Think about the worst nightmare you ever had as a child, or Tolkien’s orcs. Now multiply that by 5 million times, and imagine it’s attached to your body… That’s what was under my cast, and my exact words were:
Holy mother of sweet crispy fried chicken fuck.
I wish this thing was a movie prop. My left ankle is three times the size of the right; the sutures are still healing, and what I thought was an indentation from where the cast pinched my heel is actually the size my leg should be. What’s more, I have a scary-looking water blister on my foot and, when I took a bath earlier, I swear there was more skin in the tub than what was left on my leg (I probably could have even made myself a new leg- if only that’s how it worked).
Right now, my leg looks like a feral ghoul from the Fallout franchise took a bath in acid and was left to bake in the sun for a few hundred years, blown up, and stitched back together. Like Frankenstein’s monster, if the parts were set on fire.
Due to the extensive ligament damage, the surgeon was going to put me back in a cast for another month. But he must have noticed my I’m-about-to-jump-into-a-bathtub-with-the-nearest-toaster face and said, “well, as long as you don’t put any weight on the leg, you don’t need another one”.
Speaking of bathtubs, I think I’ll go jump (rather, contort myself ) into mine.
Without the toaster. For now.