I read a book of short stories that Steven King published under a sirname once, and my favorite was called The Long Walk, about a contest where you just keep walking, like forever, and the last one standing wins.
I feel like I lived that last week. I haven't posted in a while, cause I didn't feel like there was much to say. I get up, work from home, go to physical therapy and the chiropractor, come home. Ray comes home pretty late lately (well, pretty late for us is like when you catch the 6:40 train, which arrives at 7:10pm, which gets him in the door about 7:30pm - since we go to bed at like 8:30-9pm... 7:30 is LATE!) So we eat, watch the news and go to bed. That's been about it during the week.
But the physical therapy is going really well, and I'm even able to walk around the house in small bits (like a bathroom run or something) without the boot at all - so it's really healing well. Which gets me all over-confident, and quite sure I can handle the commute into the office again. WRONG.
So Monday, we woke up at the crack of dawn (3:20am is when Ray's getting up to do his abs now, God help me) and we head for the 5:06am train. It's like 15 degrees out, so even with two pair of wool socks on my left foot, my poor toes and heel are frozen from being exposed in the boot. I manage the walk from the train to the Metro fine, although slower than the rest of the hoards would have liked, and then I arrive at my stop, and Ray and I go our separate ways.
I'm dragging my wheely bag in my left hand, using the cane in my right, trying to manipulate the escalators and the turn-styles (is that right?) that get you in and out of the Metro. Then I have the 2-3 block walk to my office, in 15 degree weather in the dark, then the stairs leading up to the turn-styles that scan us into the building. Then the long walk down the hallway to my desk. Then throughout the day, the long walk down the hall for a meeting, for paperwork, for the bathroom, the kitchen. And no way to really elevate my leg at my desk, because of the position of my computer. By noon, I was wiped out and my ankle was killing me.
Curry, my boss, came by and I guess he could see it in my face (my mom always says I read like a book), and told me not to bother coming in the rest of the week. He said that if coming in makes it take longer to heal, or even does damage - it's not worth it, and that he knows I do more teleworking from home in a day than most people do all month (very sweet, and since I work for the government, probably not entirely untrue).
But would I listen? No, no, no - "I need to be here," "I feel like a bad employee or something..." and he just brushed all that off and told me that was silly. I got the same advice from a couple of other people, but when I left for the day I still wasn't convinced. I figured I'd take my laptop home just in case, and see how I felt that night (that's when it usually clobbers me if I overdo it), then make my decision.
At 2:30pm, I started for the door (had a physical therapy appointment at 4:30p) to catch the 3:30 train. Union Station normally would take me about 15 minutes to get there, but in that boot... didn't want to chance it. I got out the building, but through the National Building Museum across the street and when I arrived at the escalator down into Judiciary Square, the escalator was broken. That's a lot of metal stairs. A LOT. I don't think there's an elevator at that stop... so take a deep breath and start the long journey down, as slowly and carefully as I can. The cane is getting in the way of holding the railing, so I put it in the same hand as my wheely bag, and start pulling step by step. About 10 steps in (and what seemed like an eternity) a man and woman pass me on the left and the man asks me if I need help. I told him that I was fine, thanks, was just going to take a while and to go on around me. I took another step, and he says, "No. You need help. Give me that." And he takes my bag right out of my hand and starts walking down the escalator. My bag, with my computer, and my purse, and my RX strength Ibuprofin :). I kept moving, thinking, "Dear God, please let him be a good guy." And if he wasn't, and he wanted to take my bag, there wasn't a damned thing I could do about, stuck there about 2/3rds of the way up the escalator.
Luckily, he was a good guy. He waited at the bottom until I got close enough that no one else was going to be able to steal my bag, and I thanked him profusely. Then I had to wait 7 minutes for the next Metro, and when it arrived and I climbed on, found my way to the first seat and sat down, exasperated. I looked up, and, as if by some devine intervention, I see my "train-gang" buddy, Bill - one of the guys who's become my pal via our commute, standing on the platform in the same place every day for 4 1/2 years (we all email each other and get together for lunch from time to time... terrific people). Bill said he didn't even recognize me at first, because of the look on my face - and that he could tell I was in pain. When we arrived at Union Station, he carried my bag the rest of the way, and helped me onto the train, which was parked, of course, at the farthest gate, on a low platform, so that you have to walk up big steps just to get on board.
It was a day from hell... with little angels here and there to help see me through it. :)
Needless to say, by that time - there was no question. I telecommuted for the rest of the week.
I might try again one day next week. But tomorrow is my follow up appointment with Dr. Wilckins, the surgeon - so we'll see what he says. The good news is, that appointment marks 4 weeks since I got the boot, which means I'm down to 2-4 weeks left (can I get an Amen?).
The Long Walk
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