Two days ago I had an MRI on my ankle. It's been 6 or 7 weeks since I wiped out on the icy patch and this ankle is still swollen, sore and screaming at me if I walk more than 30 minutes. SCREAMING. So I went back to the ortho. And he said "Yep. It's too swollen for this amount of time passed." And he put an MRI request in with my insurance. Long story less long.. I got an MRI.
And, to no surprise to me my janky ankle is seriously messed up. Not only do I have a bad regular sprain but I also have an impressive "high ankle sprain" and do not for one minute think that I haven't tried to formulate every "high" joke for ankle sprain my 10 year old boy sense of humor could conjure up. The good news is that nothing is broken, my bones are intact (He used the word intact) but there is tearing of tendons and twisting of ligaments ....and the only treatment for what ails me is to stay off my feet as much as possible. I already texted the dog walker to see if she can take sweet pea for a couple of weeks. I guess the short little hobbles I have been taking have not been short enough. This is my ideal outcome though. I got confirmation of my injury and validation for the pain and there is no professional intervention necessary.
So, maybe you can relate to this. I am in a place where the only pain which exists is the husband’s pain. (I mean, according to the one and only person I am currently living with) Any other person’s pain is a completely out of reach theoretical concept. So, I was pretty psyched to see the husband’s face responding as the doctor talked about how much damage I had done to my ankle. I had the doctor on speaker phone and he used great words like HUGE and SEVERE and TREMENDOUS. I know the sounds reached the husband's ears. His face responded with grimace type expressions in the moment. Shockingly appropriate.
But then, fast forward to 90 minutes later and he-who-just-heard-the-doctor-tell-me-to-keep-my-ankle-elevated-and-iced-and-to-not-walk-on-it asked me to go to the supermarket to get him D!et C0ke in the middle an ice storm, so obviously there is a big disconnect there. Maybe he's born with it, maybe it's dementia. (Get it? My Maybelline joke?) It is fascinating to observe someone with ZERO empathy or compassion for anyone else. Not even for his own kids. FASCINATING. And, should I go down that route one day smother me with a pillow. Not kidding. Dementia, even if I seem completely content is not for me. I want out if that happens. Someone get me a document to sign!! I want my desires known. Also, I absolutely do not want to be a burden to anyone and even if the caregiver does not consider demented me to be a burden, I would prefer that my caregiver (assuming it's one of my kids) has things to do which are way more fun, less gross and more personally fulfilling. Like, I take this not being a burden desire so far that I actually think that its a bit selfish to be buried when one can be cremated or donated to science. I do not want my kids to feel like they have to visit the cemetery- ever. Man, I will be ghost stalking them all over the place so hard anyway! And I will be ghost laughing in their faces if they think they have to stand on acres of dead people to "visit" me where my meat suit and bones are decaying. Hahaha. Gross.
Okay, got my laugh for the day, now I am going to go lie down on the couch and put my ankle up.
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