Much to his credit, Ed has been quite patient with my whole stint on crutches. Admittedly, it can't be easy dealing with someone who can't carry her own water from the kitchen to the living room, or make dinner, or run errands alone and do laundry, or clean... yet who isn't good at sitting still for long.
I've been on crutches for three weeks now, and along the way have acquired the name "demon who walks on silver swords." I'm kind of fond of it now. Maybe I'll even make a t-shirt. I'm sure I've been deserving of this name, since I can't run, or really work out, or take care of all the things I usually take care of, I haven't exactly been a peach.
Maybe it's the fact that fiery darts shoot out of my eyes in anger and frustration on a regular basis, not at anyone in particular, but because I feel so helpless. And Ed hears the brunt of it. Seriously, I've never had such a feeling of helplessness in my life. Ed has always told me I go too hard, and too much for too long, and that I'm stubborn, and severely independent... all true. I just didn't realize HOW true until I was sidelined.
I'm going to actually try to learn something and accept a lot more from this experience... like that I'm not in control, no matter how much I try to be, that it's okay to relax and chill out in the evening after work, that Ed is capable of keeping house, cooking a darn good dinner and taking care of me. My appreciation for him certainly has grown.
I only have six more days though (that means four weeks and six days until I can start running again), and my foot isn't hurting as much anymore. I think the fracture is healing well. I guess that means soon I'll just be plain old "demon," one that hopefully can remember the lessons she's learning from this humbling experience.
In addition to Ed's, people at work have established quite a few new nicknames for me in the last few weeks, my favorites being, "gimpy," "sticks," and "crip." This means I am totally making my own gang sign.