Verdict

So I’m sitting in the orthopedic clinic, waiting to see my doctor. I’ve spent four weeks in the AirCast (and on crutches). Today’s the day I find out whether my broken heel has healed … or whether I get surgery and six more weeks of crutches.

Across from me is a woman, also in an AirCast, who is telling her story to the older woman seated next to her. “I was coming downstairs,” she says. “I got to the next-to-last step, turned my foot over, and broke it.”

I start to speak up — that’s the very same thing that happened to me. Before I can say anything, though, she continues: “The day after I broke my foot, I got a telephone call telling me a family member had died.”

This gives me pause. The day after I broke my foot, we received a call that Clyde’s grandmother had died. Creepy.

So here we sit, two people with injuries and incidents so parallel, we could be karmic twins. The chief difference between us — apart from our gender? I’ve been treating my booted foot like it’s made of fine china. The doctor told me, “Don’t put any weight on it,” and I’ve taken that literally. In four weeks, my foot has barely touched the ground.

My twin, though, chose to ignore these warnings. “I’m driving, walking around, doing what I need to do,” she brags. “Sure, it hurts and swells, but you gotta get things done. I’m not letting something like this put me down for four weeks.”

Back in the exam room, my doctor takes off my boot and yanks my foot to the left. The action shocks me — not because it hurts, but because it’s literally the first time my foot has moved in four weeks. “That hurt?” he asks.

“Nope.”

He jerks it to the right. He moves it up and down. No pain.

We review the x-ray. The bone is healing, which seems to surprise him. “This particular part of the heel bone doesn’t get much blood supply,” the doctor says. “I expected you’d need surgery, but it looks as though you’re healing nicely.”

He points to the break. Four weeks ago, the broken bone was in two discinct pieces, like a pencil snapped in half. Today, we see one bone. Where the break used to be, there is a ghostly wedge, a gray “V” of healing. It’s not completely filled in … but it’s getting there.

I’m told to continue using crutches and to start putting some weight on the foot — a little more every day. In two weeks, I can switch to one crutch. After two more weeks, I’m to come back … and I’ll likely be declared crutch-free.

As for my karmic twin: she’s got fluid collecting in her heel. After her x-ray, she’s sent off, sour-faced, to get an MRI and several other tests. I overhear the diagnosis: “We’re likely looking at surgery.”

I pick up my crutches, place just a little weight on my foot, and lurch my way back to the car. Getting around is still hard work, but I feel lighter than I’ve felt in weeks.