Here's Looking at You

So I have to share my scary story for the new year. I went to the eye doctor on Friday. Not the optometrist that I've been seeing to have my prescription changed, the "I think there might be an issue" ophthalmologist. I haven't been to my ophthalmologist in probably 10 years or so. My eyes had been good, only some minor prescription changes and I figured I was doing fine. Then Christmas rolled around. 

Jeff and I spent Christmas Eve with my parents, having dinner and just visiting. As we sat around the living room I decided that it was the perfect night to build a fire (they have a great woodburner that I love). So I wandered out into the dark backyard to get some wood. I found the woodpiles without too much trouble although it was dark. As I was bending over gathering the twigs, suddenly I saw a flash of light. A bright round flash of light. Like a circle in my field of vision. My eyes were open. I closed them and saw the same round glowing circle. 

Now I know what flashing lights in the eye mean. They mean a potential for a retinal tear. My mother had issues with flashers. My aunt had issues with flashers. Both had surgery to correct the issue. So a flashing light, no matter what shape is serious. This flash of light caught my breath. I was shaken. I went inside and pretended that nothing had happened though. I waited. And then I didn't say anything the next day. But each time I was in a dark place I would see the ring. Finally, right after the new year I was freaked out enough to make an appointment. On Friday I went in and had a complete work-up. Full dilation, full exam. He even did some specialized tests. Nothing. Absolutely nothing wrong. I can relax.

For those of you who know me, you know how scary this was for me. For the rest of you, I'll explain. I was born with a defect. A stray artery (called the hyaloid artery) that was supposed to disappear when I was born, didn't disappear. Instead it stretched and ripped a hole in the back of my eye, right at my retina. I have a retinal detachment, in a relatively bad spot. The tear took with it my central vision. I have good peripheral but no central vision at all. What that means is that I'm legally blind in that eye. The ring I was seeing was in my other eye (the good eye). If that one had detached I wouldn't be typing this. I wouldn't be able to read it. I would be legally blind. Not completely blind but enough to change my life forever, in a bad way. I would have to learn braille. I wouldn't be able to drive. I wouldn't be able to do my job. 

And that scared me. I thought about how hard it would be to not be able to just pick up any book I want. I thought about how hard it would be to not see what I was writing. I thought about how hard it would be to get around without being able to drive. As I type this I close my good eye and see how well it would go. The red line under my misspelling doesn't even show up in my vision. Easy writing would be a thing of the past. All that said I know that there are people out there who are completely blind and they lead normal happy otherwise healthy lives. I know that I'm blessed with this one eye, that has done double duty since I was born. I know that my story came out good and I'm healthy. I still see the ring but I'm not as worried. But for a moment I was, and because of it, I treasure the sight that I have all the more. 

Going It Alone

Or What a long strange trip it's been.

When I broke my ankle back in January I knew that this day would come but I didn't realize how odd it would feel. Tomorrow is my last scheduled day for physical therapy. On Sunday I get to remove the brace and start walking like a normal human being. In some ways this is the end of my treatment. Two attempts to set the bones, a surgery with screws and plates, two weeks of no weight bearing, one and a half months of limited weight bearing, and two months of physical therapy with full walking have all come down to this.

After tomorrow there will be no one to push me through my physical therapy. There will be no one there to guide me through the recovery process. After tomorrow I'm on my own. I'm both scared and thrilled at this. No matter how much I love my physical therapist, I won't miss taking off work last minute to attend appointments. As much as I appreciate the doctor who did the surgery, I'm glad he feels confident enough that he doesn't need to see me again. And no matter how much I've needed the directed recovery in the past, I'm ready to step out (pun intended) on my own.

I can walk now, mostly gimp-free. I can climb steps, although I still need the handrail. I can stand for long periods of time without pain. The only things I can't do right now is hop, run, and crouch. And I'll start working on those. I've learned the value of physical therapy. Of working daily to make myself stronger. I finally understand the old adage: if you don't use it, you lose it. That is very true for muscles. As I rebuild my calf muscles, my achilles tendon, and my knees I'm reminded that you are either getting stronger or atrophying. For the last couple years I've been letting myself go. I'm been letting the muscles grow soft while I sit on the couch. I've been ignoring my body. But this injury is just what I needed to give me an added push.

When I was sitting on the couch right after the break, I dreamed about walking. When I was slowly starting to walk with the crutches, I dreamed about getting rid of them. When I finally put down the crutches, I dreamed about walking without a limp. Now that I'm walking without a limp, I dream about running. I dream about running for distance. I want to strengthen enough to run a marathon. It's been a dream of mine for the last ten years.

So my next step will be to start walking for distance. As my muscles and my endurance build up I can start learning how to hop. And once I learn to hop I can start teaching myself to run. I know that I always have back-up from my physical therapist if I need it. I can always go back. But for right now I have a goal, I have ambition, and I have the energy to go it alone.

Bracingly Good News

I meant to write yesterday. I had time to write in the morning but wanted to wait until after my doctor's appointment to do one last post about my recovery. After my appointment I had errands to run, new shoes to buy, and some friends I was meeting for dinner and drinks. I didn't get home until late and after the beer I had with dinner I wasn't feeling very writerly. So no post. And in some ways I'm glad I waited until this morning. I wanted to talk about my appointment but wasn't really sure how to explain the excitement and disappointment it had elicited.

