November Blues

Both Richard and I survived decades – he nearly eight and me (halfway through six) – without a broken bone.  Now, both our medical histories include right foot fractures although different bones, five years apart but with the same hobbling.

My break was totally my fault as I focused on taking that perfect picture of the centuries old monastery, tucked high in the Moldovan hillside and visible across the deep valley; totally inattentive to the surface change from pavement to gravel with a drop significant enough to turn an ankle and (as discovered later) fracture a bone.  With the support of my travel companions, one of which was a Mayo orthopedic nurse, I preserved.  After all, what else is there to do 5,200 miles and eight time zones from home with a “transverse nondisplaced fracture at the distal aspect of the lateral malleolus”?

Fast forward from October 2018 to last week and a facture of Richard’s fifth metatarsal.  The loud thump had me running from our computer room at the back of the house to the front TV room.  At first, we both thought everything was just bruised, his left shoulder, elbow and hip and his right foot.  After three days, his left side soreness had noticeably diminished but his right foot was still quite swollen, and walking was painful.  Time for a Sunday morning visit to Acute Care.  He walked in wearing both shoes and, just like the Diddle, Diddle Dumpling nursery rhyme, he left the clinic with one shoe on and one shoe off, wearing instead a short ortho air-pump walking boot.  The doctor ordered a follow-up X-ray in four weeks to check progress. We anticipate he will be booted and hobbling for six to eight weeks.  This is one of those shared experiences I wish he could have missed.

Photo credit: Richard Hutton