Don't wish for excitement with a broken foot.

Last week, I worried. Not for my health or anything like that. No. I was worried that I would not have anything to blog about. Then, it happened.

I have to say that this situation is driving me crazy. Last night, in my wisdom, I decided that maybe bad broken bone recovery is said to take 3 months because any longer would force you to take matters into your own hands. Seriously, it's been 81 days since I broken my foot and is exactly 4 weeks until my prospective 'pot off' date. Frothing at the mouth will be next if it doesn't come off then or I may be forced to re-enact a scene from 'Saw'. Desperately, I have been wanting something to happen just so I could blog to keep me occupied. No, I'm not asking for a celebrity visit or the miracle of becoming an athlete over night. Just a little something to spice up my day. Well, on Thursday, my wish came true.
Deciding once again to try and be a little self sufficient, I hopped in the kitchen to try to do some prep for tea so that Nick did not have to do everything. As I got into the middle of the kitchen, my right crutched developed a mind of it's own. It went sliding to the right making me seriously lose my balance. Reflex reaction made me put my left potted foot straight down to stop me over-balancing. Did it hurt? No, I did not feel a thing because what I have found, with a non-weight-bearing pot, is that it has been put round my foot in such a way that makes it impossible to put any weight on it at all (hence the name, durrr!). Therefore, the Foot of Doom was not happy with this and went sliding off to the left allowing my left crutch to disappear from my sight. I have never been a gymnast but the way I did the splits could have seriously won me a medal.
Amazingly, I did not break anything. However, my finishing position put me in a bit of a fix. My crutches were half way across the kitchen, my good foot was trapped under my leg and my bad foot was sticking out  at very strange angle. Feeling like I was hanging off the Empire State Building, I was clinging for dear life to the kitchen counter and could not work out how I was going to move. Sobbing hysterically, I reached in my pocket for my mobile to call my neighbour. My 84 year old neighbour! He was the only one I could think of. Luckily, he is very agile and came running over to my rescue. Managing to move my wheelchair, he help me get into it as well as putting up with my distraught crying. Ray is my hero and deserves putting on the New Years honours list for his efforts.When Nick walked in from work, I was a right old mess and sat crying for a very long time. Exhausted, I hopped to the sofa and nursed my grazed arms and broken toe nail.
In future, I can't promise that I won' t wish for something interesting to happen but maybe not wish so hard. Also, I'd better make sure that I glue myself to the sofa for my own safety as well as for Super Ray's!