Here’s What’s Up

I never know how to name or begin these “here is where I am right now” posts. But it’s been a little while since I’ve given you a general update, so I hope you’ll indulge me. If you’re not interested in my personal life, I understand. This is incredibly self-indulgent, I know.

The biggest news, for me, is that I saw the orthopedic surgeon and got X-rays on Monday, the ninth, and my fibula is now officially healed! There is a possibility that come October or November, the decision might be made to remove the plate and screws, depending on whether they’re bothering me or not. At this point, I have the sense that the screw fixing my fibula and tibia together is inhibiting the range of motion in my ankle (it’s impossible to squat, and hard to descend staircases without walking down them sideways).

Another reason they might want to take out the hardware is that there’s really not much “meat” between one’s lower fibula and that delicate ankle skin, and yes, when I reach down and touch my ankle, I can feel the plate and the lumpy little screw heads through my skin. At this point, that sore lumpiness, combined with the tenderness at the incision (it’s five inches long) (be glad I’m not posting pictures), makes it kind of impossible for me to sit “Indian style.” Not to mention that it’s just creepy. (But I can get over the “creepy” factor.)

Meanwhile, I’m not keen on having to meet the deductible again, which a second surgery could easily require.

There’s still swelling, aches, and pains that are residual from the injury itself, the surgery, and the few months of immobilization. “The body heals itself with collagen,” the doc said. And that ain’t helping the function of tendons, muscles, flexibility, and whatever. Or so I gather. I’ve got to “work out” that excess collagen and swelling-stuff, make my ankle lean and mean again.

Exercise and use should go far to restoring normalcy, the doc says, and he prescribed a few weeks of PT for me. I asked him if I’m to the point of “no restrictions,” and he held back from that, advising me not to jump on it yet.

Hooray! No more thick, clunky “moon boot,” and not a day too soon, ’cause right after I saw the doc, we had some unseasonably warm (and humid) weather. One night, I only got about four hours of sleep, with it so hot and humid, and no breeze.

Since then, we’ve had cooler weather, and rain. This morning (as I write), we’re having gentle showers. It’s the kind of rain that makes the birds happy. I think they view it as a clean, gentle bird-shower, a nice change of pace from the dirty ol’ birdbaths and muddy puddles they sometimes bathe in.

A few nights after I saw the doc, Sue and I celebrated my foot being officially healed by bicycling up to the Missouri River Bridge and riding across it on the new bicycle/pedestrian addition. Very, very nice! The ramp, like a square spiral that rises from river level to the level of the bridge, has a very comfortable grade, whether you’re ascending or descending. It was great to see so many people using the bridge!

Then, we rode northward on the Jeff City Greenway trail spur from the bridge to the connection to the Katy Trail. And, my friends, that’s as far as we got. What can I say? I’ve had my ankle in a vise for about two months, and one of my calves is about half the size of the other one. And we still had to ride back home, a trip that always ends with a “breathtaking” ride up steep little Broadway hill. So I think we did rather well!

This week I started on physical therapy, and all I’ve got to say about it is, “ow.” Nearly every exercise involves me bending my foot upward toward my shin. There’s a squatting exercise, lots of various “lunging” postures/stretches, plus the exercise where I stand facing a wall, touching it lightly with my fingers, and lift myself up on my toes repeatedly (I remember that one from PT a few years ago). And more. It all makes my ankle “sing,” and it’s also working quadriceps on my bad leg to the point where it’s feeling rather Grand-Canyony. (If you’ve hiked the Grand Canyon, you know what I mean!) I’m running out of ibuprofen! (I think I had better not try to push it too hard here at the beginning.)

They know what they’re doing—those docs and physical therapists have seen oodles of people just like me limp through their offices, daily, monthly, yearly. In that respect, they are being remarkably generous when they show the patience to sit and listen to me describe my sensations and concerns, which they must have memorized even before they got out of school.

What else is new? Overall, I’ve been feeling rather positive about things, which is unfamiliar territory for me at this point. Maybe that sounds strange to you, because I make a point of avoiding negativity on this blog. From the outset, the Op Op has been an exercise in looking at the brighter side of life, a way of forcing myself to meditate, on a regular basis, on “things that I like and love.”

But make no mistake—for the past five years or so, life has offered me trials, and it’s brought me down. I reached the point where I have found it impossible to look at my future with optimism or enthusiasm.

But as I was saying—I’ve been experiencing some days where I’ve felt optimistic and hopeful about certain parts of my life. I feel like there’s a possibility for growth; I’ve even been feeling like my sense of hope is founded on something sort of substantial.

