Moral of the Story

Anyone that knows me will be the first to tell you a few things: I am loud, talkative, don't do ‘alone time’ or even generally sitting in one place for an extended period of time too well and I am a ‘planner.’ Naturally, the last descriptive adjective given to me would be ‘introvert.’

In 2 weeks and counting down the days, I will get my cast taken off and put into a fashionable "space boot" for a to-be-determined amount of time until my ankle strength builds back up. As much as I hate wishing away time, I am hoping the next two weeks (minus the weekends because I do treasure those so) will fly by. Anxiety is an understatement of my feelings at various points in time over the past 6 weeks, especially when it came to situations such as:

1. “Bethany is Too Confident on Her Crutches.”

As an extremely independent person, I tend to think I am invincible at times, leaving no reason to ask for help. This fault of mine combined with no patience for sitting still, filthy apartments or hunger have left me in compromising positions on the floor of my apartment covered in cleaning supplies and stir-fried rice. Let’s just say trying to clean the apartment the day after I came home from the hospital was no the best decision of my life, perhaps second worst to jumping off that balcony. My foot closely resembled an uncooked stuffed sausage and was throbbing with pain, but at least I had a clean apartment! After just a couple weeks into the crutches, I had already learned how to balance a plate of food while supporting myself with one crutch and hoisting the other one as a prob. Slowly but surely I found I could gimp my way into the living room to eat dinner. This method worked beautifully until I tried to not only carry a bowl of rice, but add in a cup of water as well. As one can imagine, I ended up on the floor in a puddle of ricey water that had not only managed to splatter across the hallway but onto the walls, cabinets and kitchen door. Calling my mom while in tears helped calm me down long enough to clean up every tiny grain of rice and by then I had lost my appetite. Moral of this story: hire a live-in housekeeper.

2. “Be a Sweet Roommate and Make Bec Dinner Night.”

Similar to story #1, I apparently don’t truly learn my lesson, but just alter the situations I put myself to try to avoid the same incidents. Craving veggie curry after work one evening, I decided to surprise Bec with dinner. With crutches propped up in the corner of the kitchen, the space is small enough that I can hop on one foot to move from fridge, sink and stove without them. Fragrant red curry simmering on the stove in our fabulous wok I turn to hop to the fridge when I hear metal sliding. My crutches decided they did not want to be propped up anymore and had slid along the counter top, catching the handle of the wok, spiraling red veggie curry into the air and onto not only the entirety of the kitchen but onto my plastered leg as well. Cursing the crutches, I grabbed the spatula to try to salvage the pile of veggies now resting in the middle of the kitchen when I hear the front door open. “BEC!” I yelled out. Running to the rescue, Bec got me off the floor and onto the counter with my curry soaked cast in the sink. In rapid speed she had cleaned the floor and moved onto using a scrub brush to eliminate all traces of curry smell and color from my cast. The last thing I needed was to show up to work the next day reeking of Indian food and having a stain as witness. Moral of this story: Order Delivery.

 

3. “I Want a Normal Social Life Back.”

Because this cast situation occurred shortly after we moved into our new apartment, purchasing small household items including a TV remote got pushed to the back burner. Normally this would be no fuss, but when you are couch ridden with no TV remote or easy way to maneuver manually changing the station AND Australia is infamously known for their worse than terrible television programs (that’s why they just steal all the American shows like Two & A Half Men and Modern Family), the no TV remote situation turns into a painful 30 minutes of succumbing to an Australian attempt at sitcom.

Step 1: Ask Bec to buy a TV remote.

Step 2: Find a way to get a social life back. Never wanting to turn down an invite, I mentally prepare myself ahead of time before heading out on crutches and I for the most part go pretty well. Minus falling on the stairs at our local pub, The Arcadia Hotel, perfect strangers referring to me as Hop-Along Cassidy and over confident boys at horse races using pick up lines somewhere in the vicinity of “Aw she can still look great even with crutches. What happened?” social situations have been completely normal. The topping on the cake though had to be the taxi driver who was pulling into traffic while looking at me in his rearview mirror, shaking his head and asking in thick middle eastern accent, “I tought de girls wit de beauty also had de brains.” Moral of this story: Buy a moped.

4. “Work.”

My co-workers have been more than amazing with this entire situation especially when it comes to having a ride to and from work every day. I can officially say every member of my office has now driven me to or from work, but not having to use public transport while on crutches has been a godsend. This is the one time in my life I think I will say I am happy to have a desk job. The only obstacles I have encountered are the steep stairs leading up to my desk and sorting through tube upon tube of last year’s Christmas posters for the shops while sprawled out in my work clothes on the warehouse floor and trying to delegate those sorted tubes to the corresponding shop palates for delivery. Moral of this story: Learn to drive a forklift with poster-tube-grabbing capabilities.

5. “Rain.”

Waiting for a cab or ride to work in the rain has topped my list of least favorite activities of all time. Not only is the slight slope coming out from our apartment deathly slippery which has led to a couple of plastered ankle-slamming-against-concrete incidents, there is also no way to balance on crutches while holding an umbrella (believe me, I have tried.)  Instead I don my purple raincoat and hope the ride is not too far off while balancing on slippery crutches under a tree attempting to keep myself, my cast and my purse as dry as possible while watching out for any sign of a lighting strike. Moral of this story: Buy an umbrella hat, preferably with primary colored stripes.

6. “Ugly Foot Etiquette.”

The question of the hour is: ‘What are the rules of etiquette for a bum foot in public?’ On Several occasions I have hiked a large soccer sock over my cast, to not only keep my toes warm (most of the time they are frozen solid), but also to attempt to hide my toes from sight (most noticeable when wearing dress pants with the other foot in a closed-toe shoe). Restaurants are always an interesting situation as well. Many people in this world have a strong aversion to feet and the thought of nasty toes propped up on the chair next to them while they attempt to choke down their meal is not the most pleasant of dining situations. Therefore, I try to keep my foot on the ground for as long as I can stand to without my foot swelling too much. The most memorable of ugly foot etiquette will be the timing and process of removing 8 weeks of ashy skin and leg hair before promptly arriving at a spray tan appointment to even out the lower leg paleness (since yes, I do already have a tan line) and then onto have a pedicure. I am thinking either an entire pack of razors will be necessary, or might just go straight for clipping shears. Moral of this story: Research and write my own “Ugly Foot Etiquette” Book.

7. My Happy Place

So all these stories over the past weeks have really one underlying moral. The extrovert Bethany has had to learn how to be an introvert. Never in my life would I have told you that I would sit on a couch for an entire Saturday with no plans and be perfectly content with it. Believe it or not, for once in my life I am comfortable with reading books, writing, watching movies, alone. My happy place is in my living room on my bright blue couch with the sun shining, French doors wide open (I am now an expert at propping these open on crutches) and happy music playing. If this was some sort of sick joke to force me to reach this point with myself, then the joke worked. I surrender!