from 32 to 80 in two minutes flat

three weeks exactly after i fell in the pothole and killed my ankle, i finally went to the doctor. i've felt pretty good the last few weeks—i even got to the gym twice—but i still had some bruising and certain areas were sore to the touch. i figured i better get it checked out before i wind up falling in another pothole (you know it will happen) and get laid up for weeks.

so i got the name of an ankle specialist from my knee specialist and paid a visit to good ol' St. Vincent's this morning. after some X-rays and repeatedly telling doctors that i did not play sports in school, unless you count the "dancing" i did in the musicals, they told me i might have a cracked talus bone.

it's not an emergency—i need a CT scan, but that won't happen until next week. the one doc did get my attention real fast when he told me they wanted to put me in a ski boot just to be safe. as he was saying the words, i was envisioning myself lumbering down the steps of the subway station with a big hunk of plastic on my foot, slipping and doing much more damage than a cracked talus.

when i explained that i was clumsy enough on my own and adding anything foreign to my person would only up the chances for disaster, he relented.

"we'll just get you a cane then," he said.

[i have no idea what my face looked like when he said that, but in my head i was thinking, "like hell you will!"]

i rejected the boot, but i couldn't reject the cane. i had to throw them a bone. an assistant in the office came by a few minutes later with an authentic, granny-perfect, metal-and-gray-rubber cane, just for moi. she showed me how to use it (seriously) and adjusted the height for me. then she said i should feel free to personalize it however i wanted to. like with stickers.

"nah, i sort of like the 80-year-old vibe it has as is," i said.

then i left the building with the cane. not using it, mind you. just holding the ridiculous thing in the crook of my arm. i pretended it was a prop for a show i was doing, or that i was delivering it to a homebound senior citizen.

on my way out of the hospital, i passed about three older women who had canes and were actually using them, which only solidified my resolve not to use mine.

it's not just vanity, i promise you. i honestly think it's more dangerous for me to use it than to not use it.

seriously, i wreak enough havoc when it's rainy and i'm forced to carry an umbrella. fellow pedestrians duck and cover when they see me charging up the block. i do worry occasionally that i have put a gash in someone's head or gouged an eyeball or two. this cane is an equally harmful weapon, in my opinion.

case in point: as i waited at 14th Street for the F train just after my appointment, i was simply trying to switch the cane from one arm to the other and it flew out of my hands and nearly wound up on the train tracks.

so: no. cracked talus or not, the cane is staying in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet until further notice. people of new york, you're welcome.

mb