OK. OK. I had to post it. Turns out my “poor, poor right foot,” the subject of recent lamentations, wasn’t just crying wolf. Snarling, drooling real-life wolf there was – in the form of broken blobbeedeebloo tarsal. The x-ray of said foot, so pityingly shared with me in a “see what you could have avoided if you would have come in a month ago” manner, was not pretty. Picture a diagonal-ish crack along my itty bitty pinky toe foundation bone (medical term) resembling, say, a bolt of lightening. And as feet go – apparently – they tend to start the healing process all by themselves… but as Mr. Doctor didn’t hesitate to point out,
“See right heeeeeerrrre… this is where we should see some of that healing I was talking about, but [sideways glance of disapproval] there is no sign of that progress.”
Hmm. Hiking. Biking. Hiking. Swimming. Oopsie.
So I have a boot. For four weeks. BIG SIGH. Welcome [back] to New York!!!