Notes From the Couch
I've been spending a lot of time on my couch these past few weeks, which is not as much fun as you might think.
And I haven't really written about it because I don't really want to talk about it.
Well, that and the fact that I'm afraid if I talk about it, I'll have to, you know, DO something about it.
But okay, here's the thing: I think maybe I have to DO something about it anyway.
Is that perfectly clear?
No?
Okay, let me try this again. Remember how almost TWO YEARS AGO, I had to have my foot essentially rebuilt due to the fact that I was born with some really deformed bones that no one ever discovered until I'd done too much damage to be fixed? And how even the rebuilding of said foot wasn't really all that successful if you count success as me being able to walk without pain? And how I found a great doctor here in New York who discovered that I'd been producing scar tissue at a truly alarming rate and gave me a series of steroid shots that really calmed that old scar tissue right down but, oops, caused me to grow this weird, bloody membrane over the retina in my right eye? Remember all that?
Well, um, my eye is much better due to a SERIES OF SHOTS ADMINISTERED RIGHT INTO IT, NOT THAT I'M STILL BITTER.
But my foot?
Is bad.
Is really, really bad.
Bad.
It's so incredibly painful that I cried twice in front of my children on Saturday.
Which led me to make a momentous decision: I'm going to have a second surgery to clear out the scar tissue.
My doctor mentioned that this is an alternative to the steroid shots when I saw him last but the idea of recovering from another surgery makes me want to go back to bed for, well, EVER.
So, I, ever brave and ever true, managed to put a call into my podiatrist at a time when I knew he wouldn't be in the office. Because I'm all brave like that.
And then, because I was really in denial and trying to prove that I'm fine, darn you, FINE, I removed the old wallpaper in our spare bedroom and painted it. (Painted the room, I mean, not the torn down wallpaper.) (I may be in denial but I'm not DUMB.) (Much.)
Only now, I'm too gimpy to walk upstairs and take a picture of it.
So, um, yeah, here I am on the couch, waiting for office hours at my podiatrist's office, which won't be until Tuesday.
And yeah, this makes me not only gimpy and a coward but also not very bright.
I'm leaving the comments open but in the words of the sign posted on one Jane Cooper's bedroom door:
Remember, no scolding!
And I haven't really written about it because I don't really want to talk about it.
Well, that and the fact that I'm afraid if I talk about it, I'll have to, you know, DO something about it.
But okay, here's the thing: I think maybe I have to DO something about it anyway.
Is that perfectly clear?
No?
Okay, let me try this again. Remember how almost TWO YEARS AGO, I had to have my foot essentially rebuilt due to the fact that I was born with some really deformed bones that no one ever discovered until I'd done too much damage to be fixed? And how even the rebuilding of said foot wasn't really all that successful if you count success as me being able to walk without pain? And how I found a great doctor here in New York who discovered that I'd been producing scar tissue at a truly alarming rate and gave me a series of steroid shots that really calmed that old scar tissue right down but, oops, caused me to grow this weird, bloody membrane over the retina in my right eye? Remember all that?
Well, um, my eye is much better due to a SERIES OF SHOTS ADMINISTERED RIGHT INTO IT, NOT THAT I'M STILL BITTER.
But my foot?
Is bad.
Is really, really bad.
Bad.
It's so incredibly painful that I cried twice in front of my children on Saturday.
Which led me to make a momentous decision: I'm going to have a second surgery to clear out the scar tissue.
My doctor mentioned that this is an alternative to the steroid shots when I saw him last but the idea of recovering from another surgery makes me want to go back to bed for, well, EVER.
So, I, ever brave and ever true, managed to put a call into my podiatrist at a time when I knew he wouldn't be in the office. Because I'm all brave like that.
And then, because I was really in denial and trying to prove that I'm fine, darn you, FINE, I removed the old wallpaper in our spare bedroom and painted it. (Painted the room, I mean, not the torn down wallpaper.) (I may be in denial but I'm not DUMB.) (Much.)
Only now, I'm too gimpy to walk upstairs and take a picture of it.
So, um, yeah, here I am on the couch, waiting for office hours at my podiatrist's office, which won't be until Tuesday.
And yeah, this makes me not only gimpy and a coward but also not very bright.
I'm leaving the comments open but in the words of the sign posted on one Jane Cooper's bedroom door:
Remember, no scolding!
Comments
And Ella left a fun sign in her window, facing out for the world to see - http://hokgardner.blogspot.com/2009/01/digging-hole-deeper.html
And honey! I have Fibro and most days it about kills me to walk but I don't have to have surgery...that's a big deal! You go, be brave, you get that foot better. (cuz, yes, I talk real good too):)
Hang in there. Feet are underrated - it's hard to get around when they don't work right.
Cut yourself some slack. It sounds like a real problem. Do the best you can in the moment.
Pain is exhausting. I spent the better part of a month in bed, back in 2001, when my gall bladder was revolting. [Take that any way you like; you won't hurt its feelings; I have four tiny scars that remind me it won't ever do that to me again.]
And two years ago I broke my leg line-dancing and didn't get it diagnosed for two months. So I walked on a broken leg for two months.
Neither of them the kind of pain that you are going through, right now, but enough that my sympathy can kind of crab-walk over in the general direction of empathy.
You are officially not-a-wimp. And there is nothing wrong with crying when you are in pain; in fact, it's part of the healing process. [I learned when the children's father was in chiro school that the tears you cry from joy are chemically different than the ones you cry from anger, or grief, or fill-in-the-blank.]
So those tears are a blessing. Have the girls bring you a box of Puffs and something to throw them in, and let that be the least of your worries.
As for the wallpaper/paint thing? Good for you. The world would say that it makes no sense to tackle a project like that when you are feeling sick and frustrated. The world would be **wrong**.
Creativity is an analgesic that beats alcohol and industrial-strength pain relievers, every time. At least in my world.
But you might have fewer side effects if you chose to knit, rather than paint, unless you knit with your toes...
*hugs*
I hope Edward is cuddling with you for comfort. With that tail!
Oh and what's your wallpaper removal technique? I am going to attempt our bathroom soon and need some good advice.
And, as far as silver linings go, recovering from foot surgery translates into lots of knitting time, doesn't it?
These types of things are just no fun at all, but sometimes we just gotta go through it in order to get to the other side of it.
Be easy on yourself!
On another note - I really do want to know how you decide to organize your knitting needles in the end!
Not that it helps any.
Love ya.