Nov 20 was day 15 after surgery, and it felt like my first real checkpoint. My roommate drove me to the clinic. On the way there, I was carrying two emotions at the same time. I was anxious and excited. I was worried about the things you do not want to think about, like infection or the tendon not healing the way it should. But I was also excited because if everything looked good, this could be the day I finally got into a boot.
When they started unwrapping my leg, I had one very specific fear. The smell. I had not properly washed my left leg in about 20 days, so I was mentally preparing myself, and everyone in the room, for something tragic. But honestly, it was not as bad as I imagined. What surprised me more was how the incision looked. The skin looked like it had been stitched tight so it would not open up. It was dry, dry in the way you want it to be. I could clearly see the sutures along a long incision. There was still some swelling and bruising on my lower leg, and it was my first time seeing an incision up close like that.
Another thing I noticed immediately was my calf. It was basically gone. Not a little smaller. Gone. It was one of those moments where you realize recovery is not just about healing a tendon. It is also about rebuilding everything around it.
Before the stitches came out, the surgeon took one look at the incision and said it looked “GREAT.” I did not know how badly I needed to hear that until she said it. That one word unclenched something in my chest. Then the nurse removed the sutures. I felt a pinching pain each time, like the skin was being pulled, but it was tolerable and quick. It was more uncomfortable than truly painful.
After that, we talked about the plan. I was told I could start physical therapy the following week. I was also told to keep taking aspirin for another two weeks. I actually thought she said one week, and later realized she definitely said two. My brain was still not fully back to normal.
And yes, this was the boot day. I was told to keep the boot on at all times except for showering, and that this would last for about two and a half more months, which sounded like a very long time. The boot had three wedges inside it. The wedges keep your ankle in plantar flexion, which means your toes point downward. The purpose is to keep the repaired tendon in a safer position with less tension while it heals. Starting at four weeks after surgery, I would begin removing the wedges gradually, so my foot could slowly move closer to neutral.
I was also told I could start partial weight bearing at the three week mark. The plan was 50 percent of my body weight at first, then increasing by 25 percent each week. It sounded simple when they said it. I knew real life would feel more complicated.
Before I left the clinic, they put steri strips over the wound and told me I could shower with them on. They said the strips would fall off on their own after about a week. After that, they put a light compression sock on my leg.
The first few days after the appointment were mostly uneventful, except for some soreness from the stitch removal. I wanted to take a shower right away, partly because I finally could, and partly because I wanted to reset my whole existence. But I decided to wait until the suture soreness calmed down and everything felt a little less sensitive.
The biggest feeling that week was relief. No infection. The wound was healing well. The surgeon said it looked great. That was a win, even though I was still on two crutches and still moving like every trip to the kitchen was a strategic mission.
And then came the shower, the one I had been thinking about for days.
By that point I had bought a shower chair, thinking I was being smart and efficient. I sat down, turned on the water, and finally uncovered the injured leg like it was a long lost artifact. The amount of dirt on my left leg was honestly embarrassing. Not funny embarrassing. More like, how does a single leg accumulate this much evidence of suffering embarrassing. I do not know what I expected after weeks of plastic covers and careful avoidance, but the reality was humbling.
I also thought it would be a quick shower. It was not. Between moving carefully, trying not to twist anything, figuring out how to wash without putting myself at risk, and just staring at my leg in disbelief, the whole operation took about an hour and a half. It felt less like a shower and more like an expedition.
Still, when it was over, I felt something close to human again. At that point, that was enough to count as progress.