Chair Rails and Broom Handles

Oy! What a weekend!

I spent Friday night on the couch icing and heating the ankle. Laying on the couch with the ankle above my head...not behind my head, people.....above my head. I wrapped it. I massaged it. I lay it gently on a pillow.

Saturday, however, was worse. My ankle looked like a small animal had crawled under my skin and was making a nest there. It was swollen and throbbing, and I was Macaulay Culkin. Home alone? Carlos had a presentation to give that day, so I hobbled and hopped and limped from my bedroom to the living room. I love my house, but, really, did we need such a long hallway? I felt as though I'd crossed a couple of time zones from bed to sofa. Thankfully I wasn't a member of the Donner Party or all hell would have broken loose before we got to the mountains.

But I did discover one thing. Those blasted chair rails that we have in the hallway? The ones I want removed because, well, chair rails, in the hallway? They make lovely things to grasp onto as I went back and forth from back of the house to front of the house.

Once Carlos got home, I asked if he happened to stop and get me a crutch or cane. He suggested something that I could do with a crutch or cane, but then I had an idea. And I'd like you all to remember you heard it here first: Two words: Broom handle. Carlos got one from the garage and I used it like I was steering a boat through the canals of Venice.

So between the broom handle and the chair rails I was able to maneuver through the house all day Saturday. The broom handle also came in handy late Saturday night, because Mister Breathe Right started to snore. I must have nudged him three times and asked him to turn over, and three times he muttered that he wasn't snoring. Finally, I sat up, grabbed my broom handle and--no I didn't beat Carlos over the head--I went to the guest room.

Sunday, I stayed on the couch nearly all day, flopping one way with the ankle on pillows, flopping another with the ankle on a chair. Wrapping it. Unwrapping it. Icing it. Rubbing it. Cursing the Ankle God, I even took it back to the bathroom and stuck it into a tub full of steaming hot water and turned on the jets. That. Felt. Good.

And then Carlos gave me a treat. A box of Icy Hot Patches. I may not be good enough for him, but, man, does he clean my clock when he shows up with Icy Hot. Icy Hot; more icy than hot, really, but boy-oh-boy did those things make a difference. I even slept with two of them on and this morning I was able to walk without full use of my broom handle. I think, by the end of the day, or maybe tomorrow, the broom handle will go back to the garage.

I'll miss you, old friend.