A Long Two Weeks

These last two weeks have been some of the longest of my life. I didn't think it was possible for time to go so slowly. If I needed proof that time is relative, this was it. When I last updated the blog, my father was being transported by ambulance up to the Mayo Clinic. I had spent most of the day before with him at the hospital and had gone to see him that day (Tuesday) over lunch. He was taken that afternoon up north.

That evening, at 9, my mother called to say that my father's surgery was planned to be the next day. She was heading up to Rochester and she asked if I wanted to go. I wasn't about to let my mother go up alone, particularly not at that hour. So I quickly emailed my boss to say that I wouldn't be in the rest of the week and headed north, riding with my mother. When we got halfway up, my father called to say that now the surgery would be on Friday. But we were far enough along that we continued on. And it's a good thing we did.

On Wednesday we saw my father early in the morning. And things seemed fine. Until they didn't. My father complained of problems focusing his eyes, double vision, and that's when I noticed that he was slurring his speech. He was having a small stroke right in front of us. With this new complication, the surgeons rushed the schedule and managed to get him in on Thursday. I've never known a longer afternoon. They took him in for prep at 3 and we didn't hear anything until 10. I didn't know seven hours could go so slow.

Hospital time is slow time. For us waiting, for my father waiting to get surgery, for my father recovering from surgery. He is supposed to be heading home today after a slow but successful recovery. He said that the pain was less with this one, versus his initial 24 years ago. I just can't be more grateful that he had his fainting spell which allowed us to go into the ER that night. I can't be more grateful that the surgeons moved us up in their schedule. I can't be more grateful to the nursing staff at both hospitals that took such fantastic care of him. And I can't be more grateful that his heart restarted on the operating table. It's been a long two weeks, but for the moment I see a happy ending. But it's a reminder to me that life is precious. And even slow minutes are precious minutes.

What's Important

Last week my father texted me to say that he probably had the flu and wouldn't be able to get together one night. On Saturday my mother called me to say that it wasn't the flu. Dad had a blood infection. A serious blood infection. He'd finally gone to see the doctor and that he would be starting heavy rounds of antibiotics that day. Even more worrying, my father has an artificial heart valve that was put in almost 25 years ago. If the valve became infected it would mean another heart surgery.

On Sunday my mother called to say that they were admitting my dad to the hospital on Monday morning. They wanted to watch him more closely. He still had high fevers. Thankfully on Monday we found out that his valve was apparently not infected. He'll most likely not need another open heart surgery. Now it's just a matter of blasting him with enough antibiotics to kill the bug. When I saw him on Saturday, before the hospitalization, he looked gray and pale and weak. He was clearly sick, clearly hurting. And I went home with a pretty heavy  heart. But the news on Monday and seeing the return of his appetite and color has made these last couple days a relief.

From the first phone call on Saturday until today, I've been in a bit of a daze. I spent part of Saturday with my dad, I spent most of Monday at the hospital with him, and I'm making it a point to see him every day. The news of his illness was a wake up call. It has reminded me that most of the issues I thought I had, aren't all that important. It reminds me that there are things in life that are important (family, friends, time, interests...) and there are things that are unimportant. I've been slacking at the office but I've been writing up a storm. I've been laying off social media but I've been spending lots of face-time and phone time. I've been telling people I love them. I've been making time. I've been doing the things that make me come alive.

As I watch my dad recover, and his color and personality return to normal, I send my gratitude out into the world. And I'm reminded of what I know is important and what I used to think was important. It's sad that it took almost losing my father to realize this, but I'm happy to have both the lesson and a soon-to-be healthy father. I'd rather not have just the lesson.

Healing

A year ago today I was laying on the downstairs couch with my leg wrapped in a plaster cast, sucking down percocets like they were going out of style. I was broken and in pain. I was also completely helpless. I couldn't bring myself water, I couldn't make myself food. Standing for any length of time was horribly tiring. And more than anything I was depressed.

So this New Years I'm celebrating my wholeness. I can walk and stand and run and even crouch. I'm pain free and healthy. The amount of healing I've done over the course of the year is amazing to me. I'm still in awe that the human body can heal bones. I've been blessed with a family who pushed me to get better. I was lucky to have a great physical therapist. And I'm even more blessed to have a husband who taught me the meaning of courage.

