At The End of My Rope

I can't even begin to put into words the disappointment I felt today. . . I went to the doctor today fully expecting to have my cast removed with the intention of finally ditching the crutches, putting two feet on the ground, and walking [semi-]independently with a boot.

The last week has been more than trying on my patience . . . with all the snow we've been experiencing during this month, I've been spending way too much time trapped in my little apartment forced to watch an exhorbitant amount of bad reality TV, order more than the FDA recommended greasy take-out Chinese, and play nauseating online games. . . After 7 weeks of non-activity, I truly had had it!  Like a pregnant woman entering her last month of gestation, I was willing to do whatever it took to end this whole experience.

We removed the cast, but the doctor informed me today that he would like me to continue using the crutches for two more weeks before putting full weight on the foot . . . he finished it with a "and don't put any weight on that foot without the boot under any circumstances!"

I cried non-stop for twenty minutes as soon as I got home (and without an accurate tally system in place, I think this was my third temper tantrum this week).  I want my mobility and independence more than anything--I want to be able to walk to the grocery store, to go see a movie, or to just be able to join my colleagues for after work drinks--but, I guess it's just not a possibility yet.

The only (and extremely small, in my opinion,) win of the day was being able to finally wash/exfoliate. . . when I called my mom in tears to let out all the frustration, she said, "well, it sounds like you managed to get in the bathtub at least."  All I could do was cry back, "yeah, but I don't know how I'm going to get out?!"