Gimpy

After an Unfortunate Incident on Tuesday morning I’m laid up with a sprained ankle. If only I could say I sustained the injury vaulting off a pony, or leaping daringly in front of an escaping sheep, but no. In a (literally) pedestrian manner I slipped on a road marking slick with rain as I crossed the street on my way to work.

Resting a sprained ankle

The Forbearing Husband is referring to me as Gimpy.

After a day of ingesting painkillers, sitting with my foot elevated and hobbling about on crutches — while also of course maintaining a (passably) professional presence at work — I realised that driving was out of the question. Forbearing Husband was on a work trip to Auckland so I had to ask Deborah to come and drive me home. Thank you Deborah.

It’s all rather annoying as it was my turn to be in Auckland yesterday. I had made plans to take my lovely friend The Doctor out for dinner on Wednesday night, and then today I was meant to be nose to the grindstone earning some dollars to pay Phil the Fencer and his boys. They are back here working on more fencing, and I fear the bill will be horrendous.

Instead I’m sitting with my feet up drinking tea, reading and blogging, and listening to the Forbearing Husband digging. He’s trying to find where those expensive fencing boys have broken through our stream water supply pipe. Hold on, it’s not sounding too bad after all. Enforced down time? I’ll take it. Just pass me that arnica cream could you?

What’s your advice on how to heal a gimpy ankle?

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chrissyb

6 Comments

  1. Where are the colourful bruises and swelling and crutches? Come on, sympathy requires good props, ha. Honestly though, I hope you recover soon and can get your boots back on.

    • I wish I had photographed the crutches but it seemed a bit melodramatic. Bruises might still be available for your viewing pleasure when I see you next weekend, lucky you! X

    • Not my department, but the Forbearing Husband counts the remaining bars every night before he goes to bed and stocks up as required.

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