Chronicles of a Broken Foot

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The thing about using crutches is that every day is a string of battles. Small victories thread each day together. Those first moments when you open your eyes are hell. Your leg feels like a log of lead. The injury is sore from a nighttime of asphyxiation. Your body creaks, reminding you of its inactivity. With all these predispositions, you start your day. If you’re lucky, you’ll leave these foul truths in bed behind you, reach for your crutches, and start the slow morning process.

In reality, luck has little to do with it. Will power is a more adequate suitor; it takes pure mental grit to release yourself from this unfortunate circumstance and learn to cope. Once you’ve learned to cope, you can live. Yes, it could be worse; yes, the time will fly by; yes, you will learn a lot, your sympathizers coo, and while you appreciate their good will, nothing seems longer than the trip down the stairs, a harrowing obstacle you try to complete no more than twice daily, resorting to kind friends who offer to fetch things from your room for you (how you quietly envy the dexterity with which they fly up the stairs!).

Day 2 down, 19 more to go, you repeat to yourself in the mirror, determined, and in your anger, you brave a trip to Starbucks down the block, the warm bagel in your drawstring backpack and a great smile plastered to your sweaty face. Small victories.

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