This morning I spent in the office of an orthopedic doctor in Manhattan.
Good news, there is a plan for my ankle.
Bad news, the plan includes soaking my ankle in ice water three times a day for ten minutes a pop.
Can I just say that ice water is freaking cold? Shit. Guess that's why it's called ice water, what with the ice cubes and all.
Can I also say that if you scream a swear word at the top of your lungs at the moment of immersion, the shock is not quite as bad?
I'm thinking that my next injury - and you know there will be one - is going to be one that requires only heat. Lots and lots of heat. And alcohol.
Other elements of the new plan include a new prescription, more physical therapy (Christmas guaranteed for Heartland Physical Therapy - except that they have to listen to me whine), and continuing with the walking boot.
I go back in 30 days. If I am better, then we stay the course. If not, then we schedule a surgery I can't pronouce.
At least we have a plan. And I love a good plan.
