my right foot

This is not going to to become a blog about my injured ankle.

"Too late," I hear from the lady in the front row.

OK.  I know I have written a bit about this injury.  And I will write more.  After all, it is a Mexican injury.

Today I finally saw an orthopedist in Oregon.  His first step was to remove the splint I have been wearing for the past two months.  With the exception of about 15 minutes when my sutures were removed, that splint has been my constant supporting cast.

I had a hint of what was about to happen.  For the past three weeks, I could catch strong whiffs of what smelled like a dead animal.  And I knew its source.  My right foot.

Sure enough.  When the doctor took off the splint, it smelled as if a cheese factory had blown up.  And not one of those mild Mexican cheeses.  It smelled as if a French boutique operation had suffered an explosive demise. 


You should be happy I chose not to post a photograph of my foot at that time.  The very sight of it would have caused your nose to shut down.

After looking at a few new x-rays, the doctor informed me everything was healing nicely, and declared I was ready to start walking on my right foot -- with the aid of crutches.

His only concern was how long I had worn the splint.  My ankle is "wood" -- stuck in place.  So, I am now looking at 4 weeks of physical therapy.  Of course, physical therapy was always in my future.

But no driving -- yet.  Not until I get a bit more control in my ankle.  Then I can get out on my own.

I have been pleased with the help I have been getting from friends.  But I look forward to getting a bit more independence.

And I know the greatest risk I face -- taking it all too fast.

This is the point I need to remember those lessons in patience I have learned over the past two months.

But, the sooner I can get around, the sooner we can get back to Mexican-related stories.

And we will all be thankful for that.