Medieval Torture Treatments?--Surely Not!

So, yesterday we removed the stitches and set the cast.  I truly had mixed feelings anticipating this day. . . Last year, between tweezing 50+ stitches over 45 minutes and then attempting to push a swollen, broken foot upward into a 90 degree angle, I shed quite a few crocodile tears.  I knew the day would not be complete without a lot of pain, but I also knew that getting a cast also meant ditching that bulky, heavy splint and the prospect of more mobility (and showering, who wouldn't endure a few moments of discomfort for a long, hot shower, right?)  But, surprisingly today was easy-peasy!  The only torture I experienced were a slew of zingers Dr. W kept slinging my way . . .

In what seemed a matter of seconds, Dr. W's new surgical resident had removed all the stitches and was asking me what color cast I wanted?!  I opted for boring black.  (After all, I have to return to a place of business in a few weeks; I have to appear somewhat professional and the scooter and backpack don't help the cause any, believe me. . . I mean, I look more like a 3rd grader than a Marketing Director!)  A few minutes later and with dry eyes, I sat up, viewed my new cast and wiggled my toes.  And, the good news I told Dr. W is that I am already feeling better than I did at the same stage last year!

After getting myself up and wheeling myself out of the exam room, I asked him if I could go bother his assistant Karen (my other BFF, by the way . . .).  He bid me adieu by saying, "Yeah, just stop bothering me!  Will you just leave already?"  Did I mention that my appointment was nothing but an onlsaught of zingers?  But, even funnier than he was his entire staff today.  From the x-ray tech to the nurses, every person I encountered kept asking me, "Is this another surgery?"  Yes, indeed; it seems I have not had enough of his torture--either physical or emotional--yet!

Some Days When I'm Awfully Low

Most days I am just fine: just fine with the career path I have chosen, just fine maintaining a part-time relationship with God, just fine that I have only myself to rely on for my well-being, just fine living a life without a soulmate, and just fine with the thought that I have a crippling disease that will rob me of my youth earlier than most . . . but, today was not like most days.

I made every attempt to carry on with the day, but no matter how much I tried, I just kept wandering in and out of emotional uncertainty.  I made a firm decision to attend church for the first time in four weeks, but only because I knew that I would have to miss it for the next upcoming two Sundays due to my busy travel schedule (not the best reason, but a reason nonetheless.)  Unfortunately, instead of giving me the comfort I desperately needed, it made me a mushy, teary-eyed mess!

All I could continue thinking about all day is that I just can't get what I need or want in any aspect of my life these days.  I was in pain from the moment I woke up this morning--the stress I have been feeling at work over the past few weeks shows no sign of reprieve and my body just can't take the long worknights any longer--and sure enough, I was full of anger by the afternoon at the sheer idea that I have CMT and all the symptoms that come along with it, not to mention everything else that isn't going my way these days.

After returning home from church, I laid in bed drifting in and out of a desperate crying session all afternoon.  I just can't seem to find the right solution to make myself feel more healthy and happy.  Do I quit my job and move back to CA?  Or, is it time for me to re-consider my career choice altogether?  Or, can I hold out until I recover from my next surgery?  If I decide to leave, can I find another doctor in CA that can do the job just as well?

Yeah, and then there's the question of what to do about the next generation. . . I had worked myself into such a mess by the end of the day that I could be caught reading about permanent birth control solutions on WebMD.com . . .

Let's Get Physical!

Today was the first day of physical therapy and I had been dreading it all week!  Now, don't get me wrong, I have always been the "A+" student who follows direction and does her homework exactly as instructed.  After all, I miss my independence tremendously and want more than anything to gain it back as quickly as possible; and, I'm (usually) willing to do whatever it takes to get it.  In fact, I have been known on previous occasions to push myself a little too hard, amazing the doctors and forcing them to beg me to slow down.  When I was recuperating from a knee surgery in high school, I had been told I would be immobile for 6 weeks . . . yeah, I made sure I was walking in 4 (and, if I remember correctly, I think I was skipping and jumping in 5)!

So, I wasn't afraid of the work necessary to gain mobility.  No, I was afraid of the pain.  Actually, I was afraid  that after all the pain I would have to endure, I would still not be able to gain measurable use of my foot and ankle.  (Wow, I think that's the first time I've been able to actually put into words what I have been feeling all along.)  I think that the diagnosis of CMT (and all the symptoms that go along with it) has brought my fear and anxiety to an all new level.  I believe that if this surgery had been one that had been performed to simply correct an injury and nothing else, I would feel much more confident in my recovery.  But, just like everything else in my life--like my relationship with my father, my addiction to ice cream, and my overwhelming sense of independence combined with a desperate need to be loved by a man--my feelings are complex.

Anyway, I met with the physical therapist today (despite a few obstacles like first having to find a new, unknown therapist because my regular therapist who I adore and have been seeing for over a year is not covered under my new insurance; and then second, failing to hail a cab for nearly 30 minutes and making me extremely late for my scheduled appointment) and her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw this severely swollen "ham hock" excuse for a left foot.  We did a few muscle flex exercises and some massage to reduce the swelling, but overall, you could safely say that I have nothing but dead weight hanging off my left leg.

The pain was minimal and I am confident that my next visit will be easier.  But, all I can think about (and what I confessed to the therapist out loud) is:  am I going to have cankles when this is all said and done?