Walking on Sushine

The last few weeks of living in the boot have been relatively easy.  Knowing exactly what to expect this second time around has definitely helped to keep my patience in check, but overall the healing process has been both faster and easier on the right foot too, keeping my happiness meter tilting all the way to the right as well!

With the left foot last year, 'the mad scientist' had instructed me to use crutches for the first two weeks in the boot to gradually increase my weight bearing, enabling me to walk the third week without any assistance.  Things did not go as planned. . . I was in so much pain that third week that I eventually had to go back to the crutches again.  In preparation for this same scenario, I informed him that I would be going for the full three weeks this time around.  But, it turns out I didn't need to!  Thanks to some mentoring from my fantastic new therapist John, I successfully trained my foot to hit the ground after only two weeks!  I'm continuing to use the cane for longer jaunts outdoors on the hard concrete, but for all intents and purposes, I am walking!

I'm continuing my therapy sessions and we've had a few breakthrough moments this week like picking up marbles with my toes!  Exciting, I know?!  (Well, it's exciting for me anyway . . .)

Most Definitely Blog-Worthy . . .

The day finally arrived yesterday to have the cast removed--yippee!  And, the day couldn't have arrived soon enough; I had been sitting at home Monday night after work and suddenly smelled something rancid.  After desperately searching the refrigerator and trashcan for what I swore was some seriously rotten food, I finally realized that it was my foot that was wafting something nasty toward my nose?!

Luckily the nurse was still hung over from a massive case of food poisoning, so she managed to locate a handsome resident to remove my cast.  After peeling off the cement and finally freeing my toes from their dark, humid chamber, I was in/out for a quick x-ray and examination from 'the mad scientist'.

All he could do was go on and on about how beautiful it had turned out and how that is how a foot should look!  And, I have to admit that once I got home and had the chance to scrub off all those layers of muck from the last six weeks that I couldn't believe what I was seeing!  It's absolutely gorgeous--the incisions are healing nicely and will probably have minimal scarring and the swelling has remained relatively low throughout this entire process!  (I would post photos from last year's cast removal  for comparison's sake, but I wouldn't want to frighten any of you; let's just say it was not a pretty sight.)  I can already wiggle my toes and rotate my ankle freely--I couldn't do that with the left foot until we had already completed 3 weeks of physical therapy?!  For whatever the reasons, this entire experience has been light years from what it was last year and I couldn't be more pleased . . .

A Step Backward

I had just finished up the required two weeks of crutches and was ready to take my first steps on Monday.  I had fully prepared for the day by getting myself a new pair of supportive tennis shoes and a 4-pronged medical cane that was far too sexy for my personal sense of style.  I laced up a shoe on my right foot and velcroed the boot onto my left foot Monday morning and took a few steps across the floor and out my front door: I was ready!  The first few steps were a little painful, but I managed to shift some of the weight to the cane and to get to work in one piece.

But, after continuing to experience shooting pains in my left heel with every single step, I finally tried to call the doctor Monday afternoon.  Unfortunately, he was out of the office and I couldn't get the answers I needed.

I tried to avoid any unncessary steps for the rest of the day and all day Tuesday.  But, by Wednesday the pain had gotten bad enough that I was screaming every time I took a step.  The doctor finally called me back on Wednesday to tell me that "it's perfectly normal to feel pain in the heel" when first walking.  I replied, "I need you to define normal for me, because this is really unbearable."

Now, don't get me wrong. . . I am not someone that is unfamiliar with pain.  In my past life, I've walked on a broken foot for ten days, driven myself to the emergency room to get stitches, and managed to continue dance classes for a week after getting a herneated disc in my back.  So, one could say that I have a pretty high tolerance for pain.  But, there was no way that I could tolerate this pain . . .

So, the doc recommended that I go back to the crutches. . .  and, I reluctantly have.  But, I cried the entire drive home tonight.  I am supposed to fly to CA this weekend for my best girlfriend's wedding and I just don't know how I am going to manage with the crutches and my luggage.  My mom tried to convince me not to go, but I just can't let my friends (or myself) down.  I've been looking forward to this trip since the surgery date and I wasn't prepared to give it all up at this little setback.

So, this time tomorrow night, I will be landing in LAX with a swollen foot, a cumbersome boot, a pair of unlucky crutches, and a heavy suitcase.  God (and the Delta Airlines staff) help me . . .

Yo! What About Me? Fuggetabout It!

Usually, when tourists are stopping me in Times Square to ask for directions or when I successfully manage to order "the usual" with full authority at the local pizzeria, I'm filled with a small sense of pride and ownership--I really think I am becoming a "true New Yorker".  Then, there are moments like today that make me wonder, "tell me again, why the hell do I live here?"

So, as you can imagine, public transportation in this city can be a bit of a challenge to those of us who are for lack of a better term--immobile.  My doctor has expressly forbidden me from using the subway since the stairways can be dangerous and very few stations have handicap-accessible elevators; plus, I can't put enough weight on my foot to climb the high steps of our city buses.  Taxicabs are far too expensive, so the only option I have been left with is using Access-a-Ride, the city's paratransit services that provide door to door shuttle service for the disabled.  Now, you would think that because this service was specifically created for transporting the elderly, mentally disabled, and physically challenged that the staff and drivers would be especially helpful to those that of us that truly need it, right?  Yeah, no . . . they're anything but.

I had an 8am pick up scheduled this morning . . . and, when I exited the building and came to the curbside, the driver had already arrived.  She saw me (in all my crutches-bound glory) and moved up further to bring herself closer to the curb.  She successfully pulled up, but just when she tried to back up again to come closer to me, she backed right into the street sweeper that was trying to clean the gutter directly behind her.  Both vehicles became entangled and neither one could move.

So, just like in a classic New York moment, both drivers jumped out of their vehicles and started yelling at each other, calling each other all sorts of names and throwing around that authoritative "stupid" . . . I just stood there with both of my crutches watching the whole scene!  They had completely forgotten me and had pretty much left me to my own devices.  Within about 5 minutes, I had drawn a small crowd including my building super and a few of the truck drivers from the plumbing business down the street.  They all came to my side, trying their best to get my driver's attention in their thick Noo Yawk accents, but to no avail.  I was just left stranded on the sidewalk yelling, "Hello, what about me?  Hello?  HELLO?! What about me?  How am I supposed to get to work?  Hell-o-o-o!  What about the cripple?"

After about 10 minutes, I had finally had it and resorted myself to hailing a cab and leaving those two yelling at each other in front of my apartment. . .

Hi Ho, Hi Ho . . .

it's back to work, I go! After a very quick three weeks recuperating at home, I made it back to work "all by myself!" today (seriously, where's my piece of candy or Atta Boy?!). Luckily, the insurance company approved a "scooter" for me to use to get around in replacement of crutches.

It doesn't have the luxury of power steering, it doesn't stop on a dime, and it doesn't have any measurable horsepower; but, I can get a good downhill speed if the conditions are right! Nonetheless, it's a lot easier on my body and much more steady than crutches any day . . . I can actually reach my office on the 42nd floor without getting out of breath (too much).

I can only sit comfortably in my office for about 6 hours before my foot begins to throb, but it's rewarding to be part of the outside world again!