I had everything all figured out. I'd have my check up and call Orange on the way home to schedule a jump.

Before visiting the orthopedic guy, I had to get an x-ray. When I entered the radiology office, I encountered several people. It's easy to strike up a conversation - it's talker heaven. Everyone wants to tell you about their injuries. They are just waiting for you to ask. So...what happened to your leg? How'd you break your arm?

At this point, I was wearing tennis shoes and at a glance you couldn't tell that I was injured. I could have been there for a sonogram. An older gentleman (60's) entered the waiting area and sat near by. We did the smile and nod thing and then he asked me what happened. I'd been telling my "story" for six weeks and I'd grown tired of people saying, "I bet you'll never do that again."

So, I just said, "I sprained my left ankle and broke my right." I didn't elaborate. Imagine me exercising restraint!

The gentleman looked at me and said, "I've got you beat. I broke both my ankles and my leg!"

"Wow," the poor guy! Can you imagine? Before I had a chance to ask what happened, he told me, "I was skydiving." 

I didn't skip a beat. I immediately replied, "You forgot to flare!" He smiled. "That's right! How did you know?"

He went on to tell his story. It was his first jump - a static line. He was at a drop zone in Pennsylvania. During the training, they kept emphasizing how important it is not to flare too early (I know exactly what they mean). Well, he kept waiting for the right time to flare and then he hit the ground. Ouch. Poor guy! I asked him if he'd try again. He said he would, but he'd have to get a new wife first because his current one would divorce him.

My x-rays were ready. We said our good-byes and I headed to the orthopedic office. When I got to the examination room, I put the x-rays up on the light box. Not good :) I could tell with my untrained eyes that my break was not healed.  The doctor came in to talk to me. He checked out my x-rays.

"When can I jump?"  The little girl in my head is having a tantrum.  "You said I'd be better in six weeks! Bones heal in six weeks. That's what you told me. I'm not better. Why not? Hmm...you're must not be a very good doctor."

"You have a broken ankle. It hasn't healed. You can't jump until you've healed." He went on to tell me that usually bones heal in six weeks. Yeah yeah. I heard that before. For some reason, I was not regenerating bone. He told me that he saw this in another woman. She didn't heal because she was doing step aerobics.

Was he accusing me of exercising? I was dying to exercise, but I've restrained myself. I'd like nothing more than to hop on the treadmill and run a mile or two. "Do I look like I've been exercising? I've gained 7 lbs since I broke my ankle. I'm turning into a puffalump!" He found this amusing. I was(am) completely exasperated. I let out a sound to signify my frustration. "See, I can't even articulate how gross I feel." In addition to the weight gain, I think the lack of exercise is making me depressed.

He told me to come back in four weeks. If my ankle wasn't healed by then, I'd get an injection of something that would help stimulate bone growth. If that didn't work, I might need surgery. Four more weeks? Not exactly what I wanted to hear. Four more weeks! The doctor went to see another patient. His assistant came in to give me a fancy new lace up brace. I asked him if I could renegotiate with the doctor.

Another tantrum in my head: I don't want to wait another four weeks! It's not fair. I want to be better now. This just sucks! Then, the door opened and the doctor came back in, "Did you need something else?"

"Four weeks is a long time. I can't wait that long. How about three?" I paused. "If you don't say yes, I'm going to be pouting all day." 

He smiled, "Ok. See you in three weeks." I couldn't believe he said yes. Damn! I should have said two!