Canes, Walkers, Crutches ... Oh My

Toto, I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.

Not even close. I was so used to skipping along rock strewn paths. Dancing in my big girl shoes at milongas. Or two-steppin' and line dancin' in my tan suede cowgirl boots across floors covered with saw dust and peanut shells. Not this week. Or next. Or apparently for the next 3 to 6 weeks. Fingers crossed it won't be longer.

Throbbing knee twisted to and fro, up and down, in and out. Nope. No break. No torn cartilage. Not even the arthritis I was expecting. Just severely sprained ligaments. Injuries sustained on the dance floor at fuchsia light show, disco popping Club Izzy. Delayed reaction. And I was having so much fun. Twirling effortlessly to a Latin beat. Then a bit of soul. Followed by some vintage rock and roll. All fueled by a few too many gin martinis. It brought me to my knees. Literally.

No x-rays required. Just the same ol' same ol' that I have been doing for the past ten days. Ice. Advil. Naproxen. And ... to beat the of-the-moment band that rocked the house ... drum roll ... crutches. Noooooooooo. Then a cane. Noooooooooooo. I am not gonna take it anymore. I've got to get outta this place. If it's the last thing I ever do. I don't want to grow up.

When did I navigate with fellow sojourners along the yellow brick road through abundant poppy fields into the strange new world? Was it just this morning? I am still dizzy from my travels. So this is what it is like rounding the bend. Nearing the proverbial six oh. I swear. I am not going to take it laying down. Nor any other way. Just click my ruby slippers. Turn back the hands of time.

Bring on the magic potion from the font of youth. This girl needs some cheer!