My goal for the new year is to become more fearless. To be more willing to take a chance, in all aspects of my life. I've been broken and I healed. I've been in pain and I lived through it. I couldn't walk and now I can. I was always afraid of breaking bones and while the experience was awful, I've lived through it. And that, has given me courage. I'm ready to go out and live a bit more. I'll still be careful on the ice but I think I'm ready to venture out a bit more.

I hope your new year is adventurous. I hope you do things you've never done before. I hope you use this year to the best of your ability and that when you look back, you are proud. I hope 2011 is the best year of your life.

Battle of the Bulge

Every couple of years it seems, I decide to do something about my weight. I've been heavy for a good chunk of my life and weight has always been a struggle for me. What can I say, I like food. Actually that's not right, I love food. And I tend to overeat if given the chance. For most of high school and college I didn't worry about it. My weight was still at an acceptable level. But the freshman 15 quickly became the college 30 and by the time I was married I was well over 60 over what is considered normal. I had bypassed overweight and headed for obese.

About six years ago I started on one of the easiest and most effective weight loss programs I've ever done. I managed to lose 60 pounds without really even breaking much of a sweat. It was incredible. No I didn't do any of those questionable pill programs or lose weight while you sleep gimmicks. I did something far simpler. I counted calories. I bought a 90 day food journal from Half Price Books on a whim and managed to lose 20 pounds in those first 90 days. I bought three more journals and lost a total of 60 pounds over the course of a year. I felt amazing. I was working out more but the big thing is that I was paying attention to the calories I was eating. When I reached something of a goal weight I figured that I didn't need the food journals anymore. I focused on exercise, often doing two workouts a day, and stopped writing things down.

Since then I have managed to gain back 50 of those pounds. Apparently just working out wasn't enough when I was eating way more calories than I needed. Then after a while I lost my motivation on working out. I sank back into my old habits and started racking up the pounds. Over the last couple years I've tried to restart different diet programs. I've focused on volumetrics, I've tried to eat mostly fruits and vegetables and so far I haven't been able to stick with the programs enough to lose any significant weight.

If this break has taught me nothing, it is that I am not as strong as I would like to be. I remember the struggle of trying to build arm muscles to lift myself. That could have been helped if I was weight training and didn't weigh as much. Now that I'm back to walking, my poor knees are not happy and keep reminding me that I'm carrying a bit too much weight for their tastes. So this week I've decided that the yo-yo has hit bottom again. I'm starting back on my weight loss program. I've bought another food journal and will start it today. It will be worth the cost of buying four of them a year if I'm able to lose weight and keep it off.

I'm writing this for you to read as a motivation to myself to stay with it. I always do a bit better at sticking with something when there is outside pressure on me. This probably wasn't the best week to start since I'll be out of town this weekend. But even if I go over my calorie limit (1800 calories a day) as long as I write everything down I'll consider it a win. And I have to simply accept the fact that I'll continue to write things down for the rest of my life. Weight has always been a struggle for me. But a food journal evens the odds considerably in my favor. Here's hoping.

Using my crutches as...well...a crutch

I just got back from the doctor about a half an hour ago or so. I was pretty excited about this visit. I assumed I would either be getting rid of the boot or the crutches today. And that's somewhat true but there's a bit of a snag, Me.

Things seem to be healing well. The bones are starting to knit although there is still a pretty big gap on one side of my ankle. Everything is aligned and the doctor sounds very optimistic. I've been able to put up to half my weight on my ankle up until now. He told me today that as long as I don't have any new pain, I can start weaning myself off the crutches. You would think that this would be the greatest news I've heard in a while. For a moment I was really excited. Then the fear set in. I'm terrified to get rid of them. I'm just not ready to go without them.

I know I've been complaining for weeks about the crutches. I've stumbled over them, I've cursed them, I've found them a nuisance. But now that I can set them aside, I'm clinging to them like a life jacket. They've become my safety. I'm using them as a crutch, quite literally. I assume that this is just first day jitters. By tomorrow I'll be looking for ways to get rid of them. But for today the idea is not only not appealing, it's terrifying.

