Five days post-op, I am feeling pretty good. I don't have a lot of pain in my leg. Tomorrow I return to the doctor's office to have a hard cast put on.
Last night, for the first time since surgery, I ventured out into the big, wide suburban world that is Downers Grove. It was great to breathe fresh air, to feel cold, to ride in a car with my leg juxtaposed across the back seat to keep my ankle elevated for as long as possible.
The destination was hardly a question. We headed off to the timeless beacon of service, the tried-and-true establishment of 24-hour dining, Omega.
Everyone should have a staple Greek diner in their restaurant go-to list. That way, when you get the hankering for a Hobo skillet with a side of grilled calf's liver and a chocolate malt, there will be no hesitation. When you fall out of a bar at 3:00 a.m. with the desire for broiled butt steak and tapioca pudding, you won't think twice. For those times when you're watching your figure, you'll know exactly where to find a cantaloupe half stuffed with cottage cheese that's been wrapped in plastic and rotating in the cylindrical pastry case for 6 days. Yes, the Greek diner! They have what you need.
My parents have frequented Omega on Ogden Avenue for as long as I can remember. Long before they banished smoking, they ate there, and there is nothing that bothers my mother more than cigarette smoke. After church, after basketball games, and for no reason in particular, we often found ourselves at Omega. It was only natural that I would continue to go, taking advantage of Omega's late night hours during visits home from college. It was the place where my friends would meet up before we were eligible to drink in bars. Then, when were were old enough, we would convene at Omega after long booze-filled nights, probably being raucous and loud, and completely unfazed by the dirty looks thrown by other customers.
Regardless of behavior, regardless of the time, and regardless of this huge cast and crutches I'm toting around, the folks at Omega always serve with a smile. Last night our host offered me a helpful suggestion for using my crutch as a bench while sitting in a booth. He sympathized because he had somehow been on crutches 17 (HUH?) times in his life. They were extremely accommodating and the food was just as I remembered.
So, my first meal out of the house: cream of broccoli soup, turkey club sandwich, and a baked potato. It was a toss up between that and a Belgian waffle with strawberries.