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Description

A BIG LEG that seemed on the verge of becoming just an (unpleasant) memory of the past is destined to remain an unchanging (and even more unwelcome) presence in the present.

The charming, curvaceous young lady definitely got a bug up her butt...
Well, it's hard not to understand her!
After six weeks in a heavy knee-high plaster cast (due to a trivial slip from her beloved wedges…) she was finally back at the doctor's practice for the final check-up and the long-awaited removal of such bulky chunk of plaster.
After more than forty days spent battling the swelling of the casted ankle, the weight and discomfort of the cast and, last but not least, the unbearable itching (which, combined with the intense ‘internal’ sweating) made life impossible for her on several occasions, the busty miss imagined that she would finally be wearing a shoe on her right foot again that very afternoon.
She didn't care what kind of shoe, even a shabby clog or an extremely ordinary flip-flop would have suited her: the only thing that mattered to her was that she would finally be rid of that cumbersome plaster boot that had been greatly restricting her movements for over a fortnight.
Not even the fact that after three weeks her plaster cast had been changed to a new 'walking cast' (as the orthopaedist called it) with a thick rubber heel under the sole, had helped to lift her spirits.
Of course, with the new weight-bearing leg cast she had been able to get rid of the hated crutches which, besides considerably hindering her movements, had also given her annoying blisters on her, until then, soft and silky tiny hands...
Of course, thanks to the heel underneath the plaster cast, she was able to move with a minimum of comfort, but only a minimum, since even the slightest movement meant that she had to drag around that heavy big leg...
But despite the partial mobility (re)found thanks to the sturdy heel applied under the sole of the ‘white bootie’, the poor girl continued to be deeply depressed and upset with the world.
As a matter of fact, she was still unable to work out (she’s an authentic fitness and tennis maniac and before her fracture she used to train or play practically every day) and had to endure a decidedly sedentary lifestyle compared to her usual standards.
The long afternoons spent lounging on the sofa in the living room had, on closer inspection, begun to leave their mark on her, which had definitely 'softened': on her usually slim silhouette, the first small rolls of flab had appeared, first on her thighs, then on her stomach (her 'ironing board' belly was now only a distant memory).
By now, when she stared at herself in the mirror, that same body that until a few weeks before was a source of pride for her (and a source of envy for her many friends and colleagues), had become an almost unbearable 'sight'...
The progressive flabbiness of her hips, buttocks and abdomen had, if possible, worsened her state of already deep distress.
Therefore, it’s not surprising that the poor woman was counting the days on the calendar until the longed-for day when her hated cast would finally be removed.
Unfortunately for her, the days and the weeks passed with unspeakable slowness....
Afternoons of forced rest on the couch with the big leg conveniently resting on the pillows alternated with mornings of real fatigue in which the cursed 'orthopaedic walk' imposed on her by her doctor forced her to put her nose out of the apartment.
Finally, then, the long awaited ‘Big Day’ had finally arrived!
Never in her life could she remember waiting so long for something...
That day, marked on the calendar with a double red circle and exclamation mark, had arrived.
That day she would be rid of the infamous knee-high plaster cast!
For this reason, she had wanted to make herself as beautiful and attractive as possible, almost as if to celebrate such waited so long event.
That morning, she had helped herself to a relaxing bath, then doused herself with cleansing milk and soothing oil.
After so many days, she had decided to put on her make-up, to leave behind the sloppiness that had sadly been her travelling companion over the last few weeks.
From the wardrobe she had peeked out a provocative jumpsuit to enhance her seductive figure that she had tried to maintain at all costs, despite the ‘softening’ imposed on her by her limited mobility and even more limited physical activity.
In the last ten days, in fact, she had taken the initiative (despite the doctor's advice to the contrary) to abolish milk, eggs and cheese, foods that would have been good for her as they are high in calcium, but that are, just as notoriously, weight gaining and that she could no longer stand after a month spent eating them on a massive scale...
And so she had turned up in the early afternoon at the doctor's practice with the enthusiasm of someone about to turn over a new leaf and leave behind one of the worst periods of her life: forty days in which her much-loved high heels had been sadly locked away in the shoe closet without her being able to use them at all.
For that very special occasion she had put on a black ankle boot with an elastic band on her healthy foot (the other one she kept in her handbag, counting the minutes until she could finally wear it on her right foot too...).
