of dealing with hot pans and crutches simultaneously, I swung open the glass door and felt the cool air of the freezer.

I was struck by all the choices. So many brands, and so many options even within one brand (I was trying to limit myself to Lean Cuisine and Kashi). These are not the T.V. dinners I heard about as a kid. When I heard "T.V. dinner" as a child, I pictured a meal void of creativity, like meat loaf and mashed potatoes. "T.V. dinners" were also colorless, or all one color. So, you can imagine my surprise when I saw the abundance of color and variety of the frozen entrees. Here are some of the dinners I chose:

Butternut Squash Ravioli (in a creamy sauce with walnuts, snap peas and carrots)

Mayan Harvest Bake

Classic Five Cheese Lasagna

Black Bean Mango

Tuscan Veggie Bake

And the truth is, they are pretty good. The Mayan Kashi meal was pretty tasty even though it didn't look so hot when I first pulled off the film. I must say, though, my chicken in tonight's chicken alfredo with broccoli was definitely processed, and they could have left the "broccoli" off the label because there wasn't much to speak of. I won't be buying that again. But the ravioli just might get a second chance.

Three things left to say. One, I wonder if I am going to get cancer from all this microwaving plastic dishes (sometimes 8 minutes!). Two, I feel slightly embarrassed that there are now two black plastic bowls waiting to go into recycling, and more on the way. Sort of like I have abandoned the natural way of eating, and the evidence stares me in the face whenever I open the refrigerator. Ugh! Three, I now understand better, sympathize with, and don't feel as sorry for all those single guys out there who live off of these meals. You guys have it pretty good, and with sales like 5 for $10, it's almost not worth the hassle of fresh ingredients.

My stomach is making funny hunger noises, almost if my 320 calorie meal wasn't enough... imagine that!

Lolita

I named my right foot today: Lolita. I was busy doing something and talking to myself, as I often do, and I said, "I guess I can't do that because of my stupid foot." Ouch, that hurt! I remembered this music seminar I went to once and the guy said that it does no good to treat your fingers poorly, to get mad at them if they don't play the way you expect. He said to thank them when practicing, and after a practice, to treat them to some lotion. So, I've decided, no more insults to the poor foot. Instead, she now has a name and more hope of getting better because of some fine treatment she'll be getting.

And no, all of my staying inside has not made me go mad... it is just a little mind game I am playing in hopes that my foot will actually heal faster if I have a good attitude toward it instead of just an attitude.

Carry on, Lolita, pie mio!

The 87 Bus

My broken foot is still bruised... bluish on one side and then near the heel it has a longish blue line. Not pretty! But the doctor told me to walk on it more... partial weight bearing, they called it. Every person I've told that to has been surprised. That bearing weight is good for the foot? Well, I guess it is.

But this entry is not about my foot. It is about the bus. That's right, the public bus. Usually if I am going to Porter Square, I walk. It takes only 10 minutes from where I live. But I cannot walk there now, so I took the 87. As I hobbled to the bus stop with my crutches I saw the 87 pass by the bus stop--I hate it when that happens, but in this case, there was NO hope of running to catch it. I sat down on the left side of the very uncomfortable black metal bench with my backpack. One bus came, the 88. Then another, the 94, then another 88, then the 90, and last, the 87. I waited 30 minutes. I struck up a conversation with the other person on the bench, but there wasn't much to say in English. Eventually, I found out he was from El Salvador and we continued our conversation in Spanish. He showed me the photo of his seven-year-old daughter. There were several older women waiting to take the bus as well, one with a cane saying that if she sat down, there would be no hope getting up.

I realized today that I like taking the bus because of the people you encounter. And the fact that they actually talk to you is impressive. I'm always talking to strangers, but to find others that do the same, quite frankly, makes me happy and helps me feel less alone. I also realized that taking the bus puts me into contact with people I might not otherwise know... the elderly in particular. Y eso me gusta. It reminds me that there are people with different stories... that not everyone is able bodied, or has a home, or has command of the language of prestige. I'll probably walk when my foot is healed but I should take out the time to wait for the bus because I don't know who I will meet.

First Day Back in the City

July 6, 2009

I broke my foot a week ago today. Not a big deal, it might seem, for people often brake bones much larger and in more painful ways than my right foot. It is true that in the grand scheme of things, this broken foot is not catastrophic or even terrible or even sad. It is merely an inconvenience, but inconvenient enough to change the possessor’s entirely too short New England summer. You see, I had planned a trip to Guatemala and then after to spend the rest of the summer cycling around Somerville and Cambridge, MA, enjoying the freedom afforded me by my profession (I am a teacher). Instead, the only wheels I will be riding on are that of the grocery store scooter, feeling like a little old lady instead of the energetic, hip, (and green, mind you) young person I hope others perceive me as.

As for Guatemala, after an extended visit to the city of Antigua last summer, I now see those cobblestone streets as my enemy instead of a lovely and romantic site to my eyes. Could you imagine trying to find level holes between each stone for the end of the crutches or dodging the bars on windows while hobbling along on the sidewalk? Getting on the buses takes some getting used to with two good feet… you have to be fast, find your balance quickly and occasionally wade through the knees of other passengers seated as the third in a school bus seat. Getting off requires the same speed and agility, but this time (at least where I got off to do my work) there is a sweeping curve near a ravine and then boom, there is your bus stop. You must be ready, and the task of wading through knees with shiny silver crutches and a large black cloth moon-boot does not seem something I wish to make possible. But then again, adventure calls…

I’m not ruling out a trip… just not right away. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll enjoy a February vacation in Guatemala to escape the cold (Massachusetts) and the rain (Guatemala in August). I’m waiting for my doctor’s appointment tomorrow to decided what to do with my ticket… August or February it looks like now.

I wanted to journal this experience partly because I felt it would be interesting to record all the instances when other people helped me. It will become tedious and boring after a while, but I have it in me now so I might as well begin. I will only begin with today, my first full day back in Somerville. Here are the folks that helped me in a list:

Man opening door at Starbucks

Other man opening bathroom door for me at Starbucks

At the bus stop, woman headed to the beach offering (and giving) me a ride to Porter Square when she saw my sorry state, no doubt!

Woman opening both doors for me at dentist office.

3 Shaw’s employees getting me my grocery scooter.

A friend (shopping at Shaws at the same time) taking me around the fruits and veggies, loading and unloading me and my groceries, bringing my groceries into the apartment.

That’s it, and it is only 3:09pm. See, people are not as cold-hearted as one would think here. But I must admit, the South still wins!