I’ve also been able to shrug off some of the insipid situations that have seemed like irrevocable sentences, insurmountable obstacles to my happiness; recently, I’ve been recognizing them as things I genuinely do not control (so why stress out over them?), and also as things I can simply walk away from, whenever I decide I’ve had enough. And that goes a long way in keeping me from feeling trapped and powerless.

I won’t bore you with all the things that have contributed to my recent depressive mind-set, but trust me, this rise in spirits has been a long time coming; it feels strange, and I honestly don’t have much faith that it will last for very long. I’m skeptical. Naturally, I’m expecting some new calamity to come along and squash me again.

Why are my spirits lifting now? Maybe it’s that it’s springtime, and the days are growing nice and long. Also, it’s a huge relief to be ambulatory again. There’s fresh air, and things are growing. The mock orange, peonies, roses, and irises are blooming. And hell, maybe the human psyche simply can not stay depressed indefinitely in the absence of truly horrible events. . . . I don’t really know what it is. But as long as I’m feeling this way, I’m going to try to fly with it.

This weekend, if the ground dries out enough, we’re planting the elephant ears and hibiscus in the backyard again!

Clarification

I hope my previous post didn't get too many folks upset about my welfare--I was recently contacted by one reader who was concerned about my continued swelling and such, and urged me to check in with the doctor, since it could be a sign of a complication, etc.

So let me clarify: I was just complaining--just venting--that's all. It doesn't mean that I'm in any kind of agony. (In retrospect, that post was tactlessly self-indulgent, concerned only with my feelings and problems. It's not a very "Op Op" subject! Should I just delete that post--? Maybe this is not the place for me to "share.")

To me, any swelling is too much swelling. Yes, it's still a bit swollen. But every week the swelling decreases. My leg, ankle, and foot are feeling better than they have since my accident.

I've been through something like this before, and I realize that the recovery will take at least twice as long as "they" say, three times as long as I hope, and eighty times as long as I want.

And the swelling simply fluctuates depending on how I've treated my leg on any given day. On Wednesday, the day I wrote my last post, I dragged our garden hoses into the backyard (all wrapped around the monstrous, semi-convenient "hose reel") and then watered our pansies and filled the birdbaths. And I carried trash (some of it heavy) into the big trash bins.

Also, I swapped the small three storm windows on our back porch for the big but very lightweight screen. Hey, it was a nice day, and I wanted to work on the porch--and although I felt fine carrying the big screen up from the basement alone, I did not carry the storm windows clear down to the basement (I'll let someone more able-bodied do that).

After all that movement, it's no wonder the tendons and muscles of my ankle were warmer and more swollen that evening! Naturally, I was wanting to ice it down some.

So don't get me wrong--I'm definitely on the mend.

It's just not happening overnight.

Ice Zapping

It was a warmish day today, sunny, breezy, a day for open windows. It is that glorious time of spring when the world is greening up but the pollen hasn't yet descended like a noxious yellow cloud. (Springtime pollen allergies are a real curse; they turn something gorgeous into a kind of sickness. It just ain't right.)

As I type this, I'm on our sun porch, and it's dark, but there's still a little glow in the western sky: and here we've already cooked dinner, eaten, and done the dishes, but there's a bit of daylight yet. Things are looking up!

I'm sitting on the sofa, and I've been occasionally dunking my bum foot and ankle into a bucket of cold water. It's too cold, actually; I can't keep it in there very long. Just a few seconds, then--yikes! Pain, aching hard in my toes and all my veins. What's that about?

I mean, I know that most people can't handle putting their feet into frigid water, but usually I'm different. Usually, it's okay with me. I'll walk barefoot along a beach when no one else will touch the cold water. But now that I try pushing my foot into a bucket of water and some ice cubes, I can't sustain it for more than about three seconds.

You might ask why the heck I'm doing this, if it's so painful.

Well, it's my bum foot, like I said, and swelling is an issue still. I got my cast off last week (on Monday) and they told me the fracture wasn't quite healed yet. So I have to use a "cam walker" (a type of "moon boot") when I go out walking and doing stuff. But they told me that around home, and showering, and sleeping, I can go without the clunky thing. (Seriously--it's like having a brick strapped onto the bottom of my foot.)

Last night I hunted out some notes I made of my various physical therapy exercises from three years ago, when I was recovering from my broken foot. Don't worry; I'm not going to go nuts trying to exercise my ankle without a doctor's advice--but I am looking for mild exercises that might help restore circulation, range of motion, flexibility, dexterity. Yes, dexterity--with my toes and such.

