Smashabone

August 7, 2009 - Friday

Or something. Two weeks ago, I braked too hard on the Beastie and sent us both to the asphalt. It was on the way to work on a lovely summer morning, and I was, as usual, wearing capris. I'd said since the beginning I'd drive in shorts until something happened, so consider that the wakeup call. Also the excuse to get the aforementioned levers and handlebar and a new engine lighting system installed on my Precious. The damage done to my was a series of scrapes from the knee of my left leg down. My knee and the calf have healed up wonderfully and all that's left are patches of new pink skin. But whatever happened to my ankle, it doesn't want to fix itself. I was wearing tennis shoes and short socks, and the ankle seems to have taken the brunt of my fall. I've been keeping honey on it and changing the bandage almost every day, and for a while I thought it was getting better. It's still open, but at least the pus recedes and I could walk around without the supporting bandage for a while. And then on Wednesday evening I did a routine bandage change and it wouldn't quit hurting. Usually after a new dose of honey goes on it would throb and protest for a couple hours and then die down, but on Wednesday it wouldn't go away. I tried to go to sleep and couldn't. No matter how I lay it hurt; moving didn't help any. For Pete's sake, this is a quarter-sized raw spot, but it felt like hot needles in my foot and a sledgehammer inside my leg. I'd actually been able to walk normally on it the past two days and had removed the support bandage completely, and now it felt like every move I'd put the ankle through was coming back with a vengeance. I can't remember the last time I bawled on account of an injury, but when I finally gave in after 10 p.m. and limped downstairs in search of remedy, I was crying like a baby and shaking like a leaf. Mom was still up and decided to put some frankincence around the injured area. Then she found some salve for open wounds, put that on the bandage, and wrapped it up good and tight again. That finally helped and the pain subsided. And hour later, I finally fell asleep. The next morning I felt sick in my stomach and as soon as I used a muscle in my left foot it hollered. I wrote an e-mail to the office saying I was in no condition to drive to work that morning but I'd try to show up in the afternoon. And then I basically slept and dozed away the hours, listening to several radio plays. When I left my room after 1000 hours the foot felt somewhat better. I took Retta on a lengthwise short but timewise long walk up the road, and then crashed on the daybed again while Mom prepared lunch. Nothing heals like sleep. I went to the office in the afternoon, and then went to bed early, at 2000 hours. Today I'm feeling somewhat better. I still have a knot in my stomach, but I think that partially because I'm hungry and I know I'm going to Oma's delicious cooking at midday. My ankle is feeling a bit dried out, and it's bandaged so thickly it barely fits in my motorcycle boot. Tomorrow morning, though, I'm going - for the first time in my life that I can remember - to a doctor. I'm beginning to wonder if I didn't actually scrape it down to the bone.