The Open Road . . .

I continue to feel good in the boot, really good. . . I took my first post-surgery trip this week to Toronto for business.  Luckily, the flight is only a short hour from New York, so the swelling remained low.  I opted for wheelchair service, not because I can't walk well enough, but only because the Toronto airport, with its long hallways and distant gates, could probably be considered training grounds for marathon runners. . . in fact, their wheelchair transport staff seem to be in training for a relay event.  I felt like a baton being passed from driver to driver around every new corner and elevator bank.  It took 4 different persons to bring me from my gate to the customs arrival area!

After a long delay at La Guardia and lots of sitting and waiting between relay runners at Toronto, I finally made it past customs and out to the rental car desk. . . yes, I was not only taking my first flight post-surgery, but I was also going to attempt to drive a car for the first time--in a foreign country no less!

After chanting to myself non-stop for the previous 24 hours "don't forget to pack your right sneaker", I dug it out of my suitcase, laced it up, and climbed into the Ford Focus.  "Well, let's see how this feels" was all I could think to myself as I started the engine, gave the car a little gas, and backed out of the parking space.  And, as I entered the highway and reached higher speeds, it turned out I had nothing to fear after all. . . my foot was strong and I felt confident the entire time I was driving, even in stop and go traffic.

God, I miss driving!

Bringing the World Together One Foot at a Time

I work for an international organization, so as you can imagine, I have to travel to international destinations as part of my job. . . and, I am sure you can also imagine how difficult lengthy, international flights can be for someone like myself who has had limited mobility recently.  Well, after a non-stop onslaught of "so, when does the doctor think you can get on a plane?" from my boss since January, I was finally able to successfully complete my first business trip since surgery last week.

I flew to Sao Paulo for a week of meetings and training with the staff in our local sales office.  And, once Michele found out I was going, she insisted I meet her sister Milena, a fellow CMT'er, who lives there!

Since Michele and I found each other in cyberspace a few months ago, we've grown to be good friends, sharing our stories with one another and being there to support each other through each of our painful surgeries.  So, you can imagine how excited I was to meet her sister and to hear her story as well!

Milena and her boyfriend Jesse picked me up at my hotel to take me to dinner at their favorite local Indian restaurant.  Just seconds after they pulled up in their car, Milena jumped out and rushed to give me a big hug; she just wouldn't let me go!  It was such a special moment; I think that we both felt like we already knew each other from everything that Michele had told us about the other!

We had a wonderful dinner filled with plenty of laughter; amusing Portuguese translations for Jesse, who sadly couldn't keep up with our "fast" talking in English; and touching moments of sharing our own experiences of diagnosis and struggles with CMT.  Our favorite finding:  both of us share the lack of a "knee jerk" reflex and we're the only two people we know who have this symptom!  The docs can bang all they want on our knees, but our legs will not kick . . . and, we can tell you why!

Milena and I agreed (and we're confident that Michele would have also agreed if she were with us) that we're so lucky to have found each other . . . thank goodness I found Michele's blog and cyber-stalked her until she agreed to become my friend!  And, as painful as it has been, my foot is moving beyond borders and bringing all corners of the earth together (so it seems).

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 . . .