I haven't yet been able to figure out if swelling and stiffness is all a result of the injury and the surgery, or if it is exacerbated, extended, by continued immobilization. (My calf looks like a stalk of asparagus. My ankle and foot are still somewhat swollen.)

Anyway, there are at least two exercises that I did back then that I'm confident I can do now: roll a tennis ball around on the floor, and roll a bottle around on the floor. (I'm not sure I'm ready for "gas pedal with a belt" yet, though I think that one will later prove quite useful for ankle strength.)

One other thing I recalled from "PT 2008" was this idea of putting my foot into ice water. Damn! I know I did it three years ago, but I certainly can't do it now. Maybe if I fish out some of the ice cubes . . .

. . . Nope.

I tried this last night, and the same thing. I had to remove the ice and add a little warm water, even. And that worked pretty well.

The deal is, the cold starts off feeling intensely bad--it burns--but if you can stick with it a little longer, it begins to feel pretty good. And the best part is that after some minutes of soaking, the foot and ankle will feel surprisingly good for the next few hours.

So I persevere. Maybe tomorrow I'll try it with fewer ice cubes . . .

Signs of Spring

I’m still pretty cooped up with my busted ankle, but spring’s arrival is unmistakable, and what a welcome thing it is!

I’m going to warn you right now that this is going to be a disjointed post. But that’s what I have these days: A bunch of little thoughts. Or thoughtlets, you might say. I guess I could do like other bloggers and make each little thoughtlet into a separate post, but nah. I’ll just bring you up to date all at once.

On the ankle: as of Monday, I’ve been cleared to start putting weight on my foot. I had some trepidation about this, since I’d stumbled going up our front steps the week before and had been experiencing pain. But the surgeon says it’s okay; I didn’t damage his fine work. I can start using it some. And you know what? Almost as soon as I changed my “non-weight-bearing” crutching to “partial-weight-bearing” crutching, the pain has almost completely gone away. Hmmm!

So I’m on track to get the cast off at the end of this month. No one’s said anything about transitioning through a “moon boot,” so I’m hoping that when this cast comes off, I’m scot-free. (Just in time to start thinking about cutting grass!)

It will be nice to be able to drive again!

Okay—there are actual signs of spring I wanted to write about. Lots of fresh buds.

Yes, I’ve commemorated spring before. It’s hard not to!

The stuff that overwintered in my herb garden is looking pretty good. I had some red-veined sorrel that survived, and that’s terrific! It makes a beautiful, tart addition to salads.




The mints are starting to reawaken, too. Peppermint, and a clump of grapefruit mint that I’ve had for at least a decade. (I transplanted it from our apartment in Columbia!) I’ve really been missing my fresh mint. I cook with it a lot, and I have a hard time purchasing those pricey little packets of it at the store.

The peppermint will be particularly welcome, though it has a ways to go:




Here is the grapefruit mint getting started:



Sue’s bonsai are starting to bud out; here are the upper branches of an amur maple. This is an exciting time for bonsai, as the soft new leaves emerge the same time the weather is grossly unpredictable. That hailstorm we had could have been disastrous if it had happened when the leaves were at their tenderest.




Here’s another sign of spring: Pansies! We picked up some yesterday.




I’ve told you before that we do a little commemoration of my Grandma S. every year on the first day of spring, since her birthday was March 21. We call it “Edna Day.” Putting pansies into our front flower planters is a tradition that began when my dad was young: Dad, his brothers, and their father would walk to Busch’s Florist over on Dunklin and pick out the pansy plants, and then present them to their mom on her birthday.

Since she was an inveterate gardener, this was the perfect birthday gift.

And since March 21 is just about the perfect time to plant pansies around here, I see no reason not to keep up the tradition.

I love their little faces.




Flowers by the front door do people a valuable service. Don’t underestimate the power of having flowers at your front door.

Plus, our daffodils are almost at their peak along the front of the house—they really look great, and I’m always so proud of them.

Yesterday was the day the forsythia decided to open its flowers. There were hardly any open blossoms in the morning, but by the end of the day, the whole bush was yellow.

Finally, here’s one more “sign of spring”—eggs standing up on end! I took this picture yesterday, though I might as well have taken it three months ago. That whole “standing an egg on end on the vernal equinox” thing is a total myth, but I think it’s entirely reasonable to be thinking about eggs in springtime. I mean, look at Easter, huh?




The birds in our backyard are certainly starting to think about eggs, at any rate! Every morning I hear hormone-jazzed robins, cardinals, and doves, and the grackles are arriving and sky-pointing, too. (Though it’s hard to describe the sound they make as “singing.”)

