Saturday early evening, I'm lying on the couch in my pjs watching My Super Ex-Girlfriend and eating baby carrots with hummus for dinner. Phone rings and my girlfriend convinces me that I need to come out to dinner with a group she's putting together last minute. I hem and haw for a few minutes - I'm pretty comfortable on the couch, but it sounds like fun - and finally decide to go. I spring into action, put on a dress and makeup and heels and feel like - yeah! I rock! I rock so much that I bet I don't even need a cane!
I'm standing on my corner waiting for their cab to come down Ninth Avenue and pick me up, and suddenly I hear "WOW." I turn and look at the man standing next to me who is shaking his head in approval. "Oh my god," I gush, "you have no idea how much that means to me I had surgery and this is my first night out without a cane and thank you so much," meanwhile his face says this is way more information than he was looking for, but I don't care. I feel great.
We go out to dinner and have a great time, but afterwards walking to the subway I'm realizing that I kind of overextended myself in the name of not being the girl with the cane on Saturday night. It was good to get out and feel regular, but by the time I get home my leg is really sore. I don't think I did any damage but I'm definitely not yet ready to go caneless. 2 different people today asked me how long I needed the cane for and it's so strange not to be able to tell anyone anything definite. I have no idea, frankly. But I discovered that walking around my apartment without the cane (5 steps here, 7 steps there) is a whole different pickle than NYC on a Saturday night. Note to self: cane is your friend, and friends don't let friends walk gimpy.