The idiom “standing on your own two feet” is pretty much uni­ver­sally defined in English as meaning to be strong and independent, able to take care of yourself. As a moti­va­tional adage, it ranks right up there with “pulling yourself up by your boot­straps” and “rugged indi­vid­ualism.”

All well and good, except when you can’t stand on your own two feet. Right now as I write this column, I am weeks away from that act.

In early February, I had a torn peroneal tendon (think “ankle”) repaired sur­gi­cally. While the surgery went well and my con­va­lescence has been smooth, I am not allowed to put weight on my right foot until early March. (March 9, in fact, but who’s count­ing?)

So the notion of standing on my own two feet is out the door. I can stand on one foot and a chair or one foot and a knee caddy (those scooters you see people with foot injuries whiz by on). I can stand on one foot and pre­cariously balance (thank God for yoga). I literally cannot stand on two feet.

I cannot figuratively stand on my own two feet right now either. Driving is out of the question until (gulp) early April. For the first week post-surgery, I was confined to my house, dependent on my husband Warren and good friends to bring me books, water, the mail, my clothes, enter­tain­ment. With the advent of the knee caddy and a cast replacing the bandages on my foot, I have a lot more capacity and mobility, but I am still heavily reliant on Warren, especially as my chauffeur.

It’s been an interesting couple of weeks. It’s been a lesson in learning how to be dependent. It’s been a lesson in learning to ask for help. These are lessons I have needed for a long, long time. (My dear husband has not said a word, but I have to think he is grateful I am finally getting the point.) Unintentionally, it has also been a lesson in how much modification our house would need to be both safe and comfortable for us as we age or should I develop mobility or other physical problems as a result of having multiple myeloma.

My multiple myeloma, for the most part, has not played a major role in the whole tendon issue, although it was the catalyst for the tear being discovered. I had been experiencing more and more pain in my foot and when my myeloma specialist heard that in December, his eyebrows hit the ceiling. It could be insufficiency fractures (think “stress fractures”) from all the steroids I’ve had over the last 13+ years, he said. It could be the myeloma breaking through the foot bones – highly unlikely, he noted, but still possible. “Get it checked out now!”

In the end, it wasn’t either of those scenarios. The only remote relationship the myeloma may have had to the tear is that it most likely started small and I did not notice it for a long time because of the neuropathy in my feet. Only after it tore significantly did I feel it.

The other small myeloma note in my recovery is that I have to take a blood thinner to prevent clots until I go into a walking boot. Blood thinners and I do not coexist well; I am at risk for bleeding. My personal physician and the orthopedic surgeon talked about this before the surgery, and I am taking a very low dose of Xarelto (rivaroxaban). So far, so good, but I will be glad to set it aside soon.

As for the walking boot, I can’t wait. Because then I will finally be able to stand on my own two feet.

But the lessons I learned during this interlude will not be forgotten. Abraham Lincoln said “be sure you put your feet in the right place and then stand firm.” Good advice for me when I get my right foot back.

And good advice to me as I continue to live with multiple myeloma. Dealing with this tear has reminded me that I can’t always go it alone. I don’t have to do everything but can let others share the tasks. I can put my feet in the right place and ask for help. And I can stand firm in knowing that needing help does not mean I am incompetent, but that I am human.