Instead...
And instead?
And instead, none of this!
The last X-rays taken just before the expected removal of the plaster cast had revealed a worrying situation: the fracture had not yet fully healed, the fracture line was still clearly visible to the naked eye...
The world was once again (and heavily) falling on the poor maiden....
As the head orthopaedics surgeon shook her head, she knew what awaited her...
The doctor, scolding her for having exercised too much since she had been put in the 'walking cast' and for the fact that she had drastically reduced her intake of high-calcium foods, pointed out that she would have to wear the cast for another four weeks (at least...).
«We have to make up for lost time Miss. And this time, be sure to follow my instructions to the letter: you must eat eggs, cheese and calcium-rich foods at all times like there's no tomorrow. The same for milk: you must drink as much of it as you can. And don't worry if this makes your stomach feel heavy: better a bit of intestinal turbulence than to risk slowing down your recovery even more...».
The poor woman was a boxer on the verge of a new, terrible, knockout....
The doctor continues «I almost forgot. I'm going to make you a nice, thick, heavy knee-high cast to protect your ankle as much as possible from any kind of external stress and to speed up the healing process as much as possible».
The poor woman looking at the doctor says «A nice, thick, heavy knee-high cast? Too much grace doctor!».
But the doctor wasn't finished yet «And, besides, the cast will be heel-less. So you won't be able to put it on the ground. So you will have to use crutches again to walk. This will make it more complicated for you to move around and, consequently, will force you to rest more. That's exactly what I want: that you rest as much as possible with your plaster leg elevated...».
The announcement of the cast with no heel, not weight-bearing and, therefore, not likely to be placed on the floor has the effect on the poor woman of a straight jab to the chin, an absolute knock-out blow.
So it’s no surprise that about an hour later the poor lady is in the lift that is taking her back to the ground floor of the medical practice where a taxi, already called by the doctor's ultra-efficient secretary (who has greeted her in a trilling voice: «Goodbye miss, stay strong and keep your leg elevated as much as possible, please!»), is ready to take her home for four (what promises to be endless) more weeks of forced rest...
Adding even more to the young lady’s already resounding annoyance were the two mammoth crutches that the orthopaedist had handed over to her.
Not two 'nimble' forearm crutches like those used in the first days after her leg was put in a cast, but two (much heavier and bulkier) underarm crutches.
Two crutches which will certainly support her more appropriately, but which will just as certainly cause her incipient sweating right in the armpit area, increasing her sense of embarrassment, frustration and, in general, disappointment even more.
The size of the very 'nice and thick' plaster cast that makes a fine display in the foreground immediately gives an idea of the effort the poor girl will have to make even to move from the sofa to the armchair to the ottoman, from the bed to the bathroom, from the elevated swivel chair in the kitchen to the deckchair on the balcony...
Everything suggests that after another four weeks of limited mobility and almost zero physical activity, the next time the pretty young lady enters that lift, she will no longer be able to do so in that tight little dress, because her 'softening' process will have gone far beyond that.
And, unfortunately for her, there will be no exercise to prevent the certain fattening that awaits her...
The 'big leg lifting' exercise that she’s hastily attempting to perform already in the lift that is taking her back to the reception of the practice will do nothing to prevent the disappearance of the washboard abs of which she was once so proud.
The days spent lazily sprawled out on the sofa island in the living room, her only possible exercise being to move her fingers to change the channel on the remote control in frantic search of a new TV series (having by then exhausted those of practically all streaming platforms...) will in no time at all transform what remains of her abs into soft pads of flab that will surely attract the inevitable jokes and smirks of derision from all those who will pass by the house to visit her in the next, for her, seemingly endless weeks.
The rest will be done by the comfort food to which the poor gal, despite her initial resistance, will fatally surrender after a few days spent in bed or on the couch, gazing at the toes of her plastered foot sticking out of the large cast as the only, invariable panorama.
That’s why those beautiful fingernails, so long, are at serious risk of being chipped to give free rein to the poor lady's deep frustration...
Although, come to think of it, she would do better to keep her fingernails as long as possible so that she can easily scratch inside the plaster cast.
In any case, the poor gal's drink menu over the next few weeks will be rather limited: milk, at will, to maximise the calcification process, and chamomile tea, in industrial quantities, to calm her sudden mood swings...

