I was feeling pretty sorry for myself as I left the ankle doctor today. He put a fresh x-ray on it and said it looked like a recovering broken ankle with no displaced screws. No solutions were offered other than to stop wearing the boot and come see him in six months. I asked him if I would ever heal and he gave me an emphatic YES.
Then I climbed into my Uber ride home with a driver missing his lower legs and wearing prosthetic stubs. He also had brain injury, all as a result of a motorcycle accident. And his right arm was broken from falling out of his wheelchair. He was living in a long-term motel down by the Casinos, with his dog, for $1400 a month.
As I got out of his ride and grabbed my walker to get into my apartment, I thanked him for changing my attitude. Yes, times are tough, but they sure could be worse. I've been skipping my workouts lately because of the ankle pain, but I'm diving back into them tomorrow. That brief sliver of "fuck it, I need a drink" floated out the door of that Uber ride the moment I said goodbye.
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