I was filled with anxiety when I walked into the doctor's office this morning. I had my boot in one hand and was ready to get the cast that has plagued my mobility and freedom taken off. However, as is the case with any injury, something could have gone wrong in the past four weeks. I had hope, but not very much seeing as the pain was still lingering, so my stomach turned in the waiting room.
The first thing they did was remove my cast. My hope began to grow. Surely, if the cast was coming off then I would be walking away a healed woman. My leg and foot felt so good after being freed from their little prison I didn't even rationally think as to why the cast was coming off first thing. It didn't look good, but my leg and foot felt so free! I was immediately embarrassed at my pasty, unshaven leg, because as my luck would have it, my doctor just so happens to be the nicest looking orthopedist around. I was then informed the cast was removed so they could get a fresh set of x-rays, and there was still a possibility a new cast would be put on.
A few x-rays later, I found out that the bone had not healed. The cast protected the bone and kept it from shifting more, but the tenderness I'm still feeling is not a good sign. I'm now off to a foot specialist who will present me with the following options: another four week cast or surgery. I'm hoping he will find a way to sprinkle some other options in there, some that will be a little more appealing than the former.
I looked at my doctor and told him I would not be running upstairs to retrieve diapers ever again, and he turned and said with a smile, "Nope, this is just a freak accident. The chances of this happening and not healing right are one in, let's say, a million."
Just what I wanted to hear.
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