Sleeping on Scissors

If you are whining-averse, I suggest you turn away now. I've been trying hard to keep a positive attitude throughout my recovery, but I'm having a frustrating day. I was supposed to have my post-surgical boot by now, but when I called the doctor's office this morning, the nurse (or whoever she is) said the clearance hadn't come through from my insurance company. I asked if I should call; she assured me she would take care of it and get back to me today. Two things about this bother me: I'm sure it won't be easy to get back on my feet (or, more accurately, foot) after a month off, and according to my doctor I could have begun this process a week ago. Also, I'm planning to visit my son near Orlando tomorrow and having to constantly use the knee-roller really jacks my plans. I knew I would have to use it some of the time, but I was hoping not all of the time.

Last night I fell asleep on the sofa (as has been my routine since surgery; it's hard to prop my foot up enough in my bed with the covers on). I woke up around four this morning and went into my bed. When I got up, I saw my scissors on the sofa. I had slept on them, fortunately without incident. It feels like a metaphor for my day. I showered -- no easy feat, if you'll pardon the pun -- and lost my balance a little, coming down hard on my right heel. I have an incision there, which isn't as horrible-looking as the one on my toe but still painful. In order to be closer to the faucet (since I'd had a hard time turning off the water after my last shower) I sat at the front end of the tub. This made washing easier, but I had a real dilemma getting out. I just sat for a while, trying to figure it all out, drying myself as I waited for divine inspiration to hit. It didn't. I tried to push the shower curtain back while I sat, to no avail. So I stood unsteadily and hung on to the window ledge as I pushed it back, and then moved myself to the other end of the tub. The wheels of the scooter got stuck on the toilet; I had made progress (getting out of the tub) but was stymied beyond that point. After a lot of hopping and turning, I broke myself free. Oh, did I mention that the entire time this was going on my cat was sitting outside my bedroom door howling like a Banshee? I was screaming at her through the door, words I'm embarrassed to repeat here.

When I was finally dressed, I was drenched in sweat and exhausted. I sat down on the sofa -- where the scissors still sit -- and combed my hair, my eyes welling up with tears. I'm not a big complainer or whiner -- at least, I don't think I am -- but I'm so over all of this I can't even express it. I had a good cry, let the cat out, and picked up my crochet project. (I've made three baby blankets and a hat, and my work in progress is a baby sweater.) I'm in the recliner as I write this, but my foot isn't elevated enough, so I'm headed back to the sofa. And the scissors will be on the table, within easy reach but in a perhaps safer position.