Nancy Williams' Halloween costume: Injured orthopedic sales rep clown
I missed writing for a few weeks. Told my son I reckoned I wouldn’t get column-writing done due to my broken foot. He replied, Why? Do you write with your feet? No, because my injured hoof hurts and is clouding my mental playground. He rolled his eyes in the same way I did years ago when he said he couldn’t do his math homework because he’d had a tooth pulled same day. You use your teeth for math? I asked. Guess that sass came back home to roost.
Whether or not my son deems it an adequate explanation for being unable to write, the fact remains: I broke my foot a little. Or rather sustained a little break in my foot. If you have big feet, is a little break technically a big break? I’ll ponder that. In fact, I’ll ponder lots of things. Being all one-booted up, ped-elevated and not easily able to do my usual task tap dancing and flitting around.
Other than pain or any lasting permanent foot manglement, I mostly fear boredom. I’m not typically bored whatsoever, so don’t have practice managing it. Although I shouldn’t be bored now because I have less free time, seeing as how limping to the shower or kitchen takes so much longer.
My friends need to start a GoFunMe page. (Fun, not fund.) For my GoFunMe, instead of sending money, text me a joke or email me a puzzle. Drop off a book or visit with your pet duck.
How to occupy oneself hasn’t ever been a problem for me. But a small piece of me frets, what if two to four weeks off of my foot turns in to two to four months off of it? And what if I run out of stuff to think about? And who will now clean the garage? About the garage, my smarty pants son said the same person will clean it who was cleaning it before you hurt your foot. Nobody. At least you have an excuse now for a little while.
The way I broke my foot was I stepped backwards on a set of steps and the step behind me wasn’t where I thought it would be. Yawn. Much less interesting than if I was running from robbers or rescuing a baby bear. Or I was cleaning my roof and slipped off, landing like a gymnast, from a height which cracked a foot bone. Olympian me.
I broke the foot about the same time Hurricane Ian hit. Reminding me that much of our challenge in life is perspective. Wincing when I totter to the bathroom seems so much more manageable than seeing my furniture floating around in my house.
When I got the removable cast/boot-thing fitted, every single person in the ortho office said you cannot drive with this on. Seriously, you cannot. Don’t try it. You must not. OK, OK, I said. No chance of it, even if I wanted to. I could barely walk in it.
Teetering to my car in the parking lot, no less than five people stopped to offer help. It’s a sign of a small town or a sign of the south. It’s what we do. Slow down and help people cross the road.
Granted I was creeping along at a snail’s pace, but I was OK. After declining assistance and thanking yet another one of the folks who stopped to assist, I asked him if he thought I needed help because I was moving incredibly slowly. He said no, I stopped because you looked so … puzzled. Made me laugh.
Hmm … suppose so. I had questions on my mind while I inched my way across the parking lot. Should I get another boot? Wearing one big ole’ clumsy elevated boot makes walking quite lop-sided. If I had a boot on the other foot too, would it be easier to walk?
Also, contemplating, feet have 56 bones. Nearly 25% of the body’s bones are in the feet. If one of my bones is broken in half, does it count as two bones now? I have 28 bones in one foot and 29 in the injured foot, which I’ve named Foot-Foot.
Earlier this year, friends referenced the classic Mel Tillis telling of a story about three rabbits named Foot, Foot-Foot and Foot-Foot-Foot. Tillis was a famous country singer, known for his significant stutter when speaking. The older Tillis could get haltingly through the rabbit story. Earlier versions of him telling it are less smooth. It’s funny. Look it up. He knows he’s struggling, shrugging at the humor in it, yet determined to make it through. He’s my role model at the moment.
When I hurt Foot-Foot, I already had tickets for a concert. I rented a scooter so I could go. Joined the boot-scooting group. (Different meaning from when line dancers were called that.) The friend with me commented that people watching me on the scooter were smiling, amused. Why? Could be because of your gritty, I-can-do-this expression. Or because you keep apologizing for how loud the backup beeper is.
I now have several pieces of walking assistance equipment for different purposes which I haul around. My dad’s cane, a traditional walker, a knee scooter and a rolling walker, in addition to a full boot and half boot. My car looks like I’m an orthopedic appliance sales rep. One friend said he knows a couple who accept donations of used medical equipment, then gives items or loans them to others when there is a need. Really cool niche the couple fills. But my friend said when he goes in their basement where they keep the stuff, it’s sort of spooky. Medical gadgets hanging on the wall and doodads for the infirmed suspended in air all around the underground room.
Made me think about Halloween. Wonder if I should decorate my front porch by putting medical appliances and therapeutic devices on it.
One night, after I’d gotten in to bed, I noticed my lips were really dry. I dreaded hobbling around to look for some ChapStick in my medicine cabinet. Occurred to me that regular lipstick has lip moistening properties and my purse was right beside me. I felt around in my purse for the deep reddish-brown lipstick and in the dark, rubbed it fairly liberally on my lips and lip area, then fell asleep. Next morning, I forgot I’d smeared on the make-do balm. Limped toward the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. And screamed at the scary clown-thing looking back at me. Wild hair, stained nightshirt and very poorly applied lipstick is an excellent costume.
I guess some years Halloween isn’t fake injuries and pretend wounds. It’s real. Bandages, wraps, icepacks. Dragging a leg, wincing in pain with crazed-eye resolve and compensating with maniacal laughter. Bwahaha! Happy Halloween.
This is the opinion of Nancy Williams, the coordinator of professional education at UNC Asheville. Contact her at nwilliam@unca.edu.
This article originally appeared on Asheville Citizen Times: Nancy Williams' Halloween costume: Injured orthopedic sales rep clown
