Wednesday, August 18, 2010
This is part two of this story.
The morning after our return to California, my injured foot was blue-ish, yellow-ish, swollen and grouchy. I was much the same. I couldn't ignore the pain anymore. Bob and I made the drive to the office of my real, non-internet doctor.
Dr. H is a brilliant man and I have been a patient of his for the past 19 years. I adore going to his office not just to see him but because the waiting room will surely offer an array of stars rivaling an episode of the Love Boat. Was that the cast of American Gladiators in the hallway? Yes it was. Was that Mr. T holding the elevator door for you? Indeed. Jeff Conaway coming out of the bathroom? You bet. Who needs to read People magazine while you wait for the nurse? Not me. People comes to life on the couch next to me and makes loud calls on an iphone. I love Hollywood.
Dr. H sums up my situation, “So you did this six days ago on a salon chair and are just coming in now. In that time, you have been doing a lot of walking and standing in high heels and you also went dancing?”
My son adds, "And it looks so much wuhrse."
“Was there alcohol involved at least?”
“No, I still don’t drink, I just have poor judgment. But look at the great hair. Am I right?”
As I headed into the x-ray room a tiny, elderly man headed me off at the door and edged me back into the hall. The technician said, “Mr. De Laurentiis, Ms. Rosenberg is first. It will only take a moment. Please have a seat.”
“Meh,” said Mr. De Laurentiis as his beautiful wife laughed and led him away.
The x-ray showed that the bone was not broken. Dr. H guessed a stress fracture but did not want to put me through the experience of an MRI to confirm it, bless him. I was told to stay off my feet, elevate, ice and Ibuprofin. And wear a more supportive (ugly) shoe. And no high heels. And no dancing. I agreed, of course.
The next day I took Bob to the beach. We ran around in the sand. We chased waves and played Frisbee. My foot hurt but my hair? Still perfect. Dr. H called to check on me and I let the call go to voicemail.
I will ice and elevate my foot tomorrow. Really. And I will keep the dancing to a minimum. Probably.