That is, if you count a Frankstein-like gait that causes me to sway like a drunk person, than yes, I am walking.
I've been trying to get more independent the last few weeks because I'm returning to work - yes, I'm going to stop milking the broken ankle and work - next week.
So, that means I had to give up the computer chair and walker combo, and try to walk around.
After a few failed experiments (I never knew falling could be so much fun), I got it.
For the past four weeks, I've been gradually putting more weight on the ankle - 25 percent more each week.
That, my friends, has been a fun and fulfilling exercise in pain.
It has also helped cement, in my cats minds, that I am indeed crazy.
Mo: Why does she keep walking around muttering to herself, and hollering "Ouch!" after every step.
Seven: I told you before - there's something wrong with her.
So, after using my house as a workout center, I had to venture out into the world.
Now that I'm stronger, it's easier to get down the steps and outside. (No more sliding down the steps on her backside for this chick).
Still, it's a struggle that takes a lot more time that I had imagined it would (It takes about an hour or so for me to run one errand like going to the bank (about three miles away) and using the drive-thru window).
I'm feeling more secure about going out alone, and even went to - you guessed it - Target.
I'll tell you about that one, and my adventures on the motorized store scooters, another day.
Glad to hear you are doing better. Keep up the hard work. Take Care