Disappointed. But I'll manage.

I've waited a long while for this day. Today's the day I made what I'd hoped would be my last trip to the fracture clinic at St. Joseph's hospital. I hoped Dr. Roscoe would pronounce my troublesome tibia "all better" and send me home sans cast. But it was not to be.

"What do you do for a living, Dale?" he asked.

I told him I'm a locomotive engineer.

"What ... You design locomotives?" was his response.

He's not the first to ask that stupid question, Ms J. I guess the golden age of railway is long behind us now. Most of us don't give much thought to trains anymore. I smiled and shook my head.

"No, Doc," I said. "I'm an engineer. I drive trains. You know, trains. GO trains. The green and white ones."

"Oh yeah. Of course. Jeez. It's been a busy morning," he said. "So you drive a train, eh? What's that like? Do you have to use your feet, or just your hands?"

"Just my hands, really," I said. "There are levers and handles I move to operate the engine. But I do have to walk out to the train. It's sometimes pretty far. It takes about ten minutes, maybe."

"And do you have to climb stairs or something to get on the locomotive? Is there a ladder or something?"

"A ladder, yeah."

He lowered his head, took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. I sat on the examination table and waited while the doctor stared at his feet. I began to feel uneasy in the silence. So I spoke again.

"I'm getting a bit restless," I confessed. "When do you think I might go back to work?"

"I don't want to send you back too soon," he said and he felt my leg again and squeezed it. "Do you take your cast off at all and walk around?"

"No," I said. "I promised my physio girl I'd keep it on except to shower. I wear it all the time."

"OK. Try taking it off once in a while at home. Maybe for an hour or so twice a day. Practice walking without it. Put your weight on that leg. But be careful. Watch where you're going. No jumping or stomping."

I thought of my painful experience with that hornet the other day, but my ego kept me quiet.

"And what about work?" I asked. "When can I go back?"

"I think you'd better practice walking without the cast for a while. Strengthen your leg. Another four to six weeks, anyway. How's your physiotherapy coming? Are you getting any more movement in your foot? You went for neuro tests, didn't you? Hang on. Let me have a look at that report."

And he disappeared beyond the blue curtain, leaving me with my thoughts.

Six weeks? Four to six more bloody weeks?? This is just insane, Ms J. In-freakin'-sane. In a minute, the doctor was back. He held a piece of paper up.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. There was damage to the peroneal nerve that runs down here."

He drew a line with his finger down the side of my calf and across my shin to my toes.

"It's going to take a bit longer to recover because of that damage. A lot longer than with a simple fracture. That's why I don't want you going back to work right away. Your foot won't work that well and until you really get used to using your leg again, you could trip and re-injure yourself."

I was absolutely shattered, Ms J. I must have looked like a dying duck in a thunderstorm. Dr. Roscoe smiled reassuringly and laid his hand on my shoulder.

"I know. It's been a long haul for you, hasn't it?"

"Six more weeks, Doc? Really?"

I looked up at him and when his soft brown eyes met mine, I saw a genuine concern. Compassion, even.

"Come back and see me in a month, OK? I want to see you walking well without the cast. Then we'll talk about returning to work."

I put my cast back on while he filled out another form to continue my sick benefits. Then I hobbled over to the wall phone and called Joan to come fetch me.

Sigh ...

Another month of sitting around. Another month of financial challenge. But I've been given the green light to move about without my cast. A little. Slowly. Carefully. And if I can do that, Ms J, I can drive. Maybe I'll be able to drive and not be so dependent on Joan et al to act as my chauffeur. Life's improvements come a little at a time. And I promise to bear witness to each new arrival. Joyfully. Gratefully.

***