Thirteen stitches, eleven screws, and a plate

My busted ankle and I arrived at ortho yesterday.

For two weeks, i followed the doctor’s advice – no weight-bearing on that ankle, not even an ounce.  I scooted around on a knee scooter and stayed off my splinted ankle.

Now comes the time to find out whether all that patience paid off for this patient.

First off – whoever provided my crutches did not measure them properly for a 6’1″ man.  They were set for someone who was 6’5″ or taller, and just going across the room on them was a Herculean task that winded me in seconds.  It took one of the physical therapists to figure out that my crutches were off-balance – and they were adjusted immediately afterward.

Now my splint gets removed.  And under all the Ace bandages and cotton … I can see thirteen stitches up the right side of my right ankle.  Ugh.

Now I enter the X-ray room.  More photos of my ankle.

Then it’s to another room, where the doctor explains what he did.  He showed me the X-ray.  Eleven screws and a plate to repair the damage from one fall on snowy steps.  He explains that he’s NOT going to put a cast on it … that I can use a walking boot to return home.  But still … no weight bearing on that boot either, at least not for another four weeks.

He explains some various exercises that I can do right now to strengthen my ankle – wiggling my ankle in such a way that my toe spells out the alphabet, for one.  I can do that.  I’d freakin’ spell out the Gettysburg Address if it would help my ankle heal right now.

But the main thing is that I’m moving forward.

One figurative step at a time.

Figurative.