Always Disappointment, Never Contentment (well, a little. . .)

So, Thursday I visited 'the mad scientist' for my 11 week post-op check-up.  I had been feeling so good the past two weeks that I came braced to win him over with my "I'm gonna walk outta here in sneakers" argument.  Before he even entered the room, I had unpacked my shoes and put them on the floor beside my bare foot as a visual reminder; I was prepared!

Luckily over the nearly two years that I have been Dr. W's patient, I've been able to train him on how and when he should listen to my pleas, so it didn't take too much case-making on my part.  However, even as late as a year into our relationship (and yes, I call it a relationship because we really act more like an old married couple now than we do a doctor and patient), he would still peer over his clipboard with his all-knowing arrogance (even he won't deny he is arrogant) and tell me how he knew best and how I should only follow his instructions.  We've come a long way since then. . .

So to celebrate the "balancing act of expressing all the excitement of walking with not overdoing it" and the wedding I am attending in two weeks, I decided to attempt a "pretty shoe" shopping excursion today; a first in a long time.  I had my morning perfectly planned!  I rose early, knowing that I needed to try on shoes early in the day to avoid major swelling (or else there was no hope of even getting them on) and of course the large crowds at the store.  Needless to say, my plan was foiled on both accounts.  It only took a matter of minutes for the right ankle to become the size of a grapefruit while I stood in the kitchen making my pancake breakfast.  I did manage to constrict the swelling a bit with an ace bandage, but by the time I had eaten, showered, and dressed, it was nearly 12pm and I was running late!

I arrived at DSW shortly after noon and the store was swelling with springtime shoppers.  Today was the first day of really good weather this season so everyone was out (everyone, their babies, their dogs, and their cousins, that is).  I strolled the sandal aisle dodging fellow shoppers here and there in the hopes of finding an open-toed beauty that would both match my brightly colored dress and also have enough room for my larger than life foot and tightly wound ace bandage.

After a few attempts, I quickly figured out that my only viable choice was a glittery pair of thongs.   And, I wasn't prepared for one minute to pay more than $40 for a pair of thongs!  So, after shoe style reductions and price restrictions accounted for (making a choice truly is easier when your selections are narrowed down for you, wouldn't you agree?), I had found two pair that I could actually fit my foot into and that seemed to be a match for my dress.  I took the boxes and walked over to the register line.  Unfortunately, I had to keep walking and walking (well, limping and limping) because it appeared that the line was now wrapping around the entire store!  Knowing there was no way that I could stand in that line long enough to pay for my purchase, I had no choice but to leave without anything in my hands . . .

Reluctantly, the pursuit continues . . .

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. . .

White Drifted History In The Making . . .

It's snowing . . . it's been snowing for more than 24 hours already. . . it's going to continue snowing for 18 more hours . . . and, coupled with the other two storms we've already had in the last few weeks, it's the most snow NYC has ever seen in a single month! And, with a cast still on my foot, I think this may be the longest I have had to remain locked up in my apartment since I've lived here!

Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!

Baby Steps, Baby Steps

After writing a teary-eyed post Monday night, hitting re-dial with what seemed like a bazillion times, and an ever-growing panic attack at the thought that my world as I knew it was falling apart, I finally reached Mom on the damn phone sometime late Tuesday afternoon to finally get that all-knowing "motherly advice" I desperately needed. We talked about my options for scheduling surgery, discussed how this diagnosis is now going to change my lifestyle, and tried to speculate why it has taken 32 years to finally get the answers to all the questions we have been asking since the day I took my first steps. (Yes, apparently there have been clues that a trained physician could have deciphered at any point before now . . . whodathunkit?)

We both agreed that I will probably have a much more enjoyable holiday season without a full cast, crutches, ice packs, and narcotics (although they might be more cheery with drugs and alcohol, I am sure). I also recognized that I was becoming increasingly overwhelmed at the idea of leaving the office and all my open projects in just three weeks (with one of those including a foreign business trip). Additionally, by delaying the surgery, I can afford some time finding another doctor to offer a second opinion.

After a few days of thoughtful consideration and a long talk with my boss, I've decided to schedule the surgery in January 2010. I figure I am already in constant pain, but the pain I will feel post-surgery will be much worse; and, I really want to be able to sit on the floor opening gifts under the tree on Christmas morning with my nieces and nephews. Plus, after having to endure my birthday with a broken foot three years ago, I would really like to spare myself a repeat of that agony.

So, here is my plea: Is there anyone who would like to volunteer to come spend a week in the Big Apple in January? You won't get to see much of the city since you'll be feeding me, doing my laundry and generally being my bed-nurse . . . but if you'd be kind enough to come help me with my recovery, I will promise to take long, drug enduced naps each and every afternoon, giving you the opportunity to take in a Broadway show, tour the MOMA, take photos from the top of the Empire State Building or to see any other sites that you've never had the chance to discover.

Sure, it'll be winter, but not to worry; we don't really get much snow and there are plenty of indoor activities to enjoy! Besides, for those of you that are unemployed (or have an open calendar), when else are you going to have the opportunity to pick up and jet to the NYC? Volunteers welcome!