Wherein I engage in undue speculation on the fate of volumes that were set adrift about this weary world.
After I finished writing my previous blog post, I went to bed. I took off my socks, took off the foot dressing… and discovered another opening in the skin.
Oh joy, oh bliss, oh crepes suzette.
I’m going to make an emergency appointment with my podiatrist. Although none of this has been serious yet, the situation is just begging for another ulcer.
Did I mention that my insurance doesn’t cover the visits to the podiatrist?
OK, I’m griping. Focus on the positive: I can afford this visit (grumble!), I have good medical care, I caught the problem in time.
161 books. 161 books. 161 books. It’s my mantra for today.
About four months ago, a small cut on my foot turned into a skin ulcer; I’ve already described the circumstances. Since then, I haven’t been able to do much in the way of effective exercise.
Last week, my podiatrist told me: Give it one more week to all the wound to develop another layer or two of skin, and you can start your long walks again. This was great news! I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present. (This is a lie, but Joyce is booked.)