There’s something poetic about the egg standing upright, perfectly balanced, silent and prophetic like that monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey. So what if you can stand an egg up at any time of year? We only do it on the first day of spring! Thus another symbol is raised.

Okay; more about springtime in another post.

Trying to Feel Positive

I broke my ankle on Monday, February 7, and went to the Emergency Room. (Well? I couldn't freakin' WALK! And it really hurt!) At the hospital, they said they do accept my health insurance company. That's hopeful, isn't it?

Yesterday, I got a letter from my insurance company, brief and chilling:

Date(s) of Service: 02/07/11

We have received an expense for the claimant listed above. As soon as our review is complete, we will promptly process the claim. Thank you for your patience in this matter.

Claims Department

Oh lordy, oh lordy, this is just the Emergency Room visit! This isn't even the surgery!!!

Oh lordy.

Friday, February Twenty-Fifth

Doggone it, I’ve never had a computer virus before, but there’s a first time for everything, huh? I guess I should consider myself lucky that I’ve surfed this long, the last few years virtually unprotected, and not “contracted” anything, but there you go: My preferred computer for working on the Op Op is in the shop.

Fortunately, I have two computers; unfortunately, it was my laptop that got sick; fortunately, my desktop is fine; unfortunately, the desktop is upstairs, and with my foot in a cast, getting up there isn’t very convenient. (Hell, with one foot out of commission, nothing can be convenient.) But fortunately, I’ve decided to crutch up and down the steps, anyway.

Unfortunately, I had a number of posts in the works—ready to put online, in fact!—that existed only on the laptop. I have high hopes that they’ll still be there when I get my laptop back. (Knock on wood; touch metal; toss salt over my shoulder.) Meanwhile, you are treated to the lameness of this-here post.

*Sigh.*

More than ever, I have to admit, getting out of the house is becoming extraordinarily exciting. (Yes, I could drive, but I know I had better not—cops and insurance companies wouldn’t think it was very funny.)

Yesterday, for instance, I rode with Sue to Columbia and got my hair cut! Wow! Such excitement! And I spent the morning on campus at the Museum of Art and Archaeology! They’ve got a really good show going on right now, of a summer art colony that existed in Ste. Genevieve during the thirties.

The ride to Columbia, the art museum, the haircut—that was some doin’s, I tell ya, and I would have done more, if the weather hadn’t gotten all crappy on me. (N.b.: Crutching in snow, sleet, and slush is only better than crutching on smooth wet tiles or on ice.)

Saturday was another big outing—Sue got us tickets to see the final performance of a stage adaptation of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility at the Stephens Playhouse, and we met my folks there.

Each time I go to a Stephens performance, I’m impressed and greatly entertained. They do things so well there! And every time, I come away thinking, “We need to go to more of these. This is art; this is real; this is the kind of thing that makes me proud to be human. We should do this more often!”

Okay, let’s make this perfectly clear: I’m not saying that it’s a good thing to be gimped up. But I have to admit that it sure makes you appreciate simple things a whole lot more.

Orchids Vicariously

Hi there! Remember a while back when I told you about the Missouri Botanical Garden's annual Orchid Show (which is going on now)? (Click here to see that post.)

Well, as I mentioned then (it was before that big snow we had), our plan was to drive to St. Louis to see the show once the roads were clear--and we were intending to drive there with two good friends from Boonville, who are very interested in photography.

What a great day it was gonna be! Great conversation during the drive; a chance for photography of both the orchids and the garden's wintertime grounds; and of course, any trip to the Missouri Botanical Garden is a treat.

But then I busted my ankle and had surgery the day before we were going to go, so I had to bow out of the plan. Thankfully, though, our friends went ahead without us, and one of them has been posting her pictures from that day on her Flickr page, under the name "Shotaku."

She takes incredible pictures of flowers, perfectly focused, and with an excellent sense of composition. I almost drool over them.

Below, I show you a few samples of her photos from the orchid show.

To see her many other tasty photos of orchids and other flowers, brilliant shots of birds and other wildlife, plus many neat photos of Boonville and Central Missouri subjects (and much, much more), click here to visit her Flickr page.


Here is one labeled Cymbidium Red Beauty 'Carmen':




And here is Brassolaeliocattleya Liese Pigors:





. . . I would love to show you lots more of her photographs, but then you might not actually go visit her Flickr page. So: leave my blog right now and go look at her pictures!

Here's the link to Shotako's Photostream again.

Another reminder: The Orchid Show at the Missouri Botanical Garden runs through March 27. For more information, here's a link to their Web page. (Hmm. Maybe we can still make it to the show, even if I am on crutches for another month . . .)

New Wheels!

