The verdict is in: I have a compound sprain, and I managed to fracture off a tiny peice of bone in the process. I have to wear a brace for the next four weeks and attend twice-weekly physical therapy sessions, and at the end of all of this, we'll reevaulate where I'm at and what to do next. The doctor was really fantastic, explaining everything in layman's terms as much as possible and only giving me a little crap for waiting for two months to come in; I'm glad that I finally got off my ass and did it, though. Maybe in another four weeks this will be all behind me, and I can go back to…well, doing nothing, just like I was before. How the hell did I chip off a peice of bone? And sprain it that badly? WHILE WALKING IN MY OWN HOME?

Yes, I know. I'm the picture of grace.  

This does mean, however, that I will be able to sport some hand knit socks for the next few weeks. When I went into the doctor's office this morning, I was knitting on a pair of Wollmeise socks, with only the toe to go on the second sock, meaning the first was kitchnered and complete in my purse.  I slipped that baby on before they put the ankle stabilizer on me, and I walked around in the sock all day at the office. The brace does not allow for my normal shoes, so I've purchased some Crocks, which I will be sporting like a weirdo in my office for the next month. I even went as far as to go to a Crocs store, hoping that they would have black. Not only did they NOT have black, the only colors they did have to fit me were light blue, psycho green, and silver. I walked out of there with silver Crocs on my feet and a pair of turquoise sandals in a bag. You know, for when I have to dress up.

It is a big relief, however, that no one said that dreaded surgery word in regards to my foot. The thought of having my ankle operated on when I've got two small children and a full time job just made me want to dissolve in a puddle of stress, but as of right now, we're not even looking in that direction. That's a load of worry off of my mind, for sure.  Now on to worrying about important things, like why my son has a strange fascination with cramming his finger up his nose to the point that it bleeds. That has to mean something, right?