I had my first check-up for my broken foot.
“Ah,” said the orthopedist, displaying the X-rays, “this is excellent progress.”
I breathed a little more freely.
I knew it was better. I’d walked on it a little at home—just a little—without the boot, without pain, even though I wasn’t supposed to.
What concerned me most was … well … I am growing older. All I did was fall off of three garage steps and the bone just snapped.
Are my bones becoming fragile?
“It’s a common break,” said the tech. “What’s not common is the complete break. Usually it’s a fracture. Yours is a hurty one.”
“Yeah, it hurt plenty in the beginning,” I replied, “but not now. This progress means my bones are good and healthy, right?” Translation: I’m not decrepit, yet?
“They’re very good,” smiled the orthopedist. Who looks about fifteen.
He graduated me to an orthopedic shoe. But still no driving for four more weeks. State law says not while I require “medical equipment” on my gas foot.
But, I have good bones.
I examined them up on the screen. Marveled at how much the broken one had already knitted itself back together in just three weeks. Amazing how bones can even do that.
“That’s the best part of this particular field,” said the orthopedist. “Getting to watch people heal. Oh, and you can walk some in the house without the shoe. Movement stimulates bone growth.”
He looked at me knowingly.
I just smiled.
Walk to knit, knit to walk …
Rather meta of us, don’t you think, my little metatarsal.