No, it’s not what you think—settle down. I’m only talking about handicap-mobility accessories.




It might seem like a small thing, especially when you consider that I didn’t have much of a “learning curve” in crutching (this is more like a “refresher course”), so crutching isn’t a big problem—but this little baby enables me to have my hands free!

This is the same kinda gadget I used when I broke my foot three years ago and had to be non-weight-bearing for months and months. Here is a picture Sue took of me at Christmas 2007:




As before, we rented it from D&H Drug Store in Columbia—it’s $75 a month. I actually had a prescription for it from my doctor, but D&H doesn’t accept my insurance company. Which reminded me of why I now order my prescription medication online from a Canadian company.

(And yes, my insurance company is indeed very mainstream; it’s one of the biggies: it rhymes with “Beholden Fool” and is the individual-insurance branch of rhymes-with BlightedWealthcare—it’s not a small, fringe insurance company, but whatever.) (Oh, don’t get me started on the subject of how awful private, profit-motivated insurance companies are to individual buyers! Trust me, the government can surely do no worse than these profiteering medical insurance fatcats.) (Ahem. But I digress.)

Back to the TLC—the “Turning Leg Caddy.” Here’s the website for the company. Made in ZhongShan City, China! This model is called “The Pathfinder”! How exciting, huh? But seriously, although it’s not exactly a Cannondale or a Schwinn, I was literally clapping my hands with joy when we got back home with this thing.




Trust me, it’s just a bad idea to try to simultaneously crutch and carry a cup of hot coffee. You do that, and you’re asking for trouble. And if spilling is bad, then you have to crutch around on a wet floor, looking for paper towels . . . no fun.

This “knee scooter” also allows me to “stand around” without having every bit of my weight on just one leg. (You’d be surprised how tiring that gets—I mean, try it sometime!)

Carrying things, standing around . . . it sounds like cooking, doesn’t it!




This means I’m starting to be able to contribute again. Doing the dishes. Carrying my own pillows around (“keep it elevated”). Making my own sandwiches.

It’s not helpful with stairs, it’s clumsy to carry, and I have to help it on and off of carpets, over thresholds, and around many tight corners. It scares the cats. But having my hands free, and taking some weight off my good leg, is mighty, mighty fine.

Okay; that’s all for now. —Gotta go!



(Addendum: yeah, after looking at the website for TLC, I saw that the guy at D&H turned the two cushions so they are opposite how they are supposed to be--he did it while I was standing there, and I thought it seemed odd--so the smaller cushion is supposed to go in BACK! So if you are reading this to learn about leg scooters, please don't use the first picture above for assembly instructions!) (Blah, blah, blah, blah.)

Gratitude

Sorry to be going on and on about the ankle, folks, but since it’s been so hard to get around, there’s not a lot I can “do.”

Maybe it’s the lengthening days, or that the weather’s warmed up so dramatically, and all that damned ice melted, but I’m surprisingly not in the sour or depressed mood I would have expected with this second round of having a foot in a cast.

But more than that, I chalk it up to the knowledge that this situation isn’t anywhere near as problematic as when I had that Jones fracture, which by definition means “takes an eternity to heal.” Nope, once it was clear this wasn’t any kind of messy ankle-bones fracture, or a horrific tendon injury, the prognosis has been comfortingly “routine.”

Lord, here it is, not even a week after the surgery to fix the lower portion of my fibula with a mending plate, and except for some incision ouchiness and the fact I’m effectively casted up, I feel like I could walk around on the damn thing.

Also, as I mentioned earlier, I’m extremely gratified to discover that my hard-won talents for getting around on crutches hadn’t disappeared. Perhaps this is one good thing about posttraumatic stress—having lived through a trauma once before, you realize you can handle it again: I know this scene; I don’t like it at all, but I know I can do it.

Indeed, three years ago after three months in crutches, when I was crying about the hopelessness of my situation, someone much more knowledgeable about human nature than I suggested that someday in the future, I would be completely recovered, and that I may even be grateful that I had gone through this difficult time. I didn’t laugh at that suggestion (outright), but I couldn’t take it very seriously, either.

But perhaps I’m starting to see the truth of her statement.

There is another gift I’ve received from these experiences, too. This gift takes the form of the many friends and family who have offered supportive and comforting words, Facebook notes, phone calls, and food. During the time of the surgery, my Facebook peeps offered a steady stream of stuff like “we’re thinking of you” and “stupid ice! I sure hope you recover quickly!”

Within only a few minutes of my mentioning my injury on Facebook, my sister-in-law had told my brother of it, and he was on the phone to me immediately. What a nice thing, huh?

