Day 29 – Infection & Tiny Victories
Infection has officially set in—apparently my leg decided to throw its own little party. But we’re not letting that ruin the fun!
I’ve been pretty hard on myself lately, so today I tried a bit of kindness. I managed to haul myself upstairs, bring down some dirty laundry (thrilling stuff), wash my hair, and even slap on some tan and nails. Going absolutely nowhere, but hey — feeling alive and doing things counts for something!
Then, I had a catch-up call with the physio. Big news: it’s time for the bridge house and knee scooters to go, and we’re focusing solely on the boot and crutches once the infection is gone. Translation: my leg is officially entering a new chapter. Chapter title: “Boot Life Chronicles — Crutch Edition.”
Sporting life? On pause. World domination? Also paused. Leg elevated, four walls creeping closer—but it’s only temporary. Honestly, nothing says “glamorous quarantine” like fake nails, a tan, and a VIP leg-cast while plotting my triumphant return to walking. Tiny victories = big vibes.
Day 30 – Steps, Scooters, and a Mount Everest Moment
Day 30 was quieter — mostly spent in bed resting my leg and doing physio. But I started the morning with a little excitement: my personal “transportation showroom” in the hall. A wheelchair, a knee scooter, my boot, and crutches all lined up, ready for their turn. What would today’s ride be? Wheelchair for comfort? Knee scooter for flair? Boot for practicality? Crutches for the full-body workout? Decisions, decisions.
Despite the day being mostly physio and rest, I let myself look forward to the evening. The family were going out to Eco’s in Douglas for my husband’s birthday dinner — the kids favourite restaurant! Excitement! A proper outing with the family!
But then reality hit. During the meal, the pain in my leg got intense. And the Mount Everest moment came when I went to the bathroom — one big, steep flight of stairs unfortunately impossible for me to get up. By the time I got back to the car, even after painkillers, the pain was unbearable.
Recovery isn’t glamorous. Some days are about physio, small victories, and mindfulness. Other days, even a favourite restaurant and a birthday dinner become a literal Mount Everest climb.
Takeaway:
Between hallway fleets of mobility devices, 40 step “training sessions,” and Mount Everest stairs, recovery is a mix of humour, frustration, and tears. Celebrate the small wins, laugh at the absurdity, and accept the tough days. Sometimes just surviving is gold-medal worthy.
