Will it or won't it come off?

Tomorrow morning, I'm calling the doc because my cast is loose -- really loose. So loose that I swear if I concentrated, I could maybe figure out a way to entirely wiggle out of it. It was kinda loose on Friday, but now, it's just ridiculous. My appointment was for Wednesday, and Tuesday's he is in Danville. So, I'm going to give them a call at 8 a.m. tomorrow and see if they have any openings. I get kind of excited thinking about it. Because what if he takes out my staples and I get a walking cast? What if I get permission to start trying to relearn to walk and to pick towels up off the floor with my foot and weird helpful stuff like that? I'd be so freaking happy to move forward and be quasi-mobile.

I'd call today and leave a message for them to get when they walk in. But, alas, any messages have to be left with an answering service, and I really don't want my doctor knowing that I called him on a Sunday. That seems kind of rude.

My Dad is coming on Tuesday to help take care of X-man. He's going to be walking the kids to school on our days and taking him to his after school activities. If I'm still laid up, I'll be moving back down to the basement for a bit of privacy. It's been a nice break up in the bedroom, but I have to admit, I'm actually less independent up here. The human car wash shower isn't really friendly to someone who has to gimp around. The temperature controls are too far away from the sprayer, and I have to take my crutches into the shower, if I use it. So, instead, MacTroll's been washing my hair using the sprayer on the bathtub and I've been giving myself baths using a washcloth.

I can see at all the skin under my cast is starting to slough off. That's pretty gross. It's like dandruff on my leg, and well, that and not moving for nearly a month makes a girl feel very unpretty.