Usually when a woman in her 40s talks about a shiny new toy, it’s something along the battery-operated, vibrating, adult toy genre. In my case, it’s a knee walker. Just another thing in my collection of walking aids. Unlike the boot and crutches, I’m merely renting this new toy for a month.
I anxiously awaited for its arrival nearly all day Thursday when it finally came around 4 pm–about two hours before we were due to leave for an open mic where I wanted to take my sister to hear me read. I grabbed the instructions as she laid out the contents of the box. All in all, it wasn’t complicated to assemble the large pieces with the hex screwdriver and proper washers and bolts that came with the kit.
About the only thing that we needed to put it together that wasn’t included was a pair of pliers. After the 20-minute assembly, which included the seat and handlebar adjustments, I got cleaned up so we could get the restaurant early enough to eat before it was my turn to read.
After 4 or 5 featured poets, the open mic round began. During my turn, I started off making a shameless plug for The Austin Writers Roulette. I then read “Amazon Gender,” which is about the modern day heterosexual woman who lives outside societal expectations. I’d never read it at this particular venue where the pieces seem to run more along the sentimental. Yet the piece resonated with many of the older men in the audience.
The next morning, I opened the front door of my apartment and all the newfound mobility that I’d gained with the knee walker was shot to hell, discovering that the guys renovating the apartment complex had painted the railing. I’d usually grab ahold of the railing and double up on the crutches on the left and hop down one stair at a time. Thank goodness, once again, my sister was with me. She had to stand on a step below me so I could place and hand on her shoulder and hop down.
With that hurdle down, I drove us to the hospital for the post-op appointment. I’d feared the worse, but when the bandages and temporary cast came off, my ankle was not bruised nor swollen. Even the doctor was impressed at how healed it looked. For the first time since the ordeal had begun, she gave me good news: I would start physical therapy a week early if I kept up the good work.
I returned to my place, after the rain had poured on the dampened railing, propped up and iced my ankle now that all that separated it from the outside world was an ace bandage. Not having a cast or boot on truly made my left leg feel lighter, less burdensome. What a luxury.
We got lucky with parking at the gallery opening we attended. Even the rough parking did not stop me from enjoying the latest collection. Normally, in addition to viewing the art, I would also hit the corporate-sponsored bar and catered food.
This time around, I could fix a small plate and once I finished, I got a glass of the juice that they were mixing with vodka. I told my sister she should try the cocktail since they were usually good.
I’d originally patted myself on the back for actually having more than one event lined up a week after surgery, but the second stop on Friday did me in. A friend had invited me to her birthday dinner party without remembering that I could not walk down the steep set of stairs where the dining area was. When I asked the hostess if they had an elevator, she told me with all cheerfulness that I had to go around the block and go down the wheelchair ramp.
After surviving that, I made a point to wish my friend a happy birthday before cussing her out for having her birthday at a damn near wheelchair inaccessible restaurant. She apologized all over herself. Then I realized that her mother was sitting across for her! To add insult to injury, half of the capoeiristas who came to the celebration, dutifully reported to the first table they came to without even bothering to walk their two healthy legs over to me and speak.
My sister just chalked it up to the fact that they were “young,” but I think late 20s to mid-30s is old enough to know better.
The next night, we attended a fundraiser where I’ve taken tango, Spanish, and samba lessons. We got there early enough to get a choice table to prop up my leg.
This was probably the most varied show that my sister had seen so far. The kids were the most entertaining dancing cumbia.
And samba.
And of course tango!
And then the showstoppers: the two tango teachers.
Now for the first time since I’ve lived in Austin, I finally made it to The Pecan Festival…during the rain and with one and a half legs! The point is that I made it with my shiny new toy. And this was after treating my sister to a nearby popular brunch place. About three more weeks to go and then my shiny new toy goes back to where it lives.
