Key West -- First it was George, stepping off a friend's deck, glass of wine in hand, to greet me at a housewarming party. Which was really sweet -- except he missed the two steps, wound up on the ground with cuts and bruises on one leg (nothing new for my accident prone honey) and a stress fracture of his ankle on the other. So now he has a soft cast and a Big Boot.
Not that The Boot is about to stop George. Can't ride his bike? He rented a tricycle for the week. The seat looks like it belongs on a John Deere tractor. Impressive!
On Monday, riding my bike home from the gym, I paused to check traffic on a cross street, leaned way over and to the left because a car was blocking my view and Boing!! A searing pain shot from my lower back to my leg. Have no idea how I got the bike across the street and up on the sidewalk. After that I couldn't move. Stood there holding onto the back of my bike basket. Managed to dig out my cell phone and called George. He and a friend with a car rescued me. The friend said I looked like a Seward Johnson statue. I guess that explains why the guy in the truck who saw what happened didn't make a move. And the woman walking her dog, too. She stopped to chat, explaining that her dog always sniffed for the longest time before deciding where to do his stuff. I didn't say a word, which didn't bother her or her dog.
George and friend got me into the car, then drove me home. Lucky for me the wonderful Stacy (physical therapist) was in the neighborhood. She says, 72 hours and I'll be okay. Actually, I'm pretty much okay now, unless I decide to move around too much. No bending from the waist. Lots of icing and new stretches. But this means I'll miss tap class this week. Sad. (Though after seeing the funny but painful movie, The Savages, with those Sun City, Arizona dancers and residents riding around on trikes....well, I didn't like thinking that was my future.)
This afternoon I'm going to be Grand Marshal of a parade. Ride down Duval in a convertible, waving like the Queen. I've never been in a parade. I wish I still had my baton -- not that I'd be able to twirl it with my bad back. George says, Don't tell them you hurt your back and don't walk like it either. You don't want them to think you're some old woman. Thanks a lot, George!
So, off to get ready!
