Walking papers

The appointment was one p.m. First therapy, and the unhappy words on both sides because I cannot pull to a standing position, left arm alone.
Visualize the one that broke me last week. A walker. Someone lifts me from the chair and stands me in the walker, still holding me up. Bad left arm must hold the center front of walker, verboten right arm in sling. Now, on tiptoe of broken foot and leg take shuffling step with right. Tried it again today,  failed again. Came up for lunch, then left for doctor appointment.
I really have not mentioned my lovely granddaughter in this ordeal. Once I was wheeled into the hall after therapy, and there was Laura.

Another time, popping off an elevator. Waiting in my room. I suggested advance warning would be good, but she stuck with surprising me. "I can always wait." 

Today she popped from the elevator we were taking down to the van. She popped back in and rode down.

And off. The whippersnapper was right on schedule. More xrays showed no additional healing (WTH, it's only been two weeks), but no shifting. He asked what prompted my early return. I discarded the sling, showed the mobility of my right arm vs. left, and without pain. 

I explained he had to get on my team; he'd already cost me seven days. For good measure I tossed in my granddaughter, circulating among good friends and family, all because he chose not to listen to me last time. We agreed my broken right shoulder would be a long time deteriorating to the condition of my trashed left shoulder, and perhaps it didn't matter. In black sharpie he wrote a no restrictions note. We shook right hands.

I turned in the release to the desk. The news beat me down the hall. In the next hour therapists and I ran through all the failed stuff, using the bars in the bathroom. Ludicrous, but effective. Tomorrow I get a new wheelchair and a new routine. WooHoo.