On other recovery news I start physical therapy tomorrow. I'm a bit nervous about that but I'm hoping that it will help with the stiffness and help me recover faster. So in total I'm doing well. I just need to get over my fears. I've been dealing with new ways of walking for weeks now. I have to remind myself that this is just another step (pun intended :-) ).

Eight Weeks or a Rambling Post about Recovery

I know it hasn't been that long since I gave you guys an update on my leg but today is eight weeks and I figured I would celebrate the small victories. Eight weeks is significant when it comes to healing because of the general belief that a bone will be healed enough to walk on by six to eight weeks. Obviously this depends somewhat on the person but that is the general rule. Children heal much faster and older people and smokers of any age heal far slower. But since I'm not fitting into any of those categories I figure I'm probably following the normal course.

I've noticed that my attitude towards my foot has certainly changed in the last couple of weeks. Right after the break I was practically panicked if my foot hit the floor incorrectly or went for any time without the boot. I hated to touch it down for any length of time and was worried sick if it wasn't up for a while. In short, I was a basket case.

The last four weeks or so have seen me really calm down about it. For starters the break feels more like a part of my life and less like something that is temporary. I've gotten used to my injured foot, the boot, and the crutches. I can no longer remember what it was like when I was walking. You would think that this would depress me but instead I've found some peace in it. Secondly I've stopped worrying about injuring it further. I now walk with it down all the time and am putting more and more weight on it. I'm no longer even phased if I run it into a door or someone kicks it. I'm very stable on the crutches now and find them a comfort rather than a nuisance. All and all, I've grown used to things and am starting to feel like my foot is pretty much healed.

That said I go to the doctor next Monday. And I have a feeling things will change again. I'll either end up being able to put more weight on the foot or losing either my boot or crutches. And this of course will throw me back into chaos. I'll have to learn a whole new skill. But I figure I've learned each task without too much trouble. I've adapted to each step and have grown comfortable. The next appointment is just another step in the road to recovery. My ankle feels stronger. I feel stronger. I just have to make sure I don't get my hopes up. I may be cursing the boot or crutches next week. It's all about change.

Health Update

I promise not to do this every time I have a doctor's appointment. I'm sure that hearing about my recovery is about as exciting as watching a test cricket match for most of you (of course, for me that would be heaven). But this particular appointment was both exciting and depressing for me. And it's the news of the day for me, so I'm sharing.

So far everything seems to be healing well. My surgery wounds have healed enough that I can now start wearing a sock instead of the gauze and Ace wrap. That is huge because finally my toes are covered. As most of you know, I'm not a huge fan of cold. My toes go numb when they get too cold. They go white. It's not pretty or enjoyable. So being able to cover them with a stretchy sock (I can't fit a regular one yet) is a huge bonus for me. Secondly for the good news, I can start driving again. Since it's my left ankle, the doctor felt it was safe enough for me to start driving. Jeff has offered to continue to drive me on bad days but this finally gives me a bit of independence.

Now the bad news, or perhaps neutral news. He doesn't want to see me back for a month. That is both good news and bad news. It indicates that I'm healing steadily enough that he doesn't have to keep tabs on me. And I'll admit that the x-rays look pretty good. I do have one huge spike of a bone fragment that is shooting into the back of my leg but he says that won't be a problem. The bad part about this was that I was hoping to wean myself off the crutches in 8 weeks. I was kind of hoping that after six weeks he would say that I was doing so well I could start walking without the boot. Instead I won't even see him until it's been 9 weeks. That means at least five more weeks of boot and crutches. And then I would guess at least three more weeks of boot and crutch walking. Or maybe a cane. I hope to be start relearning to walk by April.

I shouldn't be frustrated. I'm healing well enough. I'll always have a scar and possibly a red stain on that ankle. But everything seems to be staying in line. I haven't had any real pain in that leg in a long time. I'm finally sleeping through the night again. All of these are things that only three weeks ago seemed impossible. I can also put 1/3 to 1/2 of my weight on my foot now. I'm more stable on the crutches. I'm also gaining some serious muscle in my arms. All in all I'm doing well. As I said before, I'm happy and sad about this doctor's appointment. Happy that I've been healing as well as I have, sad that it's been slower than I expected. But as I've learned over the last couple weeks, focus on the positive. It gets better every day.

