Posts Tagged ‘ankle sprain’

It’s Official

May 11, 2017

I’m on vacation!


In a surprise twist, pun way fucking intended, I am now the owner of a pair of sensible walking shoes.

Fuck my life.

It’s official.

I’m old.


I sprained my ankle.

I am so not happy about having sprained my ankle, said ankle currently elevated, wrapped in an ace bandage with a package of organic frozen corn on it.

I hear hormonally treated, pesticide sprayed corn won’t help in the healing.



My person today, when I was talking to her, said in her bright cheery voice, “Oh!  Look at that!  God wants you to slow down and really enjoy Paris!  You get to really soak it in.”

Fuck my life.

I mean.

Fuck you.

Even though.

She is absolutely right.

I have been slowed down.

You should have seen me at the PJ Harvey show last night.

A show I normally would have been up front for, screaming my heart out, singing along, having my music experience.



I was in the handicap section seated with my leg propped up on the ledge in front of me.


At least I was at the show.

The ticket was a total last-minute surprise.

And I got taken out to dinner too.

The Slanted Door.

So yummy.

Like, all the yummy things.


Fuck, I love oysters.

Kumamoto’s from Hog Island.

St. Simone.


Pacific Gold.

And Island Creek.

So damn good.

For an appetizer my friend and I split the Ahi Tuna tartar.

And I had the seared Ahi Tuna with turmeric, scallion oil, fresh dill and toasted silvered almonds.


Such lovely food.

It took my mind off the ankle.

The ankle that I have NO FUCKING IDEA how I sprained.



I have a theory.

I think that from repeated uphill parking on my scooter that putting down the kick stand I may have been giving myself some stress on my ankle.

And open full fucking idiot disclosure, I know you’re going to say, I told you so, I’ve been wearing Converse on my scooter and they are flimsy shoes.


I wear them with inserts, but they are really a good shoe and well.

I’m not old, necessarily, but I have 44 years on these feet and I have not often enough worn good shoes.



I upgraded.

Big time.


Part of me wants to tell you that the shoes are fucking big time ugly, they’re not, although, yes, bland and not what I would call sexy by any stretch.

But then again.

You know what’s really sexy?

Being able to fucking walk.


I hobbled my way to the Inner Sunset today.

I took yesterday and today off from work, I could barely make it up the stairs yesterday into work, I got to the top, sat down on the floor and cried.

I was utterly mortified.


My boss was so sweet and so kind and got me situated on the couch with a compression bandage and an ice pack and I started making the calls to my doctor at Kaiser.

The bad news.

No one could see me yesterday.

The good news.

Mild sprain.

If it was severe I wouldn’t have been able to walk on it at all.

I procured a brace from Walgreens that I was able to get around enough on to get me back to the house after an hour of sitting with it icing on and off and elevated and trying to hold back the tears.

I cried a lot yesterday.

I am teary now.

But not so bad.

I mean.

It felt like my whole fucking trip got shit on.

But when I was talking to my therapist she said something that I feel is prescient, that her sense was that if I took care of myself, rested, and took some precautions I would be ok.

That does seem to be the case.

My friend, after the concert, also doctored me up a bit, the brace was not so comfortable and I got an ace bandage wrap as a parting gift.

The wrapping seemed to help and I slept with my foot on a pillow and took a lot of ibuprofen.

I also called into work.

I mean.

I could barely go a block from the MUNI station to the Embarcadero where I met my friend for a coffee at Blue Bottle before Slanted Door.

I wore my pink Saucony’s out last night, but knew I wanted to grab a better pair of shoes.

So today, after taking my time getting going, more icing, more elevating, and bolstering my emotions, I set out for On The Run.


Running shoes are fucking hideous.

Who wears these ugly things?

I suppose people who don’t sprain their ankles like I do.


Anyway after being thoroughly grossed out by the shoes I asked the clerk, well what about walking shoes.


To go with my bifocals.




He pointed some out.

Not sexy.


Not hideous.

He brought them out.

I slipped them on.

Holy shit.

It was like walking on sunshine.

The difference was immediate.

I felt stable, supported, my knees hurt less almost as soon as I took a few steps and the clerk showed me a trick to tying the shoelaces that added extra ankle support.

I almost danced out the store.


My pocket-book was a lot lighter than when I went in, but I am super glad I allowed myself to get the shoes.

I got back here.

Ate lunch.

Did some writing, made some phone calls, and met a friend for dinner at Thai Cottage.

I did not go fast.

But I did not go as slow as I did last night and though it’s not as fast as I want.

It’s fast enough.

My person is right.

I get to really slow down and take things in.

I sort of hate it when she’s right.

She often is.

But I also am extraordinary grateful that she is too.

“You can do whatever you want,” she told me tonight, “as long as you accept the consequences.”


I won’t look sexy and chic in Paris with my pretty platform sandals.

I will, however, be happier in my comfortable old lady shoes.

