Our downstairs spare bedroom comes in handy as a recovery room while I am forbidden to put any weight on my surgically altered foot for six weeks.
"I have to cut through your heel, peel your flesh back, move aside your Achilles tendon, shave the bone, put the tendon back and sew it all up. I'm sorry, we don't have a video camera."
Who needs a camera? After my podiatrist's graphic description, the pictures in my head were graphic enough, and a strong reminder of why I never went into medicine. Far too much cutting, peeling and shaving.
The doc opines that I should have had surgery on my heel spurs three or four years ago. I didn't know I had heel spurs three or four years ago.
I know it now.
Left foot first; it was clearly in the worst shape. Right foot follows...sometime. By then, anyway, I will have mastered use of the knee walker, a sort of padded trolley designed to take up the slack for my bum foot. No weight at all on it for six weeks, doc says.
So I'll have plenty of time to catch up on my writing while Ron adds nursing to his newly expanded housekeeping duties. For now, however...a nap.
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