It’s now been 10 weeks since I broke my ankle.

During the first six weeks, I knew how long it had been precisely, because I knew how long it would be before the doctor would let me put weight on my foot. The days and weeks were interminable and it seems as if the day would never arrive when I could actually walk again.

The past four weeks have gone past almost in a blur. I had to go to the calendar and count the number of weeks, because I wasn’t certain precisely how long it had been.

That, strangely enough, makes the bad days harder. The first weeks of recovery crawled by and I was aware of the passing of every day. Now, time has resumed it’s normal course and every once in awhile I forget that I am healing from a broken ankle, which makes it all the more frustrating when I am forcefully reminded of this fact.

Be that as it may, I am still continuing to heal well. Stairs are an issue only when I’m very tired or sore, and I am almost back up to normal walking speeds.

The leg is still weak, however, and I still need to lose the weight I put on during six weeks of forced inactivity. But I’m getting there. I can do the work I need to and I will get back to normal.

I just have to be patient.