"Mrs. Lipstick on Crutches"

That's the new name JBB has coined for my blog. He informed me tonight of the new title. This just proved to me that according to the way children measure time, I have been in a cast forever. In adult time...only six weeks. That's still long enough to have had purple, then blue, then back to purple. A bunch of screwy tendons plus three cast colors equals new blog title per eight year old son. Pretty Girl is way more concerned about the fashion implications, strongly advocating for a pink cast at tomorrow's doctor visit. I, however, am tired of selecting fiberglass colors.

I imagine tomorrow's visit like reaching Oz. My astoundingly learned surgeon will give me her opinion of last week's MRI, and then life will change accordingly, right? Right? Well, hell's bells, I don't know, but my foot feels like it just had a c-section and I am dying to get fixed, repaired, somehow patched up. It's all I can think about. Can't you tell?

I haven't blogged lately because reading about other people's aches and pains is right up there with reading about their vacations. Oooh. Can't wait. Bookmark that.

But...
eventually these posts sort of write themselves, you know. Sometimes inspiration stares back at you. Like this.

Thoughts can even be categorized by little symbols.
For example...there is A LOT of sitting and waiting and propping up on pillows...

which can make you want an adult beverage almost immediately (most specifically a caramel apple martini)...

which can make you actually want a drag on a cig as if you were 21 again...

WAIT...what?!...then you remember you don't smoke and therefore must not crave such unhealthy vices...

which makes you want to snack. on anything.

But then you remember that you really, really don't want to get fat just because your foot is in a cast.

Sigh...yep, you are still staring at your foot which is still in a cast and boy, do you feel like a baby for whining about it.

It could be sooo much worse. Like being in a cast and having no one to make you appletinis or tell you that you are perhaps the first person to actually get toned just from hauling your leg atop a mountain of pillows. Yep, that would totally suck.

The Viral Siloheutte

Originally from August 26th of this year, this image created by Jonathan Mak is extra poignant now.

RIP Steve Jobs
1955-2011

Learning but not yet Learned

I just turned thirty-sven. It seems a little more real if I look at the actual number...37. It also seems like I should be all grown-up, have a balanced perspective of reality, be able to make and complete to-do lists, as well as be capable of expertly hosting a dinner party and folding a fitted sheet. Well. I merely stumble through the things on that list. I am stumbling around a lot these days. I can tell you with absolute confidence that under normal circumstances I would not stumble in these glorious, gaudy, almost tacky, yet lust-evoking shoes.

But...just like it doesn't seem normal to be (gasp!) 37, it seems weird that I haven't worn heels in at least a month. Ta da! Presenting my latest my undeniably tacky and thankfully asymmetrical footwear...

Thank goodness my work attire is scrubs which are so very baggy that the cast doesn't appear quite as bulky as it is; real clothes, not so much. I do try in vain to look decent in outfits. I am grateful that women still tote around purses the size of carry-on luggage.

People at work at so sweet. They bring me things and stuff and paper and bags. Pretty Girl is a sweetheart too. She keeps rubbing my cast and saying, "Does that feel better, Mommy?" I don't have the heart to tell her I can't feel her litte hands through these layers cotton and fiberglass tape.

This whole thing is definitely a new adventure for someone who has been accustomed to prancing and prissing around for the better part of thirty six years, and the truth is that I am terrified of my appointment Wednesday because I was supposed to be better at this point and yet I am not. Perspective arrived though when I got two unusual birthday presents that morning at work. Within an hour of my arrival I talked to two of my favorite patients. One survived a vicious attack losing part of the skull and the other has battled metastatic cancer for years. Neither have any sizable material possessions remaining and yet both never fail to express gratitude for merely being alive. They are not alive and well. But they are alive and have people who love them and whom they love dearly. And they are both grateful. This thing with my leg will pass. It is a minor inconvenience, I try to remind myself...like those kinda goofily cryptic bumper stickers, "Igbok": It's Gonna Be OK.