It is my opinion that there is only one span of time that seems to draw out longer than the usual “six more weeks of winter” forecast we often get from old Punxsutawney Phil.
It is the six weeks and six days I spent in a cast, and it’s not just because it was six days longer, either.
Finally cast-free for the first time since April 16, I am back leading a somewhat normal life, but dang, that was a long 48 days.
For almost four weeks after breaking my fibula when a horse fell on it, I was in a plaster cast. The last three weeks I had to wear what they call an air cast, which you actually pump up with air. I learned very quickly that if you forget to let the air out before you take it off, it will actually blow apart when you loosen the last strap of Velcro. This is a good party trick but it does tend to scare the dog.
I’ve finally stopped scaring people when I walk. While the air cast allowed me to put weight on my leg and walk without crutches, it was a good 2 inches taller than most of my shoes which resulted in a Quasimodo effect when I walked. Small children would point and hide behind their parents.
So I was thrilled this past Monday, when my good doctor gave me the green light to ditch the air cast in favor of “sensible shoes with good ankle support along with an ankle brace and compression socks.” I must say, all these things go great with my silver hair, and I’m pretty much guaranteed the senior discount wherever I go now.
The true silver lining, though, is that I am back to driving myself, and a really big bonus is that I can also shave both legs now. I’m actually thinking of driving to the doctor’s office just so Rick, the cast maker, can see my right leg. Every time he saw it before, it looked like a dandelion gone to seed.
I’d also like to go back to the Glenmoor Country Club in Canton, where I spoke last month to the Stark County Junior League standing on one foot the entire time. I’m certain they thought I was part flamingo, and the fact that I had a bright pink cast probably only fueled their imaginations.
I’m also sure that putting on Spanx is hard enough, but wrestling them on over one good leg and one in a giant cast is a skit for the Big Chuck and Lil’ John show. Or maybe the WWE channel. The plot is pretty basic, but the twists and turns would keep viewers entertained for the entire 30 minutes.
Speaking of viewers, I found that breaking my leg brought out a few new friends on Facebook.
One in particular was quite interested in my cast and asked me all kinds of questions about it. I innocently answered each one but when he kept pressing me as to whether I liked the “restriction of the cast while I could still wiggle my toes” over and over, I got a little suspicious.
“Not really,” I kept answering. “It kind of feels like having your blood pressure taken, which I don’t particularly care for.”
“But what about your toes? Don’t you like the feeling of wiggling them?”
When he asked me what color polish I had on my toes, I told him to have a nice day and de-friended him, but not before looking him up and checking out some of his friends, all of whom were pictured with casts. Coincidence? I think not. I never knew there were self-proclaimed “cast fetish groups” out there.
Egad. That’s why I am especially glad to be back to my version of normal life.
Shaving my legs, driving anywhere I want to, putting my Spanx on in 15 minutes rather than 30 and giving keynote addresses to audiences whilst standing on two feet. Ahhhh, it’s the simple things.
Oh, and Facebook friends who are glad you’re out of your cast and don’t ask what color your toenail polish is.
Robin Swoboda’s column runs every other week. Contact her at Robinswoboda@outlook.com.