Does anyone know why we ask questions when we already know the answer?
I visited a delightful young doctor this week. I ran through what had happened to me. He asked his questions with a quiet voice that contained the slightest tone of amusement. ("You were doing what on your bike?" "You rode how many miles after you crashed?") After almost two weeks I had full range of motion of my left hip and leg, I had no problem with my yoga routine, but I still couldn't put enough weight on my left leg to walk without a massive limp. (Bummer.) I knew what was wrong. But it seemed best to follow the traditional course and ask a professional. He sat me in front of a computer screen on which was a large image of my hip and pelvis. He pointed to a barely visible flaw in the pelvis. A hairline fracture. (Bummer.) He advised me to buy crutches or a walker and severely limit weight bearing exercise for 6 weeks more. (Bummer.)
I did enjoyed the doctor's final warning to me to be patient and let nature do its work. ("Give nature's superglue some time to dry and harden, OK?")
So Al and I visited a big nearby pharmacy and perused crutches. The crutches were ungainly and unwieldy. I tried a couple of canes. Bingo! A cane did the trick. I could walk comfortably, if slowly. But if I was going to have the thing with me everywhere for a month and a half, I was going to opt for something a bit more interesting than the usual hospital specials. Off to one side was a stand of colorful canes. One was an outrageous pink in a fabulously tacky pattern of roses. It called out to me. I grabbed it, got it adjusted, and slowly sashayed to the register.
I'm good for riding the stationary bike at the gym, swimming, yoga and Pilates, but need to wait for heading out on my regular bikes. We'll see how the walking goes. Or maybe I can figure out how to attach the cane to one of my regular bikes. That could be fun...