Old ladies be hella sexy.

Just sayin.


Still Life With Frozen Peas

June 13, 2014

I could lengthen that title to:

Still Life with Frozen Peas and Striped Socks.

Icing my ankle again.

All I do is hobble around the house, thank god it’s a small space, I could not manage much more, and ice my ankle, is what my life feels like currently.

I got out once today.

I sat in an uncomfortable folding chair and got some humility sauce to go with my side of peas.

Tastes great!

I did do a few things today, and most of them just involved the simple, day-to-day things that I have perforce taken for granted.

I mean way for granted.

Taking out the compost.

My dear friend did it for me last weekend, thank heavens, otherwise today would have been so much worse, but it piled up quick.  I eat predominately fresh food, I either cook or prepare all my food from scratch.

Which means, compost.

I rarely use prepared foods.

Although when my knight in shining armour drove me to the Whole Foods on Stanyan this past Monday, I asked him to get me a roasted chicken.

And that was a handy thing to have.

I ate four meals off the bird, and a friend had dinner on the chicken too and what was left?

Bones, pieces, parts, skin, little bits of flesh.


Soup stock.

I thought to myself last night as I poured out some pinto beans in a bowl and topped them with water to soak over night, am I going to be able to do this, actually cook tomorrow?

I figured if I have been managing to cook myself breakfast every morning since the accident, officially one week ago tonight at this exact same time I was writhing in pain and finding out what ER in the city I should go to with my Healthy San Francisco benefits, then I can cook some soup.

And I did.

It was the slow cook, long version, hours of letting it do what it wanted to do and leaving it be while I did other things, like wrangle the compost out to the garbage and ask for help with the laundry.

Laundry I was going to do myself, but man, when I got the door open to the closet and managed to pull the laundry basket to the bed, that was all I could manage.

So, I went and asked for help.

It is still not easy.

I thought my housemate was home upstairs, but she was at work, lucky lady, and her sister who is visiting hollered down.  She came down and did my laundry for me.

Surrendering again to the help of strangers.

People, I believe, really are good at heart.

The kindness of strangers has been amazing in my life when I reflect upon it.

I remember being 19, in some serious trouble, running out the door from a relationship that had suddenly and dramatically became violent and being picked up by a woman while I was hitchhiking out-of-town who totally took me under her wing.

I didn’t know what was going to happen to me then and I don’t now, but I do know I am much better equipped to handle what is happening then I was then.

For instance, I am waiting for the shoe to drop.

Not only do I not have income coming in I fear that I am going to lose one of the gigs, I can see the family or the families needing help and I am replaced like that.

I keep telling myself that if that happens, it’s still ok, I can get another job.

Hell, eventually I would have to anyway.

Kids, they grow up and go off to pre-school.

Anyway, I am off track, which is not hard to do, it takes a lot of effort to keep this person, me, a float, and as I was saying earlier in the blog, I am so grateful for the perspective of knowing what it feels like to run at full steam.

Which I won’t be doing for some time yet.

Although, brief aside, I did walk a few steps, in the walking boot tonight when I returned home.

Not unaided, I still had both crutches, but actually putting my foot down and putting pressure on it and using the crutches, but also walking.

I got in about ten steps.


I am ready to return to work!

Nice try, hero.


One of the unpleasant side effects of the injury is not just using the crutches and hobbling about and not being able to put my foot down, but also not being able to be on the crutches for very long, or standing for very long.

The swelling in my foot balloons rapidly and it gets really painful.

Fat, purple, sausage toes, greeny yellow bruising on the top of the foot, the trifecta of blue, purple, and black of bruising around the ankle; and the best, the skin gets tight.

It is a serious gross out.

I have been keeping my foot in a sock.

I don’t want to see it.

However, this meandering blog, I had some success getting a few things done.

I did make the soup.

I took the roast chicken carcass and shallots and spices and some water and let it cook on a low boil for a few hours, eventually taking the bones out, letting them cool, and picking the meat off them.  I added in the pinto beans, some chopped carrots, and cauliflower and let it cook while I took another shower standing on one leg.

I had some aspirations to shave.


I conceded to my friend I need a shower chair.

No shaved legs, but I did not kill myself and I washed my pits, so cool.

Soup made, shaved armpits, frozen bags peas bandied about, compost taken out, clothes folded and put away.

Now, these things I would have done, except the icing the ankle bit with frozen peas, in less time than it took to write this blog.


Well, it took all day.



I have a greater appreciation for my health than I think I ever had.

And for my friends, who keep picking me up and toting my ass around and calling me and sending me kitten pictures and loving on me.

I am loved.

I am taken care of.

I am slowed the hell down.

I guess that’s what it took for me to see how amazing my life is.

I had to be stopped so that I could see it.

It’s been seen.

Apparently, I still have some resting and watching to do, life observations and all that.

And more frozen peas.


Pass dem peas.

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