My foot rests slightly to the side, to the right, on top of a couch cushion and a pillow. It's sandwiched between this high altar of floral print and a layer cake of pink sheets and antique quilts. My poor foot, still decorated with dark blueberry patches and pressed lines, is restrained within a splint of white plastic and blue foam, a quiet little contraption with nylon belts and plastic buckles. It is my night splint, light as a feather compared to the velcro strapped, air-pumped, metal and plastic boot of my days. 
Fourteen days in and I'm a bit tired of the frustration of not being able to drive, not being able to carry my drinking glass, of scooting backwards up those two flights of stairs to my room....
It seems so silly to be longing for such simple things. But I took these daily motions for granted.
Tomorrow, Jim and I will go to see Doctor Elkus after I get off of work. Tomorrow, I will find out how long I will have to wear this dark and heavy captor of my dear foot. Keep me in your thoughts.
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