“I think I sent a couple of bags to the wrong room,” I told the hapless person at the Guest Services desk.
“What did the bags contain?” he asked.
“My CPAP machine was in one and in the other was my… um…
The queen of Klutzville had done it again. As we neared Disney’s cruise terminal in Port Canaveral, Florida, the driver announced we could send any carry-ons we wanted to our rooms.
So I gave a porter my room number — I thought — and sent him off with my CPAP machine and — oh, yeah — my leg.
Hey! I was only one number off! It was found later that day. I don’t know how. Perhaps Guest Services got a call from a passenger saying: “There’s a strange leg in my room. It doesn’t look like any of mine and I would never choose those colors, anyway. Perhaps it belongs to somebody else.”
I can also hear echoes of the Guest Services gentleman telling his colleagues: “Today I had a guest who’d lost her leg. No, I’m not joking!”
So I have my leg, but I haven’t had it on since the first day. We’re not getting along too well. In fact, my therapist has told me to wear it, but not to use it.
As you may recall, I was frustrated by having weather get between me and the therapist. Therefore, I couldn’t learn how to use the darned leg. However, when your ramp becomes more of a bobsled run than anything else, you learn to just chill until things warm up a bit (no pun intended).
In the meantime, my leg stood forlornly in the corner as we stared longingly at each other, both of us wanting to kick up our heels, but unable to do it alone.
Finally, I got to therapy. And it was wonderful! By the end of the session, I was walking 20 steps at a time! It was exhilarating! I didn’t want to stop.
As it turned out, I’d already gone too far.
It began with me being unable to nonchalantly stand up, pivot around, and sit back down again… from the scooter to the bed, a chair, the potty…
My knee gave out and I fell that evening (I also have osteoarthritis). My arms were suffering, too, from dependence on them to help hold me upright on the walker.
My leg swelled. It hurt to the touch. Bruises appeared. My first walk had taken place on Monday. I was supposed to return to the therapist on Wednesday, but my leg had not healed enough.
The next (and last) time I walked was Friday, February 11. That was primarily to go from the door of the plane to my seat in the third row of business class. One trip to the bathroom, then back to the door when we landed, and that was about it.
I’ll give it another try tomorrow (February 16). If you’re reading this on February 15, I’m on a beach in the Bahamas, soaking up some vitamin D and, perhaps, sipping on a fruity drink.
About the leg? We’ll have to see. It may take another session or two with the prosthetist. It’s nowhere near time to give up.
(And you think I ever do?)