Okay, so John thinks I've been whining too much (or at least from my vantage point it seems that way) about my sprained ankle that occurred April 22 when I fell stepping down in the dark onto a broken piece of concrete. Just buck up, get over it is his attitude. To his credit, he never complains about his own aches and pains, not even after seriously bruising his shin last summer. I noticed it a week later and was shocked by the nature of his injury. So earlier this week, I decided to get an x-ray. This morning I got a call from my doctor telling me that my ankle had been fractured. The fusion has already begun and it's now too late to wear a boot. The only thing that ought to be done, according to Dr. Bodley (a real sweetheart who knows both of us very well), is for him to write me a prescription for John to wait on me hand and foot for the next four and a half weeks.
