It’s the first question everyone asks me, usually after I tell my story of how I broke my ankle. After I share that my doctor has forbidden me to get out of bed except to go to the restroom. How he has me lying with my foot elevated on several pillows to keep the swelling down. How I have not gone to work or stood on both feet, walked, or driven a car for six weeks.
It’s the one thing friends, relatives and acquaintances want to know. And they ask with utmost sincerity, a worried look on their face, and extreme sympathy in their voice. They mean well and think their question will bring me comfort and validation.
The question? Continue reading