Description

A BIG LEG that seemed on the verge of becoming just an (unpleasant) memory of the past is destined to remain an unchanging (and even more unwelcome) presence in the present.

The charming, curvaceous young lady definitely got a bug up her butt...
Well, it's hard not to understand her!
After six weeks in a heavy knee-high plaster cast (due to a trivial slip from her beloved wedges…) she was finally back at the doctor's practice for the final check-up and the long-awaited removal of such bulky chunk of plaster.
After more than forty days spent battling the swelling of the casted ankle, the weight and discomfort of the cast and, last but not least, the unbearable itching (which, combined with the intense ‘internal’ sweating) made life impossible for her on several occasions, the busty miss imagined that she would finally be wearing a shoe on her right foot again that very afternoon.
She didn't care what kind of shoe, even a shabby clog or an extremely ordinary flip-flop would have suited her: the only thing that mattered to her was that she would finally be rid of that cumbersome plaster boot that had been greatly restricting her movements for over a fortnight.
Not even the fact that after three weeks her plaster cast had been changed to a new 'walking cast' (as the orthopaedist called it) with a thick rubber heel under the sole, had helped to lift her spirits.
Of course, with the new weight-bearing leg cast she had been able to get rid of the hated crutches which, besides considerably hindering her movements, had also given her annoying blisters on her, until then, soft and silky tiny hands...
Of course, thanks to the heel underneath the plaster cast, she was able to move with a minimum of comfort, but only a minimum, since even the slightest movement meant that she had to drag around that heavy big leg...
But despite the partial mobility (re)found thanks to the sturdy heel applied under the sole of the ‘white bootie’, the poor girl continued to be deeply depressed and upset with the world.
As a matter of fact, she was still unable to work out (she’s an authentic fitness and tennis maniac and before her fracture she used to train or play practically every day) and had to endure a decidedly sedentary lifestyle compared to her usual standards.
The long afternoons spent lounging on the sofa in the living room had, on closer inspection, begun to leave their mark on her, which had definitely 'softened': on her usually slim silhouette, the first small rolls of flab had appeared, first on her thighs, then on her stomach (her 'ironing board' belly was now only a distant memory).
By now, when she stared at herself in the mirror, that same body that until a few weeks before was a source of pride for her (and a source of envy for her many friends and colleagues), had become an almost unbearable 'sight'...
The progressive flabbiness of her hips, buttocks and abdomen had, if possible, worsened her state of already deep distress.
Therefore, it’s not surprising that the poor woman was counting the days on the calendar until the longed-for day when her hated cast would finally be removed.
Unfortunately for her, the days and the weeks passed with unspeakable slowness....
Afternoons of forced rest on the couch with the big leg conveniently resting on the pillows alternated with mornings of real fatigue in which the cursed 'orthopaedic walk' imposed on her by her doctor forced her to put her nose out of the apartment.
Finally, then, the long awaited ‘Big Day’ had finally arrived!
Never in her life could she remember waiting so long for something...
That day, marked on the calendar with a double red circle and exclamation mark, had arrived.
That day she would be rid of the infamous knee-high plaster cast!
For this reason, she had wanted to make herself as beautiful and attractive as possible, almost as if to celebrate such waited so long event.
That morning, she had helped herself to a relaxing bath, then doused herself with cleansing milk and soothing oil.
After so many days, she had decided to put on her make-up, to leave behind the sloppiness that had sadly been her travelling companion over the last few weeks.
From the wardrobe she had peeked out a provocative jumpsuit to enhance her seductive figure that she had tried to maintain at all costs, despite the ‘softening’ imposed on her by her limited mobility and even more limited physical activity.
In the last ten days, in fact, she had taken the initiative (despite the doctor's advice to the contrary) to abolish milk, eggs and cheese, foods that would have been good for her as they are high in calcium, but that are, just as notoriously, weight gaining and that she could no longer stand after a month spent eating them on a massive scale...
And so she had turned up in the early afternoon at the doctor's practice with the enthusiasm of someone about to turn over a new leaf and leave behind one of the worst periods of her life: forty days in which her much-loved high heels had been sadly locked away in the shoe closet without her being able to use them at all.
For that very special occasion she had put on a black ankle boot with an elastic band on her healthy foot (the other one she kept in her handbag, counting the minutes until she could finally wear it on her right foot too...).
