I've let a few too many days come and go since my last post - but I've been a little laid up. On Monday evening, while walking to the subway station after work, I turned my ankle. Sure there was the initial pain, but it passed after a minute or two and I was able to hobble my way to the station without much of a problem.
It was after standing still, waiting for my train to arrive, that the pain kicked in and as I walked into the subway car I was hit with a wave of nausea, to the point of asking someone, anyone, to let me sit down (I didn't even do this while I was pregnant!). A grueling 20 minutes later I was in Astoria, but looking at another two blocks before standing at my front door. I called Chris in tears. He (with the turtle worn tight on his chest) arrived a few minutes later and helped me walk home.
My ankle, initially the size of a softball, looks better now. Still swollen, but not misshapen. And the doctor is pretty confident it's not fractured.
But I'm angry. See, it's always been one of my worst fears - injuring my leg or foot while in NYC. And I've gone 10 years without such a mishap. Until now. Until now when not only do I have to get to and from work every day, but I have to care for my wonderfully active seven-month old boy. I mean, how are we supposed to dance, when I can barely walk?