Sometimes the old remedies are the best

Okay fair warning, this is about a bit of a disgusting topic. But it's what's on my mind recently and I had to share my findings. But if you're easily grossed out by some topics, this might not be the post for you.

I find it amazing that some of old remedies seem to work far better than anything else out there. In this case I'm using a sinus remedy that is many centuries old. And still works like a charm. Since I had bronchitis this past summer I've been having some issues with my sinuses. I can't smell as well and I have certain times where I have more trouble breathing. My sinuses feel full. It was starting to really annoy me when I fell back on some yoga training that I had years ago. During class I mentioned something about my sinuses and the yogi suggested a neti pot.

For those who've never heard of a neti pot it is a small either ceramic or plastic pot shaped like a teapot. You mix a solutions of salt (or saline rinse) with lukewarm water and then pour the solution into one nostril. The solution will them flood into the sinuses and out the other nostril. Since you tip your head to the side and slightly forward you can still breath comfortably although through your mouth.

When my yogi first mentioned the neti pot, I remember being completely disgusted. I hated the feeling of getting water in my nose when swimming. Why would I purposefully put some in? Plus then there was the fact that this was my nose and I knew what came out of that when I blew it. I did not want to deal with that. So I didn't try it then. But when my recent sinus problems began I figured I would bite the bullet and pick one up.

The sensation has to be one of the oddest feelings in the world as you flood your nose with water. I can see why they suggest using warmish water. But for days afterward I breath better, I smell better (well I'm not sure I smell better, but I can smell things better. :-)). And more than anything I feel better. I was completely skeptical but nowadays I love my neti pot. For anyone dealing with sinus issues, I would certainly recommend one. Once a week is all I need and I feel so much better. I know it's not the most appetizing idea but it works. Again sorry if I grossed anyone out. But it works so well I just had to mention it.

Catching Up

After not getting much sleep on Sunday, and having problems falling asleep that night, I decided to take Monday off. I woke up groggy from the medication, and called the office that morning. Then I went back to sleep until about one in the afternoon. Apparently my body was finally sick of being sick and ready to just rest. I got up at one and moved myself downstairs to get more sleep on the couch and watch TV. I didn't even touch my computer all yesterday which is really saying a lot. I probably slept 18 out of 24 hours yesterday and still managed a full nights sleep last night.

Jeff was wonderful about taking care of me lately although I'm not sure why it is hitting me so hard recently. I've had bronchitis in one stage or another for four weeks now. I should be used to it. But after Sunday's little excitement I've been acting like an invalid. Although it gave me a chance to catch up on my reading. I'm reading Christopher Moore's Fool which may be the best possible thing to be reading while ill. It is funny and bawdy and wonderful. The story is based on King Lear with some other Shakespeare influences thrown in. I'm sure I'll do a full review when I'm done. But there is nothing better then a funny book when one isn't feeling well. I laughed and coughed and enjoyed.

When I wasn't reading or sleeping yesterday I watched my new favorite show NCIS. As is typical for me, I'm watching it in reruns which means that I have no idea what is going on with the current season. USA has it on pretty much every afternoon for several hours at a time and I was content yesterday to sit in front of the TV and watch until all the episodes were over. I seriously am addicted to that show. Although I think I should probably cut back on my watching recently. Last night I dreamed about the characters.

Today I'm back at the office although I'm still a bit groggy. The good cough syrup really packs a punch and I've been struggling to concentrate and be productive for most of the day. But at least I'm here. And feeling better. And of course breathing.

The Joys and Pains of Pet Ownership

Just a warning, this is not a particularly pleasant topic and I apologize if I gross anyone out. If you are anywhere squeamish about body functions, you'll want to skip this one. But it's what's on my mind.

