That Last Step is a Bitch

So, I'm feeling like an idiot today. Here's why.

Yesterday afternoon as I was walking down the lower flight of stairs in my house to retrieve a clean load of laundry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking and I missed the last step. I landed hard on my right foot on the tile floor and then (of course) collapsed. I thought I'd rolled my ankle badly and possibly broken it. Chris helped me back up the stairs and we got some ice on the ankle, and after a few hours (and a couple ibuprofen pills) it was just annoying rather than seriously painful. I was feeling more optimistic that it might just be a sprain - until, that is, I tried to walk to the bathroom.

Yeah. That really sucked.

We're more than 24 hours later and I still can't really put weight on that foot. I can move the ankle around, and there's basically no swelling or bruising, but there's a pain on the top of the foot when I try to walk on it. I think I'm finally resigned to the need for an x-ray, although I'm planning to wait until tomorrow when I can go to my regular doctor (they have an x-ray machine) instead of the ER... Because I don't even want to contemplate how much that trip might cost.

Anyway, we called around to a few friends we thought might have crutches lying around in their garage, but none did. So Chris is now on a mission to get some crutches for me (I seriously had no idea places like Walgreen's or RiteAid even carried crutches, but I'm assured they do) so I will no longer be forced to hop everywhere on my left leg.

Y'know, when we first bought our house, I loved the fact that the townhouse didn't feel like an apartment (despite being attached to our neighbors' homes) - and the main reason it still feels more like a house than a condo to me is now the thing I hate about this place: the STAIRS. Bedroom on one level and kitchen on the other? I can tell you right now that's going to be the biggest pain in the ass for the forseeable future.