I’ve already told you my folks brought over pumpkin bread on Valentine’s Day; they also spent the day after the surgery with me (wow, that must have been boring), so that Sue could go to Columbia for work. They bought some groceries for us, and fed me lunch. My uncle and aunt, on Valentine’s Day, brought a rose and candy, a container of the best split pea soup I’ve ever had (outside of Grandma’s), and (hooray!) some much-needed bran muffins.

And then, too, soon after the surgery, we got a call from Sue’s family up in Ohio—the whole Berlin Heights gang, her mom and dad, and her sister’s whole family. They had positioned their speaker phone in the center of the room, and we all had a great chat. Yes, it was Sue’s dad’s birthday, but they stressed that they were calling to find out about me. I was genuinely touched by this.

And then there’s Sue, who was going, “Oh, no, not again!” as much as I was. You couldn’t ask for a more thoughtful or attentive partner in the world. I won’t bother to list the hundreds of ways she has patiently helped me this past week, ranging from “can you come outside and help pick me up off the sidewalk” to “can you bring me my [book-coffee-mountain of pillows-icepack-briefcase-telephone-lotion-etc.-etc.]” to doing all the chores, to being The One to sit waiting for me at the hospital, to drive me home, and help me up the steps.

Don’t get me wrong—it’s not like I’ve been thinking of this injury as a way of gaining people’s attention and sympathy—not at all! Instead, all this support has given me an opportunity to be reminded that there are so many people in my life who love me. This accident has put all my loved ones in the spotlight; it’s reminded me how brightly my true treasures shine, and for that gift of awareness, I feel the most gratitude.

Valentine’s

It wasn’t very extravagant this year, seeing as our past whole week has been disrupted. Having one foot in a cast, I’m unable to be very useful about much, and Sue has been busy doing all the cooking, cleaning, and cat boxes. And much, much more.

But at this point I’m fairly comfortable with my new/old handicap, able to get around okay, able to take care of myself, as long as it doesn’t involve carrying things around or standing up for more than about ten minutes at a time.

But there was no time for shopping for or making cards, or even for hitting the grocery store for special delectable foodstuffs for a “special evening.” And it’s not like I can drive myself anywhere.

But then, it’s amazing what you can do with the stuff in the fridge. Look what Sue made me for breakfast! I had asked for toast.




As she prepared it, she kept calling to me, from the kitchen, asking if I didn’t want any strawberry jelly or anything; “No,” I replied, “just some ‘I Can’t Believe’ is fine.”

In the afternoon, my folks came over, and look at the pumpkin bread they brought us!




Isn’t that nice? (And yum!)

Uncle Richard and Aunt Carole joined us all for lunch, and they brought us some candy and a rose. My only regret is that I couldn't reciprocate, except with a smile and heartfelt gratitude for their thoughtfulness.

Sue’s and my usual Valentine’s treat usually begins on Halloween night, when we stuff all the mini Hershey’s chocolate bars leftover from trick-or-treaters into the freezer. There, we forget about them until Valentine’s Day, when we break them into small pieces and heat them gently (as in a double boiler) and stir in some half-and-half, to make a chocolate fondue for strawberries, bananas, pieces of cake or plain cookies, or whatever. (Hey, that pumpkin bread!)




We’re quite proud of our brilliant idea! Alas, we didn’t have any half-and-half last night, and we weren’t about to drive to a grocery store just for that. But Sue stirred in a little Cointreau, and that thinned it a bit. (Well, not like it was going to sit around for long.)

We also had a bottle of sparkling Catawba grape juice, which we shared—I know Sue would have preferred actual champagne, but she was kind enough to share with my non-alcoholedness—so we sipped that sweet pink liquid out of some beautiful little goblets that had been Grandma’s. Indeed, these were the same glasses we’d used ten years ago on a Valentine’s evening spent at this house, while we were considering buying it.

The only thing to complete our little at-home date night was a movie—and Hulu to the rescue! We found the movie Charade (1963, Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, filmed in Paris) on Hulu for free, and naturally that was incredibly romantic and thrilling. We saw some places in that movie, including the American Express office, where we had been when we were in Paris in 2006.

So there you go. Ten years into this homeownership, and a second broken foot, another fondue of melted Halloween chocolate with strawberries and a fun movie, and seventeen years together. Not the most extravagant Valentine’s we’ve ever had . . . but indeed, it was one of the sweetest.

Sunday the Thirteenth

Usually, the "thirteenth" of anything is supposed to be bad luck, but I'm feeling pretty optimistic today. It's been a very slow morning. (And why not? my foot is best kept up in the air, higher than my heart, so there's not much to do besides read. Thank God for Jane Austen.)

