Since I hurt my foot last week I have been referring to myself as a Crip, meaning cripple, not enemy-of-Blood. I’m now thinking that this is offensive when used by people outside the group of actual cripples, like so many other In-group words I am not willing to type. So I’m going with Lame.

Traveling is expensive, so after I paid the hefty change fee to join Bill on his post-NJ Boston business trip, I decided to economize on the NJ-to-Boston leg for me–my husband flew, since he’s being reimbursed. Trains are just as expensive as planes, so I went for Megabus between NYC and Boston. It’s an adventure, right? I have no compunction about asking my son and nephew to use it, why shouldn’t I? There are even reserved seats, and I got one with a (tiny) table that was thankfully on the lower level.

Those plans were made before I injured my foot.

It’s not quite as economical when one has to take taxis for all the interstices–Penn Station to Megabus, South Station to Brookline. Happily there was a free shuttle to the NJ Transit train station from the hotel.

Those taxis compensated for the luggage dragging factor. My husband, with four perfectly useful limbs, looks like an athlete to me as he blithely wafts two suitcases and two carryons through the various stages of modern travel. When I’m alone, I wield the cane with my right hand, so I have to drag my luggage stack with my left, and I can feel the extra strain.

I can’t do stairs even sans luggage, so there is extra walking to elevators or ramps; the ramp entrance for Princeton Junction Station in particular was a significant haul. Trains all seem to have annoying Mind the Gaps between their exits and the platform, so I had to look helpless, or hopeless, until someone volunteered to advance my luggage. No conductors! I couldn’t get down the stairs to the cushy seats, so I sat in the shockingly uncomfortable handicapped section.

The stressful bit is, I feel I am re-injuring myself at every step, or at least not  progressing toward healing, and I can’t help but wonder about being permanently lame. My previous, more minor injury to the same foot had persisted for eight months, and though my doctor is confident about my getting over this, she assumes I am letting it heal. I don’t think I have a chance at a single job for which I’ve applied if I can’t get around pretty vigorously, and weight gain is already a problem.

I suppose we all fear the life-changing medical incident or diagnosis, and I’m wondering if this is mine. Disturbing though it be, there are worse ones.