Clumsy people are good on crutches

No seriously, we are. It’s because we have so much practice on them. As I was whizzing down the hallway to yet another doctor’s appointment the technician put up his hands like a traffic cop and even said a couple of ‘whoas‘. In case you are wondering if you missed the post about why I’m on crutches, don’t worry, you didn’t. There wasn’t one because the story is neither sexy nor cool nor cute. Ok so none of my posts are sexy but that is only because I’m worried my computer would like block it or something and as I am so not computer literate and would not be able to get to my beloved blog. Anyway, I digress..
I crutch well and I’m proud of that because I don’t walk well (obviously.) Lately even baby has taken to the crutches. She would pull on my finger, indicating to me that she wanted to go play and I would point to my hurt foot and say “foot.” She bought that for a whole minute then she turned, found my crutches, and brought them to me. As if to say, come on mama, you ain’t gettin’ off easy, that‘s what these horrid things (horrid=not a toy for me) are for. Thanks kiddo. Now if I could just teach her to bring me a Dr. Pepper and rub my feet.
So when Doc #58 (all I can say is dealing with Worker’s Comp has been so much fun) brought in Robo Foot for me I was a little dismayed that I wouldn’t need crutches anymore.
After all, I day dream about winning at Special Olympics for best Crutch Sprinter. (Dream big, that’s what I always say.) But then the nurse showed me how to blow it up and even gave me my very own blower upper thingamajig. And while my first thought was oh great another important, small thing I am doomed to lose, and my second was my cats will wreck it if my kid doesn’t first, my third was how cool is that?!? Then I put the sucker on and it actually was comfortable and did I mention you get to blow it up? But the very best part: now I really don’t have to shave my lower right leg.
Still, I miss my crutches. They lean looking at me with longing, kind of like the mop in that awful commercial where the mop send some lady flowers and what not. No idea what the commercial was for. I don’t miss having to lug them around because no matter where you put crutches they end up falling and usually just when you need to grab them again to get somewhere. Problem was solved in my house though, with my two-foot tall crutch picker-upper. And Crutch is my first nickname for my hubby. (The other nicknames, ahem, aren’t appropriate… don’t want to get locked out now do we?) Why, you ask? Because when we were first dating I had broken my other foot and on one of our first dates we were in a crowded room and he carried me to the couch. Someone said, oh look, how sweet, he’s her crutch. Or something to that affect. Needless to say, I’m sentimental about the word. But the Robo Foot is simply bad ass. And I get to make shooting noises at people when I point it at them. So, good-bye crutches. I’m sure I’ll be digging you out of the garage in another year or two. As long as Court’s in the world you can count on her to fall down.