An Open Window


The Velcro bites into the fabric of the ace bandage that holds the Fiberglas square in place. After a few fierce tugs, the teeth yield to my whims and I’m able to remove the binding. I put it aside, pop out the square and set that next to the bandage. My fingers unfold the cotton and lightly stroke the tender skin that lies beneath. I grin from ear to ear, excited by the sensations that I feel. Heat, heartbeat, pain, and nerve twitches. I tickle the tender skin on the arch of my foot. I feel electricity in my fingertips, as they bring the pale skin back to life. Often, I experience little bee stings around the surgical sites. I welcome the feeling though, it means the nerves are reconnecting.

My tattoo of Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas is hidden by the half cast on my right leg. The cast serves as an anchor, holding my injured leg and ankle in a neutral position. I miss being greeted by her melancholy face when I stretch my shapely legs, as I awaken each morning. My hand slides into the cast, and I caress her face. The skin is flaking, from Fiberglas and cotton that wicks all the moisture from my skin. There’s atrophy in the muscles, already. I try not to focus on it though. Eight more weeks my leg will be encased either in plastic or Fiberglas.

I peer back into the window and scoot the cotton around to find one of the three incisions. It’s still pink, but completely heeled. Excitement runs through me as I realize that the numbness at the site is gone. Replaced with warmth and a pulse. I pinch the skin, just to be sure and realize all of the feeling has returned. Joyously, I grab my ultrasound bone healing system and begin the 20 minute process of stimulating bone growth.

With the ultrasound fastened on the opening in my cast, I depress the on/off switch. The machine comes to life and sound waves seep into my skin. 20 minutes, twice a day and lots of prayers are what help the broken Talus bone stay alive. If it stays alive, it will regrow stronger than before. I may never dance or run again. But the use of the ultrasound may give me a better chance at walking without pain. That’s my main focus right now, putting weight on the right foot and taking a step. Finally, the machine shuts off and I wipe the conduction gel from my skin.

I need to close up the window, but my curiosity gets the best of me. I want to keep touching my skin. Touch is a balm for me, calming my anxiety about the future. Putting the Fiberglas square back in place, I begin to wrap the ace bandage around it. The end of it is fastened back in place with hooks of Velcro into material. I lie back on the couch and continue drinking strong, hot coffee laced with cream and Sweet and Low.

And so begins each day of waiting. Waiting and healing.


22 thoughts on “An Open Window

    • Good evening Dawn,

      Yes, I had a major car accident back in mid March. I collided into the bus after a snow storm. I had to have my ankle rebuilt. I’m on non bearing weight status until June. My mode of transportation is now a wheelchair. I will heal. It just takes patience and time. Thanks for your kind comment my sweet I hope you’re well.

      Love, Renee

    • Hello Joanne,

      Sweetheart, your comments are always so positive about my writing. It means the world to me. I’m glad you were caught up. I kind of was when I wrote it. You should have seen me when I was touching my foot. I was mesmerized. It felt so good. The healing continues.

      I hope you are well.

      Love, Renee

  1. And so the patience of a saint begins πŸ™‚ Yes, the healing goes within as well as the physical side. You would be surprised at just what your action of touching and your thoughts do.

    • It’s been five and a half weeks and I’m not climbing the walls yet. πŸ™‚ I know every day brings me closer to the end of this trial. I cry when I need to, and then move on. I do my very best to stay positive. Touch is so healing. Even if it’s only done by my own hand. Thanks for your thoughtful comment.

      Love, Renee

      • It is especially because it is your ‘own’ hand. That is the truth of loving yourself and if you could see its power you would be amazed. Good healing my friend. Namaste

  2. I loved reading this. I started my blog originally because I was going through a knee replacement. I know the pain of recovery all too well. Your words were beautiful…feel better soon!

    • Thanks for the kind comment my sweet. I hope you have recovered completely. It’s no fun being down. I often wonder if it would have been easier to break my arm instead of the ankle. I hope that your blog has evolved and that you’ve continued it.

      Love, Renee

      • You are so welcome. I have but my blog is now only photography. You can go back when it was first started to see it had nothing to do with photography back then. I have a few health issues but I plug along…photography has been my lifesaver! Thank you again.

  3. it is truly amazing what a small amount of touch can do for the spirit. Healing is slow but sometimes we require a physical break to help us take the time for a mental one. I hope that all of your healing is successful. Hugs

    • Hugs to you my friend. I’ll heal, and I’ll walk again. This is a good time to sit back and reflect on my life. I’m learning just how strong I am.

      I hope you’re well and happy. Hugs and kisses back at ya.

      Love, Renee

  4. Pingback: Friday Fictioneers – Judicial Perfection | The Reclining Gentleman

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