Instead...
And instead?
And instead, none of this!
The last X-rays taken just before the expected removal of the plaster cast had revealed a worrying situation: the fracture had not yet fully healed, the fracture line was still clearly visible to the naked eye...
The world was once again (and heavily) falling on the poor maiden....
As the head orthopaedics surgeon shook her head, she knew what awaited her...
The doctor, scolding her for having exercised too much since she had been put in the 'walking cast' and for the fact that she had drastically reduced her intake of high-calcium foods, pointed out that she would have to wear the cast for another four weeks (at least...).
«We have to make up for lost time Miss. And this time, be sure to follow my instructions to the letter: you must eat eggs, cheese and calcium-rich foods at all times like there's no tomorrow. The same for milk: you must drink as much of it as you can. And don't worry if this makes your stomach feel heavy: better a bit of intestinal turbulence than to risk slowing down your recovery even more...».
The poor woman was a boxer on the verge of a new, terrible, knockout....
The doctor continues «I almost forgot. I'm going to make you a nice, thick, heavy knee-high cast to protect your ankle as much as possible from any kind of external stress and to speed up the healing process as much as possible».
The poor woman looking at the doctor says «A nice, thick, heavy knee-high cast? Too much grace doctor!».
But the doctor wasn't finished yet «And, besides, the cast will be heel-less. So you won't be able to put it on the ground. So you will have to use crutches again to walk. This will make it more complicated for you to move around and, consequently, will force you to rest more. That's exactly what I want: that you rest as much as possible with your plaster leg elevated...».
The announcement of the cast with no heel, not weight-bearing and, therefore, not likely to be placed on the floor has the effect on the poor woman of a straight jab to the chin, an absolute knock-out blow.
So it’s no surprise that about an hour later the poor lady is in the lift that is taking her back to the ground floor of the medical practice where a taxi, already called by the doctor's ultra-efficient secretary (who has greeted her in a trilling voice: «Goodbye miss, stay strong and keep your leg elevated as much as possible, please!»), is ready to take her home for four (what promises to be endless) more weeks of forced rest...
Adding even more to the young lady’s already resounding annoyance were the two mammoth crutches that the orthopaedist had handed over to her.
Not two 'nimble' forearm crutches like those used in the first days after her leg was put in a cast, but two (much heavier and bulkier) underarm crutches.
Two crutches which will certainly support her more appropriately, but which will just as certainly cause her incipient sweating right in the armpit area, increasing her sense of embarrassment, frustration and, in general, disappointment even more.
The size of the very 'nice and thick' plaster cast that makes a fine display in the foreground immediately gives an idea of the effort the poor girl will have to make even to move from the sofa to the armchair to the ottoman, from the bed to the bathroom, from the elevated swivel chair in the kitchen to the deckchair on the balcony...
Everything suggests that after another four weeks of limited mobility and almost zero physical activity, the next time the pretty young lady enters that lift, she will no longer be able to do so in that tight little dress, because her 'softening' process will have gone far beyond that.
And, unfortunately for her, there will be no exercise to prevent the certain fattening that awaits her...
The 'big leg lifting' exercise that she’s hastily attempting to perform already in the lift that is taking her back to the reception of the practice will do nothing to prevent the disappearance of the washboard abs of which she was once so proud.
The days spent lazily sprawled out on the sofa island in the living room, her only possible exercise being to move her fingers to change the channel on the remote control in frantic search of a new TV series (having by then exhausted those of practically all streaming platforms...) will in no time at all transform what remains of her abs into soft pads of flab that will surely attract the inevitable jokes and smirks of derision from all those who will pass by the house to visit her in the next, for her, seemingly endless weeks.
The rest will be done by the comfort food to which the poor gal, despite her initial resistance, will fatally surrender after a few days spent in bed or on the couch, gazing at the toes of her plastered foot sticking out of the large cast as the only, invariable panorama.
That’s why those beautiful fingernails, so long, are at serious risk of being chipped to give free rein to the poor lady's deep frustration...
Although, come to think of it, she would do better to keep her fingernails as long as possible so that she can easily scratch inside the plaster cast.
In any case, the poor gal's drink menu over the next few weeks will be rather limited: milk, at will, to maximise the calcification process, and chamomile tea, in industrial quantities, to calm her sudden mood swings...