I've been posting little updates on the foot situation on the Op Op Facebook page, so those of you who have "friended" the Op Op on Facebook already know what's been going on. But here's the summary.

Monday morning (Feb. 7th) I slipped on the ice on our sidewalk and broke my left fibula (the bone just above my ankle, on the outside of my leg). In the ER, they kept asking me "how I fell," and for the life of me, I couldn't tell them. However, upon reflection, I think I have it figured out, working backward from my first clear memory after falling (it happened so fast, and my immediate reaction was to roll over onto my other side).

It was just a small patch of ice--only a few feet wide. My feet slid sideways toward the right, and my left foot must have gripped the good concrete as soon as it ran out of ice to slide on, so that my left foot got turned too much toward the left, with my weight coming down on it.

After I landed (and yes, I heard a "crunch" in my ankle concurrent with the onset of pain), I rolled over onto my right side and stuck my hurt left leg into the air. The foot was bent too far to the left (though I wasn't consciously bending it). (Gross.) I reached down and moved it back into position (another "crunch"). (A few days later, the orthopedic surgeon told me I'd done a pretty good job of setting it.) (I wasn't quite aware that that's what I was doing. Now, I'm kinda proud of myself.)

Here comes the advertisement for cell phones: Mine was in my back pocket. I called Sue, who was just inside the house, and she came out, helped me into my car, near where I fell, and drove us to the Emergency Room.

Pain medication; X-rays; diagnosis (fractured fibula); splinting; an orthopedic surgeon recommended.

The ER doc said he didn't think it very likely that I'd need surgery; it seemed in good position; he guessed only 4-6 weeks in a cast.

So it was a surprise on Wednesday when the orthopedic surgeon told me he strongly recommended surgery--a cast, he said, wouldn't be able to hold it stationary enough for it to heal properly.

And so it was all set up right away; surgery on Thursday morning, preoperative interview and testing at the hospital that very afternoon.

Boom, boom, boom.

Thursday, naturally, was mostly a blur. For all the amazing things that surgeons can do to help us to heal better, perhaps the most remarkable miracles are performed by the anaesthesiologists and narcotic pain medicines, that they can drill on bones and you be up and about within a few hours, without screaming.

Like the last time I had orthopedic surgery, I had a nerve block, but this time, it absolutely worked. (I won't go into the fascinating/gruesome details, which reminded me of the eighteenth-century neuro-electrical experiments that inspired Mary Shelley to write her novel Frankenstein.) It made my lower leg and foot completely numb--indeed, paralyzed--for over twenty-four hours. No pain medicine needed all that time. It was noon the next day when I discovered I could move my toes a little, and three when I started to feel the incision. Pretty awesome, huh?

I won't put a link into my blog, but if you Google on "Youtube fibula fracture," you can find an animated video that shows, I think, pretty much what they did to me; it's basically a contoured mending plate with two or three screws into the sound bone on either side of the fracture.

[Addendum: I didn't know it until some weeks after I wrote this post that he also put a longer screw through the bottom of my fibula and into the tibia, in order to hold in place the ligament that goes between then, which had torn when I broke the fibula.]

After the surgery, the doctor told Sue it went very well and that I have good strong bones. I was amazed to read the postsurgery instruction sheet where the doctor had checked "weight bearing as tolerated"--wow!


[Addendum: That was a total mistake on someone's part; I wasn't supposed to be weight-bearing at that point at all! Good thing I didn't put any weight on it until I'd double-checked about this point!]

You have to understand: I don't have much experience with broken bones, casts, and what-not, and my one experience with it was nightmarish. No one in my immediately family ever had fractures; my brother and I both made it through childhood and adolescence without any broken bones. I never saw what was involved in keeping the cast dry, bathing, getting around, learning how to use crutches, and so on.

So in October 2007, when I broke my foot, my had no hint of what was involved, what to expect, how to do things. It was rude.

And what made it even ruder was the nature of that infirmity--the Jones fracture is notorious for slow healing, and my hopes and expectations for regaining use of my foot were constantly jerked out of my grasp: "No, it's not healed yet; let's see you in another month." So I got pretty dang good at using crutches.

We had to modify our house. We moved furniture. We outfitted the clawfoot tub, using plastic hose and packing tape, for use as a handicap "shower." I learned how to go up and down steps without falling and eventually did it with confidence. I learned that, given a wide, clear, dry sidewalk, my crutching could easily outpace the non-crutching friends I was walking with. I developed respectible callouses on the heels of both palms.

