Arch-enemy #1: The original culprit, the top step... the one with the snow and ice on it. Yeah, right there by the railing that doesn't exist.
Arch-enemy #2: My foot that went and took leave from my leg after sliding from said top step to said bottom step:
Arch-enemy #3: This soft splint might look like it protected my foot, but I was so scared of someone bonking into me that Tom even created a cage for my paranoid foot:
BFF #1: The goofy and very happy man who acts like the class clown, but is actually brilliant and phenomenally talented (and was trained by this man), and who promised me he'd fix my foot -- and then, being the perfectionist that he is, spent seven and a half hours doing so.
Arch-enemy #4: I am not an old lady. I'm not. I'm not. I'm NOT! I refuse to use this thing because the sound of shuffling feet should only come from people of two ages: 2, in foot-pajamas, and 92, using one of these. 52 is not 2 or 92, so sorry -- no can do.
BFF #2: My cool purple cast hurt like hell on the first day and then, because it was hard and thick, it contributed to the lowering of my blood pressure as I stopped worrying that someone would, heaven forbid, touch my foot and send me over the edge.
BFF #3: My knee-walker. I love my knee-walker because I am really, really fast on it and because both my hands are free so I can do normal things like floss my teeth and carry a plate to the table. I know that one day, when I'm instructed to partial-weight-bear, I will have to bid adieu to my knee-walker and I dread that day.
Arch-enemy #5: Crutches are stupid. You can't use your hands at all and they give you rashes in your armpits. I will never like crutches and I dread using them. (Don't let the smile fool you!)
BFF #4: My storm trooper boot with the space-age air pumps cushions and protects my foot. It makes my foot feel loved and pampered and cared for and it gives me false security, making me feel like I actually might someday walk again. I adore my storm trooper boot.
Once I got the storm trooper boot, I was instructed to begin putting weight on my foot (in the boot, of course, and using the dreaded crutches) and to not use my knee-walker as much.
Absolute arch-enemy #7 to 7-jazillion: This is not my foot. I don't know where it came from, but it is NOT MINE. It feels like a bare wrist or a knuckle when it touches the floor. It feels foreign and odd and weird and bizarre. I don't know how -- or if -- I will ever be friends with this appendage again. It belongs to someone else and has no business trying to suck up to me, hoping I'll accept it. I want my old foot back -- the one that knew me and understood me intuitively and cooperated with me without me having to plead and cajole. I don't know how to make it work with this stranger-foot. I'm sure massive amounts of therapy are indicated, and a temper tantrum or two will surely ensue. Maybe, one day, we can co-exist peacefully and without much pain. We shall see.
And... the COMPETITION: Nora, who turns one next month, seems to think she'll be taking her first steps before I take mine. Ha! The race is on, my darling friend. The race is ON.