I mentioned two days ago that my kitty was being holed up in the downstairs bathroom for some testing. The cute adorable little bugger wouldn't cooperate by providing the urine sample we needed. She hates the litter they need to use and was simply not willing to cooperate. After 14 hours of keeping her trapped in the bathroom, Jeff released her into the rest of the house and we gave up on getting anything from her. I don't blame him one bit. If I didn't sleep with ear plugs, I wouldn't have been able to handle the constant mewing and pleading from her. Plus the pain and fear that were evident on her face. It was really awful.

So yesterday he took her to the vet's office so they could try to get the sample. The vet figured she would be back by that evening. Boy, were they wrong! Well over 24 hours later and my little kitty is not yet home, still holding out. I knew she could be stubborn but I had no idea that it would be this long. I know that all of this is for her own good, but it still completely rips me up inside. I'm a big believer in not causing suffering to anyone, animal or human, and this test just seems like torture to me. I can't help but imagine her at the vets, scared and in pain from holding out so long. And I can't explain to her why we need to do the test.

I will tell you right off the bat that we have the greatest cat in the world. She is loving and quiet and always excited to see us. She comes to meet us when we come home from anywhere. She loves attention but is not pushy about getting it. She is never vindictive. She sleeps at our feet every night. We adore her. That's why this is so hard for me. I'm just hoping she's home before the vet closes tonight. I don't want to leave her there again overnight. And although a urinalysis is scheduled for every year, I don't think I can bear doing this to her again next year. Call me a bad pet owner, but this is just a little too hard.

Sorry if this was TMI for anyone, but it's been on my brain all day.

What Doesn't Kill You...

Only makes you stronger. At least that's the theory.

Things have been weird for me recently although I feel a bit more recharged today. I've been having chest pains for the last couple of days. This is my second bout of this and I'm getting tired of it. It only happens the day after I go walking, leading me to believe that exercise might not actually be good for me. (Or that could be wishful thinking. :-) )

But here's the weird part. I'm in pain with every breath I take but for some reason I've been cranking out stories left and right. I spent a good long period of time writing last night and cranked out three possibly workable stories. My hand was cramping I was writing so much. The only reason I stopped was that Jeff came up to beg me to come to Naxx because they were short. (you owe me honey). But that hasn't diminished today. I'm still in pain but the creativity is still there. I was sketching with breakfast. Right now I'm wondering if anyone would notice if I spent most of my work day writing. (they would, Grrrr)

I know what's causing the chest pain finally and I'm not worried about my heart. But now I'm wondering if I just get out walking just to bring back this creative spirit/pain. My writing and drawing have never been more fluid. Perhaps I just needed a little discomfort to wake me up.

Resolving to be less Resolute

Every year at this time I sit down and write out my resolutions. And sadly they are always the same resolutions: lose weight, get more organized, write more...etc. Since I use the same ones every year you can safely assume that I only follow them for about three weeks until I slip up, decided that it isn't going to work, and return to my normal habits. Every year is the same.

This year though I have decided not to be so general. Lose weight is an incredibly general idea. It normally means dieting for me, which I hate. So this year I actually have a plan of attack. I won't say that I want to lose weight. Instead I'll say that I plan to write down what I eat each day. Starting today. Five years ago I decided that I was going to lose weight and I bought a food journal. I wrote down everything I ate, walked more, and managed to lose 60 pounds. I maintained the exercise but stopped writing things down about three years ago. And slowly gained back 50 of those pounds. So I know that a food journal works. I'll just go back to that. Not with the idea that I will lose weight but with the idea that I will make food journaling a habit. If I lose weight, great. If not I have developed a habit that will improve my overall heath.

I keep a paper journal just because I find it more convenient, but for anyone who would prefer an electronic version I recommend SparkPeople. This site is free and allows you to track both food and exercise. Plus you just have to let them know what you eat and they keep track of the calories for you.

As for getting organized, I am also creating a plan. Rather then the vague statement "I'll get organized" my plan is to focus on each room of the house. My first will be my library. That is the one that needs the most work. I'll be starting tonight with three boxes: one to keep, one to give away, and one to toss. And if I keep doing that each day, I should be leaner in two weeks or so. Then I just have to focus on making organization a habit. Putting things in their place rather than just leave them on the counter to do later. We'll see how it goes. But I'm focused on daily improvement, not just some general ideas of what to improve.