So now, all that stuff is coming back to me. Having been "through this" before, it's not nearly so traumatic. Even when I was lying on the sidewalk, thinking, "oh, shit, my ankle or something's broken," my disbelief was mixed with a sense of resignation instead of a wild, frantic fear of the unknown.

The "been there, done that" aspect has helped tremendously.

The hardest part, all along, has been my fear of what "my" insurance company won't do for me, or will do to me, in response to these claims. They don't like it when you have claims. Now that I've had a big claim, it's certain that I will have to shop for a new insurance company when this one's year is up. (If you don't think there's anything wrong with the health insurance industry, I can say with confidence that you are not having to purchase your policy as an individual.) Indeed, I was crying in the ER, and the nurses assumed it was because of the pain--but instead I was thinking of my deductible. And there's no pill for that. (If there was, my insurance wouldn't cover it, and I probably couldn't afford it.)

One thing that's occurred to me several times in the past few days is that I'm truly grateful that "crutching" is a skill I have already learned. Much of the trauma of my previous fracture was caused by the handicap to my lifestyle. And so I keep thinking, "It would be a terrific idea for everyone to voluntarily spend a week or so on crutches--while they're able-bodied." Yeah: learn how to crutch forward and backward, left and right (like I've had to do on narrowly shoveled sidewalks), up and down stairs. How long can you stand on one foot at a time? Long enough to brush your teeth?

Indeed, it could be something they teach in P.E. classes--an incredibly useful skill. Not that you'd necessarily need it during your life, but hey, if you ever do, you'll be grateful you know how to get around without falling. Much better to learn it when you're feeling good, than to have to learn it when you're in pain or are loopy with pain medications. It would be more useful than knowing how to do a cartwheel, which they tried like crazy to teach me how to do.

So, here's the outlook: At the end of this month (two weeks after the surgery), I'll see the surgeon again. He'll remove the stitches and put me in a cast (I think--or maybe a walking cast?), and then I'll have another four weeks on crutches.

Thus, I'm looking forward to the end of March, when life might get close to normal again.

Sorry this has been a rambly diatribe; it's a sunny day, the first truly "warmish" day we've had for months, and I think I'm going to go to sit outside for a while.

Well, Here We Go

Just a brief update this morning--you know how I said the ER people had said, "simple fracture, probably no surgery will be required"? Well, I had my appointment with the orthopedic surgeon yesterday, and he said, "A cast won't immobilize it enough for it to heal properly."

(He also complimented me on setting my own fracture--he said I got everything pretty much lined up correctly. I wasn't aware that's what I was doing at the time--I just couldn't bear to look at my foot being bent at such an unnatural angle . . .)

So, though I wasn't expecting it, all of a sudden I'm having surgery--today--this morning--in about three hours.

They're going to put a plate in it. If you want to see what I think they're going to do, search on YouTube under "fibula fracture," and you'll find a smooth, clean, tidy animated medical video.

So, let's see . . . by midday, I'll be done with surgery and feeling fuzzy and hopefully-not-too-terribly queasy from the anaesthesia, and my ankle will undoubtedly be going, "boom-boom-boom," with little invisible lightning bolts and stars flying out of it. Let's hope the pain medication does its job.

Will I have to spend the night in the hospital? They don't know. I guess it's a wait-and-see thing.

So, as I'm writing this, I'm propped up in bed, warm and comfy, with very little pain, anywhere. I really, really don't want to get out of bed today.

Yes--the only reason I'm looking forward to today is technically, because it's in the future.

Wish me luck!

Well, Yesterday Sucked

Allow me to serve as a reminder for you all to be careful on the ice.

Seriously. You could slip and fall, just like that!

Especially if you’re walking on concrete—I think that you fall faster on concrete than you do on grass.




Yep, this was going to be my coffee yesterday morning, but I didn’t get to drink it.

Long story short—I slipped, fell, broke the bottom part of my fibula (it amounts to an ankle wound). Fortunately, this time, it’s a simple fracture, with no healing problems anticipated. They said four to six weeks, probably, and I’ll be back on both feet.

Also fortunately, we still have the plastic cast protector (for the bath), plus various other accessibility implements, from my previous trouble, and it’s been relatively easy remembering how to “do things.”




Also, I seem not to have lost my memory of how to get around on crutches (although my strength and callouses for crutching have eroded in the past few years). I’m not sure I’m good to do steps again, yet.

Meanwhile, since this time the break is in my left foot, my crutching and gettin’ around feels all backwards—it feels like driving in Great Britain.

So just remember—watch where you step, and be very careful wherever there could be a patch of ice.



UPDATE: "Simple fracture," my *ss. Read the next post to learn about my surgery! *Sigh.*