Hermann(the boot) and I returned to work on Thursday. I, myself, prefer to think of it as the broken ankle Olympics. We had started our training early. I had rented a seated scooter in anticipation of the long trek from parking lot to my library. For those of you who have never visited my fair campus the closest parking area is about a quarter mile away, and yes this includes disabled parking. Not that I will ever be able to park in disabled parking as I foolishly mailed in my form to the DMV. I was obviously on drugs at the time or I would have known better. However, I digress. I, and my handsome trainer started practicing several days early with the scooter. I would roll out the back door, push my way into the front yard and approach the car. I would then get off the scooter, open the back door to the car and, on one foot, shove the scooter into the back seat. This is somewhat equivalent to shoving a cat into a carrier for a vet visit. Neither I not the scooter were pleased with the action but we got the job done. Still on one foot I then hopped up to the front seat and drove around for a bit. Of course before the drive could commence I had to catch my breath and wipe away the torrents of sweat pouring down my face. After the drive I parked the car and pulled out the scooter . The scooter having once been put into the back seat did not wish to come out. To continue with the cat analogy it was a bit like trying to pull the cat out of the cat carrier once s/he arrived at the vet. The scooter, I swear, developed claws and hung onto the backseat for dear life. Once again, though , I persevered hopping about on one foot. My handsome assistant was not allowed to help as I had to prove I could perform these actions on my own. He did attempt to give what he thought was helpful advice such as “why don’t you turn it upside down and put it on your bike rack?” Why yes sweetie, I’ll just haul up 20 lbs to shoulder height while hopping about on one leg (not).
Having proven that I could indeed get around on the scooter I chickened out and had the saint drive me to work my first two days. We arrived at our parking space and I began to push myself along and towards the general direction of the library. I encountered my first hurdle at a gently sloping hill aka Mt. Everest near the library. I’d push a few feet, rest, request oxygen, and then push a few more feet, repeat the request for air and then push again. Eventually I reach the top of the hill and my right thigh announces that it has had enough thank you very much. However, we still have approximately 500 yards to go so the thigh is conscripted back into duty and we reach the front doors to the building my library is in. Bless all universities for having such solid, solid doors. The doors are wrestled open, and I make it to the second floor to encounter another set of doors. Another wrestling match ensues and voila, I have arrived. I have arrived one half hour after exiting the car. Sadly it appears that I am the Eddie the Eagle equivalent in broken ankle Olympics.
My work day commences with the boss handing over a whole slew of work and various colleagues chatting to me about how nice it must have been to be at home, lolling about in bed and reading. Yeah right, it was just like vacationing at the beach, everybody should try this. However, this did not astound me nearly as much as the reactions of various library patrons. I am ensconced at the front desk, foot on a pillow and the pillow on a library stool. Directly behind me is my walker. A clueless patron would ask a question and I’d get up, hobble around the desk on my walker and in every single case the patron would have a look of astonishment on their face. It was as if the big black boot were totally invisible and that all library staff sat at the front desk with their leg propped at a ninety degree angle from their body. Personally I think we should all be very worried that the crème de la crème of academia are so totally clueless or else be concerned about their fashion taste if they assumed that Hermann was standard footwear.
One other, tiny, tiny factor that turned my return to work into an Olympic event was a visit to the restroom. The library has not restroom so we have to walk down a hallway ~300 steps or so. Sadly, I could not go this way as there were stairs. Stairs and I are not on speaking terms since they chose to fling me down them so I had to go the long way around to use a handicapped ramp. Like an idiot I chose to do this on a walker. Big mistake, I might as well have walked the Appalachian trail. It would probably taken the same amount of time as well as the same amount of resulting soreness in me bum muscles. Future visits were done with the scooter.
Overall I did survive my first two days along with the resultant fatigue at the end of the day as well as the brain fog throughout the day as I reacclimated and my body realized it would not be getting its two hour nap. Tilly, my faithful kitty also survived the separation but neither she nor I were happy about it. For any future broken ankle folks, may I recommend going back to work half time, oh and avoid those hills!
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