Ankle break, week four: The Incredible Shrinking Calf
I stopped by the orthopedic surgeon today and he cut off the old cast, took more x-rays, and recast the leg. I went with a black cast this time, because it matches the shoes that I like wear. I'm sorry, did I say shoes? I meant shoe, the shoe I like to wear.

He said it's healing well, but I may as well settle back and relax, because I did a great job tearing it up. It'll be awhile before I can even put weight on the foot. I'm learning to live with the extra foot weight and the hopping and the immobility. It's not acceptable, but I can live with it, for now. I've learned to hop down stairs pretty well, but hopping up stairs is a lot of work. I cheat at that and go butt first or put my hands on the stairs and proceed to look like an afflicted rabbit ascending a set of stairs.

I noticed that when I go to his office, I sweat buckets of fear. The only thing I could envision was everyone callously twisting and flexing my exposed ankle. I was wrong, they were very caring, and I didn't have to cry like a wee-girl. Public Machismo Crisis narrowly averted: whew.

We forgot to bring a camera, but I had my phone with me. It has a camera on it, but it's barely adequate so please forgive the quality of the enclosed pics.