Well, it’s been nineteen days since I gloriously injured my ankle and this is my third weekend voluntarily finding residence in my bed. It’s about 11:00pm on a Friday night and here I am writing this blog.
So how have these past three weeks been? Well, I’ve gone from a shocking misdiagnosis to a diagnosis I can handle. I can still only just weight bare and walking without crutches is agonising. I’ve done a day or two without food because there wasn’t any bread, milk or even left overs for that fact and I’m not in a fit position to exactly whip up some scrambled eggs unless you would prefer scrambled eggs on the kitchen floor per say.
It is mentally draining, mentally painful and I have no strength in my ankle what so ever. Just last week I was suffering for extreme muscle spasms in my calf. Due to the plaster and demobilisation, I was diagnosed with Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT). I’ve been living with an elevated leg for a week now and it’s getting easier each day. It’s been a lot less painful to lie in bed with an elevated leg than to attempt to do anything. The prescribed blood thinners took their time and thankfully they kicked in to ease my pain within forty-eight hours. Standing up, even to go to the bathroom, to shower or to simply go and say hello to a guest out in the lounge room meant enduring spasms and a numb foot.
Remaining sane is relatively easy with great company, amazing friends. I’m not bound to my house thankfully but I do have the be cautious of my surroundings now that my chances of bleeding to death have been elevated a notch.
There are a handful of people that have done the occasional motivation pep talk and the few that have offered to help me rehabilitate when the time comes. Having only narrowly missed the need for an ankle reconstruction, I have a long way to go and the irritation of not being able to drive or cook is rather intolerable – my independence, diminished.
I’m never one to exactly love exercise but I would do anything to be able to simply walk right now. It’s been nineteen days since I ran and it’s another eight weeks until I ‘should’ be running again.
Now to sum it all up, Tinder has been grand. Being crippled makes for a good bio which only leads to amazing conversation openers. You’d be surprised how many guys have offered to pick me up and take me back to their bed. “Oh I like crippled, they can’t run away“, I’ve heard that line in several forms, several times. But I need to have my little bout of power and independence, get myself to and from and what not. Imagine a gloriously awkward conversation over dinner only to have to endure an accompanying awkward car ride home and that’s not even the worst case scenario. I’ll pass on that one. But there are a handful of guys who haven’t proposed anything but a date when I’m ready and able. These conversations flow effortlessly and I mean, you can only learn so much about someone from behind a little text bubble, but when a conversation flows, it flows.
So here’s to the new adventure of The Crippled Tinder Life.