I’m sitting in a waiting room at the Dance Clinic on a thick, heavy, gray day in the city. I feel as if it was going to choose to rain, it would do so by dropping the earth’s entire atmosphere onto the streets of New York like a sack of dirty flour.
My foot reminds me every once and a while that its keeping a secret from me. Almost as if I’ve offended it by landing on it wrong and so now we are no longer on speaking terms. But like with any offended friend, I can tell that something is wrong and in need of mending. Hopefully these doctors will somehow find time to see me today, preferably soon and before my scheduled appointment here next Thursday.
A tangent to rant on phone operators of any kind with less then proficient annunciation and articulation of the English language: If your sole mode of functionality in your job is to use your voice and to talk on the phone, and to c-o-m-m-u-n-i-c-a-t-e important information via your voice and nothing else, please speak clearly. And beyond speaking clearly, maybe not having a Jersey accent AND a legitimate speech impediment would be helpful for the person on the other end of the line? When scheduling appointments, speaking clearly when telling the date of the appointment is crucial. That way, I won’t show up a week early to an appointment I don’t have and have to sit in the waiting room for an hour and a half hoping that the doctors can squeeze me in.
As it turns out, the secretary who scheduled my appointment was saying “the 28th” when I heard “thwa twuntee eeth”…. Sounded like “the 20th” to me. So I repeated that and she said, “nuexdurzday”… what I made out was “Thursday,” as in this Thursday.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. No appointment today, not until next Thursday. Which, had I known, I would have figured something else out. I’m not dancing on my foot now and I wasn’t about to waste another week waiting.
* * *
At this point I am at home and have already been through my exam. An extremely anxious nurse brought me in, took down some info and then threw me into the doctors care. After he tested, prodded, and squeezed my foot in every way possible, he said that he was “not too worried.” Well good. I’m glad you’re not worried- but it’s not your foot!!! He continued to say that I probably just strained something or maybe tore something a little. He said that the swelling was fine and that I just needed to ice and not go too hard on it. Okie doke.
So it’s not broken. Good. I can keep dancing and stay in the city. Hurray!
On the way home I accidentally walked into a market (you know how those things have a magnetic pull like a fly to a light bulb.) I might have accidentally walked inside and bought ginger hummus, mushroom brie, and a cream stout beer. Oops. My mistake. Ooooh welll!
Life goes on, and all is well. I just have to baby my foot for a while. Thank the Lord I’m not broken.