This morning was a lovely morning, even if the wind was worrying high and warm blowing off the dry brown East Bay Hills. It was a day such as this on which the Oakland Berkeley Hills Fire erupted. I have been convinced for days that major fire is about to break out here. Today though, I left the house in high spirits looking forward to a calm day in the office, and nice long swim at Noon, and an afternoon and evening of mostly my choosing. I had no thoughts of coming home to find the neighborhood evacuated while fire burned through the adjacent regional park. I had to walk to the BART Station, a good half hour off if I stepped lively. So I strode on down the street at high pace, rounded the corner and headed for the main drag. I briefly considered a quieter route but decided against it and made to cross a side street diagonally to cut the distance to the main road. I stepped off the curb in time honored fashion and in time honored fashion rolled my right foot well under my leg and down I went to the street feeling and hearing a grisly knocking sound coming from my right ankle.
Convinced I had broken my ankle and trashed all the ligaments I crabwalked back up onto the sidewalk and tried to stand, thinking I would fall in a heap with pain. Lo! and Behold! it wasn't too bad and I started hopping back to the house, swearing under my breath the whole way, no doubt giving any curious neighbors something to grin about. Remembering the time I broke my elbow by diving over my handlebars I figured I could make it before the thing froze up, and I did. I managed to get back into the house, get pillows under it and a cold pack on it within minutes. The swelling was less than I thought and eventually I got up to pee. No problem, I could even put a little weight on if I depended on the convenient set of crutches I have from the last
orthopaedic event. I finished and headed back to bed and felt a little pressure in my ankle. Looking down I saw that my ankle looked as though someone had inserted a medium sized orange under the skin. I reached down to touch it and was grossed out by the complete lack of give. It was like touching a slightly polished stone.
I'm happy to report that X-rays are negative and and it still doesn't hurt. The 800 mgs of ibuprofen (I think) are giving me the sweats when I sit up, but maybe that's the beer I drank about four hours after the first dose. Don't think I'll be doing that again. Oddly, through years of dealing with an injured knee, I have this need to keep my leg straight when I sit down and have to remind myself that its OK to bend my knee.
Never roll your foot under your leg. It's not a pleasant thing.
Sigh.
What's the point here? Well, there isn't one. I just needed to sit out here and do something with my mind besides watch the "History of the Eagles," which is great, but lying down in bed watching the tube for hours just chaps me after a while. My neck hurts and my mind settles into something like cold condensed milk. I decided to risk the sweats and get up. Think it's time to retreat there again, though.
Maybe a little dessert first.
Ginger snaps beckon.
"Eat me, eat me . . . ." I hear them whisper.
Who am I to argue?
