Oh, For A Bath

"Aaaaaah!" I sighed to myself as my imagination anticipated what was yet to come. I had spent the past few days figuring out the logistics. I thought my plan was going to work if... Everything hinged on the big IF. Here it is. If I had the strength to remove the shower doors from my tub and move them into the back bedroom where they wouldn't be in the way, I could do it. I knew I could. I could take a bath while keeping my right foot dry. I had to give it a try.

As I stood there, clad in my bathrobe and facing the glass doors, I lifted up on the first one. It cooperated! I cheered as I hoisted the door up, pulled the bottom edge over its rail, and lowered it to the floor. I had done it. I repeated the process on door number two. Success again! The doors were removed. Although they were heavy, I was finally able to maneuver them into the back bedroom. YEAH for me. (I don't like to ask for help)

What is all this fuss over a bath about? Well, ever since my foot surgery five weeks ago, I have had only sponge baths in order to keep my foot dry and to obey my doctors orders of "No showers, no baths." But, after awhile, a wet washcloth just doesn't do it. I want water: warm water, soothing water, soaking water, soapy water. I want steam, vapor, and aaaaaah comfort. Besides, the doctor finally said I could give it a try as long as my foot stayed out of the H20.

Now for my bath.  More correctly, now for my trial run. I stood there staring into the tub and realizing there was one more big IF...if I could even get into the tub. Oh, I could sit on the towel-draped side easily enough--wrapped in my fuzzy, red robe. I could stand with my left foot in the tub and right leg holding my foot up above imaginary water. Lowering my body into the tub would be another matter. With little or no edge on one side of the tub and the uncomfortable shower door rail an the other, it was next to impossible to hang on to anything to help me lower myself in. My good leg just didn't have the strength to do it by itself. Bummer. If only the faucet and tap were on the right side of the tub I could have slid myself down the back of the tub into warm, liquid bless, but they weren't. Double bummer.

So what does a gal do? She puts water in the tub anyway, stands there with one foot in and one foot out, and splashes with glee.  Half of me is very shiny, exfoliated and clean. The other half is sponged. Oh well, half a bath is better than none.

The hunt is now on for someone who has a tub with the faucets on the right side. I really want to soak sometime before my foot heals (which could be a couple more weeks). I think I might have found one. Now to call my daughter's mother-in-law and see if I can take a bath at her place. I really might do that. I really might. Or not because I would have to ask someone for a ride.  Oh, I'll be glad when this is over.

Have a God day. I am, even though I lie here with my head propped up on two pillows and my feet on three. Life is good especially when I am half clean.