I'm not sure what I was expecting. I hoped to get my boot off. I hoped to see some good healing. I got some of my wishes. I'm mostly healed, mostly. There is still a big gap in the ankle bone that the doctor has decided is either probably not going to heal or will take a good year to heal. But he's not worried about it either. No further corrections needed on that. I also still have a dagger like bone fragment that will probably always be a bit ajar in the back of my foot. But no worries on that either. So I'm healing and stable.

I got rid of the boot only to trade it in for a brace which I'll wear for another month. I'm not to take a step on the foot without the brace and a shoe on. I can sleep with it off but the rest of my walking time I must have it on. I'm not sure how I feel about this. The brace is painful in ways that the boot never was. It's an added element that complicates dressing in the morning or late night bathroom visits. But it also allows me to wear real shoes again. And more importantly it allows me to walk like a human again. I can now walk with a bend to my ankle. I can go up and down steps like a normal person. I'm finally able to really start rehabilitating that ankle.

The big news for me though was that in a month I can get rid of the brace and be fully healed. I can start returning to all of my old activities. I can hopefully stop thinking about my ankle, stop worrying about it. And more importantly I don't have to go back to the doctor. No three month follow-ups. No yearly visits. Done! That may be the best sign I could ask for that I'm healing. I've been released by the doctor. I'll still do Physical Therapy for the next month (only because I begged) but no more x-rays. No more waiting rooms. Done! Three months has never gone so slow and so fast at the same time. Now just one more month to go.

These Boots Are Made for Walking

That's why they call it a walking boot.

This post is a tribute and hopefully a send-off to my long hated, long loved walking boot. I go see the doctor on Monday and pretty much everyone agrees that I will probably be told that I don't need it any longer. It's been 13 weeks since surgery which doesn't seem like a lot until I say three months. I've been wearing this boot since January 4th and although it's been incredibly helpful, durable, and sometimes comfortable I'm ready to say goodbye.

I was casted in the emergency room with a removable plaster cast. It was heavy and frustrating. But I didn't really hate it. I didn't have it on long enough to hate it. When I woke up from surgery it had been removed. Instead I was staring at a gigantic black walking boot. The same one you see below. It was heavier than the plaster. It was more cumbersome and for the first two weeks, served no real purpose other than that it was removable.

When I first started wearing it I couldn't even remove the damn thing by myself. I couldn't bend enough to pull off the far straps. At least I couldn't without putting some weight on my foot which was strictly taboo at the time. After a while pulling the boot on and off got easier. But it wasn't comfortable. With my leg wrapped in gauze and Ace bandages it was constantly rubbing. Once the bandages were gone it became comfortable. And about that time I could actually start putting some weight on the leg. After two weeks I was using the boot the way it was meant to be used, with weight bearing. But I still hated it. I chafed my foot and leg. It smelled after only a couple days of wear. I could only wash it occasionally and that was almost always more a nuisance than it was worth. Sleeping with it was frustrating (and still is) and I still wasn't able to really walk. I was still crutch-bound, just with a huge leg weight.

It wasn't until 8 weeks that I really started to appreciate it. Once I started physical therapy and slowly did away with the crutches, I realized the value of this gigantic fake appendage. It protected. It soothed. It walked. I've been walking for a couple weeks now without the crutches. I've become comfortable walking. Other than the occasional really high curb I can pretty much go anywhere without a thought. I can carry things without worry. I'm back using my purse rather than the backpack. I'm feeling mostly human again. And now I an even better chance of feeling normal. I'll finally be able to wear matching shoes. Here's hoping that will be Monday.

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.

Saturday Night at the...Emergency Room?

Last night I learned the true meaning of terror. As most of you know, I've been dealing with Bronchitis for the last couple weeks. I do a lot of unproductive coughing, deal with mild chest pain, and complain to everyone around me. Last night, it turned scary.

I sat up playing until about midnight last night. I'd been a good day of visiting friends and relaxing and I was feeling good. Not even any anxiety. Most nights I wake up with some sort of coughing fit and last night was no exception. About 1:30 I woke up coughing, then gasping, then choking. My larynx decided that it was done with all the abuse it has taken the last couple weeks and closed in what is called a laryngospasm. I felt like I was suffocating. Jeff heard me struggling for breath and raced up the stairs. He arrived and helped me to the floor. I was light-headed from lack of oxygen. And apparently that was the magic remedy. As I lay on the floor my throat opened and I was finally able to breath again. Jeff bundled me into the car and we drove (rather quickly I must say) to the ER.

I used to tell people all the time that with the number of times Jeff's been to the ER, I've never had the opportunity to go for myself. That part is true. I've never had to go to the emergency room for me. I've never had a reason. But as I walked into the waiting room (blissfully empty) I was shaking and still pulling a bit for air. The lady behind the desk asked for my name and birthday and then her eyes went wide when I told her I had stopped breathing. She immediately printed out a wrist bracelet and I was whisked behind the closed doors and set up on my very own cot. Since they were short on rooms I got a spot in the hallway. Jeff and I ended up spending from about 2 until 4 last night in the emergency room. I was attended to pretty frequently and everyone was incredibly nice. It made a scary experience a little more relaxing. I'm currently living on about four hours of sleep but I'm a little afraid of coughing. And sometime this morning I'm running out to get the "good" cough syrup I was prescribed.

But last night had to be the scariest night of my life. I've never felt that close to death and I have to say that a suffocating death would not be pretty. I can't wish that on my worst enemy. Today I'm still nervous that it will happen again but mostly I'm just happy to be alive. And counting my blessings. I think it will be a long time before I take breathing for granted again.