A few days ago, when my better half returned from a long day of calling clients, he did so with much exuberance and excitement. "To what do I owe your elation?" I asked. "Funny you should ask," he responded, all grins and giggles. He went back out to the car and returned, smiling like a Cheshire cat, with a contraption that obviously this old gal was too out of touch with to know what it was.
I stared at it for a minute and said, "All right. So what is it?" The smile never left his face. This find was a treasure and he didn't mind in the least filling me in on the function of this odd-looking board on wheels with banana bike handles (remember those? and I had one, did you?) "It's a knee walker."
"A knee walker," I replied in a flat monotone.
"Yep. The church medical closet lent it to us so you could get up and around. He then proceeded to educate me in the way it functioned, ending with, "but the brakes don't work."
Waving his hands, he said, "Not to worry. You won't be running any races with it."
For those of you who read my blog but haven't a clue what I'm talking about, here's the skinny. I broke my foot last summer. It never healed for some reason. This past Monday I had surgery (ORIF) to insert plates, screws and a calcaneal bone graft from my heel. So now you are up to snuff.
I stared at the "knee walker", obviously enjoying my Percocet too much to grasp the information and said, "What do you call it again?"
"A knee walker," came the reply from my loving husband, who, by the way, has cared for me calmly, quietly, patiently and without any "don't be such a crab"-like comments, or the ever-annoying roll of the eyes.
A knee walker. There are a lot of cool walkers out there.
Like, for instance, Luke Skywalker. The coolest, walker of them all.
Or how about Spirit walkers? Native medicine men (or women, I suppose), herbalists. Those are relatively high on the cool-o-meter.
But no. I get a knee walker. Serves a vital function, gets me from Point A to Point B and back again, but the brakes don't work so no running starts (as if I can run right now anyway.) The best I can do is hop on my left foot, an accomplishment all on its own.
Oh, well. I'll be thankful for the lend as it gives me a little freedom when Don is out. But I'd rather be Hazel Skywalker. Return of the Colorado Jedi.