My father is on his way home from the hospital AS WE SPEAK.

(Note to self: you are not actually speaking to anyone.)

After surgery, the physical therapists were all, let’s try to get you walking again, it’s been almost 9 months, etc.

And my dad, who is a total beast was all, TRY? SCREW THAT. I’M GONNA DO.

And he freaking WALKED.

WITH A WALKER.

AND THEN WITH ONLY A CANE.

AND EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS WORTHY OF ALL THE CAPITAL LETTERS I AM USING.

I have a video of him using his cane, going slowly but steadily back into his hospital room and it’s so freaking amazing but my phone turned it sideways and I can’t figure out how to get it vertical again. Can you help me with this? Am I making any sense? I’m not. You know why? Because my dad is WALKING. And instead of heading to rehab, he’s heading home! So he can walk around! And have PT at home! And we can set his wheelchair on fire because we never want to see it again! Except metal doesn’t burn! So whatever you guys!

Now, let’s talk about the reason you are reading this: me and my problems.

Except I’m not allowed to complain because I gave up complaining for 2011. But that’s a post for another day all about my resolutions. ARE YOU SO EXCITED? Don’t worry. It’ll happen.

So! About ME and MY problems!

Things we know already:

I fell down while running on October 3rd.

A man named Rafael picked me up and drove me home. During our car ride, I found out that he was on his way to Costco when he saw me fall and also, I should not get married because marriage is a jail.

My knee and ankle were both sprained but because I have no health insurance, this was a diagnosis I made up myself.

The knee seemed to be healing just fine but the ankle would alternately feel okay and then feel horrible.

I attempted to go to yoga a few times and then everyone yelled at me. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU WILL NEVER WALK AGAIN. And I was like no, you must have me confused with my father. JUST KIDDING. HE IS ACTUALLY WALKING NOW.

After consulting with medical professionals people I found on the streets of Manhattan, I decided to stay off my leg as much as possible and let the darn thing heal. I barely moved. I mean. Sort of. I still had to walk up subway steps and things like that. But for the most part, the entire leg was pretty much immobile.

When I realized it wasn’t getting much better, I called the Actor’s Clinic who treats me for free, and the doctor was all I HAVE NO X-RAYS HERE BUT I CAN LOOK AT IT. So he looked at it and was all THE KNEE SEEMS OKAY BUT YOU MIGHT HAVE A SLIGHT TEAR IN THE ACHILLES AND THAT MAKES ME NERVOUS. GET THEE TO A DOCTOR WHO KNOWS MORE THAN ME SPECIALIST.

He sent me to the NYU Dancer’s Clinic which is a thing, apparently. DID YOU KNOW THAT? Do you dance? Are you injured? They will help you. Do you have health insurance? If not, you can apply for financial aid and in most cases, you are fully covered for everything: appointments, x-rays and all physical therapy for a year. WHAT? I love you, Free Stuff For Actors/Dancers/Artist People.

Yesterday, I went to my appointment at the Dancer’s Clinic. They were running behind so I had to wait nearly two hours to get seen. (BUT THAT IS NOT A COMPLAINT. JUST A DESCRIPTION.) They put me in an examining room where I dozed off in my chair until I heard voices outside the door.

THAT MUST BE THE DOCTOR! FINALLY!

It was actually two doctors, a resident and a few interns as this was a teaching facility, of course.

Except, the resident was brand new and put my chart in the wrong spot.

So picture it: I was napping, dreaming of something hazy and warm, like the smell of Cinnabon, and now I am startled awake by a team of medical professionals who barge into the examining room and ask me, Frances, all about my chronic lower back pain.

“Um,” I said. “I think you have the wrong patient. I’m not Frances and my back is just fine.”

“WHO GAVE ME THIS CHART?!” the doctor asked.

“Um, I guess I switched hers with another patient,” replied the meek resident.

“UM. WE WILL BE RIGHT BACK TO SEE YOU!” said the doctor cheerfully and then they all awkwardly tip-toed out of the room and I fell back asleep.

That was probably the highlight of the afternoon. A bargain for Frances indeed.

As scintillating as this story is, I should probably wrap it up.

Diagnosis: Remember how everyone was all DO NOT PUT WEIGHT ON YOUR ANKLE! DO NOT GO TO YOGA! DO NOTHING AT ALL! ???

Well. Turns out you should actually see a doctor before you take homeless people’s advice.

When it comes to an ankle sprain, the suggestion is that you actually get it moving rather soon after you injure it. The reason is because scar tissue tends to build up around the joint, restricting movement and causing an extreme amount of pain.

The doctor pointed out that even if I had broken something or torn something, it would’ve been healed by now as it has been over 12 weeks since I fell. I now am the proud owner of a shit ton of scar tissue in my Achilles tendon, unable to point or flex my foot fully without yelping.

The doctor gave me some exercises to do until I can start physical therapy. Unfortunately, my financial aid application takes about 30 days to process so I’m unable to start treatment until I’ve been approved. For now, I am allowed and encouraged, to go to yoga and to move that ankle as much as possible so I can work through that delicious yummy scar tissue.

STUFF WE’VE LEARNED TODAY:

My dad has been discharged from the hospital and is walking with a cane but WHO CARES ABOUT HIM.

My name is not Frances and my lower back is just fine.

When you hurt your ankle, you should ice it and rest it for a few days and then you should MOVE THAT SUCKER ASAP!!!

Most importantly people, affordable and accessible health insurance might be a GRAND IDEA so I can maybe see a doctor when I actually hurt myself as opposed to three months after the fact! GOD BLESS AMERICA.