My new name is Gimpy...

We have a varing degree of Respiratory therapists in our office. They range from smart to incredibly stupid, from no personality to too much personality, and from turtle like work speeds to Speed racer. Amy is very sweet, middle of the road intelligence, but she is a flippin' turtle. Remember the turtle that took 20 pages to cross the road in The Grapes of Wrath? That is Amy...

So yesterday, Amy had the doctors and I running 45 minutes behind (this is bad, people- like patients waiting 45 minutes to be checked in and another 45 minutes to be seen, bad). We were not happy but we were coping the best way we could. In order to slow her even more, I made the decision to show my patient how to use the inhaler and walked to the med closet to get the demonstrator. Our office is carpeted, except the bathroom and the med closets. As my cute little heels hit the tile, my heel slipped and I turned my foot completely on its side. And then, I hit the floor. Dee heard the crash, came to help, and found me dry heaving in the closet. This damn ankle is the same one that, a year ago, I tore the ligaments in. I am pretty sure that I did it again.

Today the ankle is still swollen, bruised, and throbbing. To say that it marches to the beat of its own drummer would be an understatement. I am limping my way around in my trusty Asics and hoping it heals quickly. I keep getting pages from Dr L calling me Hop along... I wonder how he would feel if Hop along took some time off??