In the beginning....part 2

During all of this I had to deal with doing everything slower. Walking time turned into hobble time. I kept pace with the elderly, about half-time compared to my normal walking speed. My gait also changed because I had to use a cane I could only carry things with one hand. I started ordering my groceries with Fresh Direct and using a backpack instead of a shoulder bag for balance. I am conscious of my speed especially during rush hour and have started avoiding crowded areas and stores as much as it is possible in NYC because my bulk with the backpack and cane and the awkwardness and lack of reflex makes navigating those spaces difficult... I just end up knocking something over, grow bright red with embarrassment and try to fix it, but make the situation worse.

Traveling in NYC's public transportation is a job in itself for the disabled, temporary or not. I figured out a hop/hobble for going downstairs and a haul-up for going upstairs. In the beginning I was really sensitive to the looks I got when people realized I had a cane and boot couldn't walk. On crowded subways I would hold a pole next to the designated handicap seats, but most folks consciously ignore each other in those seats. On one crowded bus a fellow rider told me I should have given up my seat, I had to tell her my foot was broken, but she still looked at me with disgust. Keeping balance while standing on the subway is much easier than the jerkiness of the bus, but the bus is easier to get on and more convenient for short distance traveling.

I was crossing a street in the Lower East Side, it was my light, a cop car with no lights flashing was in the middle of making a right turn but had paused for the pedestrians ahead of me, so I continued across. It obviously took me a little longer than normal, but when I got across one of the cops got on the speaker horn and said"Go ahead, take your time...it's not like we're the POLICE or anything" and sped away. I shook my cane at them and several pedestrians around me were very indignant, but the car was long gone.

As far as theatre was concerned, auditioning in general was out of the question. The one audition I did go to was for Working Man's Clothes, She Like Girls, because I really wanted to be a part of it and it was during the first phase, so I was sure I would be back to walking normal by rehearsal time. Thankfully I was not cast, but not because I was broken at the time. I was helping to workshop some new writing with Jody Christopherson, and was able to attend some shows. At one of them, actors did inadvertantly run over my foot going through the aisles...I have been extra careful about where I sit, but have had some close calls. At Theater TenTen's production of Arms and the Man I was offered a position as Assistant Director for Cradle Will Rock in January and February which I accepted. I also was able to help out at the concession stand for Flux's Lesser Seductions of History.

During the fall the weather was extremely unpredictable. I kept extra socks in case of rain. The boot is water-proof, plastic and neoprene, but does keep my foot from getting wet. I would wear two socks on my boot foot to try and keep my toes warm. For Thanksgiving and the week after I got very sick. A friend had to come over and put me in a cab so we could go to a walk-in clinic.

The four weeks leading up to my Dr's visit on December 18, feel like they went faster than the previous four weeks, but they include Thanksgiving week and a week of being sick. Thankfully Flux started their Flux Sundays and was able to incorporate me into the readings. I had something fun to look forward too. This time I kept a cautious outlook. I refused to say it was getting better or worse because I had been fooled before.

Since October I had been doing my research on sesamoids, sesamoid fractures and the treatment, and found basic information, but knew that if my foot was not healing and still fractured there was a possibility of a sesamoidectomy. The Dr. had also mentioned this, but he viewed it as prescription for bunions.

The week leading up to what would be my final visit with Dr. Werter, I could tell my foot was in fact not getting better, and my foot was trying to communicate that with me as much as possible.