Happiness ISN'T...

...getting your freakin' leg whacked open from stem to stern. Here comes a full-on whine: DAMN, MY LEG HURTS!!!

OK...that's better. At least yesterday I made it down to the doctor to get the 900 ton cast removed. Since I couldn't get my left leg into the car on the driver's side around all the gas/brake/emergency brake pedals, J. had to drive me. I took along my old friend, Das Boot (a Frankenstein-ish orthopeadic boot, complete with numerous adjustment knobs, heavy duty black velcro straps and steel reinforcements, it looks like something Q would invent) that I had from the original broken ankle back in 2000. Lucky I did, since they were nice enough to cut off the bulky cast and replace it with the boot, but with a no-nonsense steely gaze and stern instructions NOT to walk around without the boot, and then even only when strictly neccessary.

No problem there. Especially since walking feels like someone is cheerfully holding a red-hot poker against my leg, it's automatically self-limiting. Since they had to make an even bigger incision to remove the hardware than they do to place it, the current incision is something on the order of 10 inches long. J. inspected it last night and said, "Hey, now you've got another new scar!" Whoopee. I told him I was going to come up with an interesting story to go along with it, maybe involving a bar fight down at the docks or the time that little voodoo doll came alive and chased me around the house wielding a butcher knife. Hmmm....