Balancing

My first week of crutches has been challenging, but I haven't had any spills so far.  I started out putting weight only on the tip of my foot, which my physical therapist said was ok for the time being, but that I needed to be able to plant my entire foot with each swing (25% weight-bearing of course).  I tried for three days and the heel pain felt similar to being socked really hard with a blast of stars and electricity spreading.  I was so disappointed and wondered if I needed to fight through it but decided to keep trying each day and wait until Friday to talk to the physical therapist.

Today when I swung and lightly planted my heel I felt absolutely nothing.  Only toward the end of the day did I have some of that pain.  I'm hoping I'll be ready to take a wedge out soon.  I've also started up my workouts again with an emphasis on the exercises from my physical therapy.  I feel a little more connected to myself, which is even more important during this big change at work.

I've been setting up interviews left and right, learning as much as I can at work (I officially know how to measure fonts, make trapezoids, and have been learning to use the Bézier tool like a ninja, a slow slow ninja), and still tackling my classes (though much of my enthusiasm, life force, and effort have been consumed elsewhere).  

All is well for the moment.  It helps so much that my healing is evident, we have interviews lined up, I've got Robert's support, my school assignments have been manageable, and I'm getting some of the graphic design basics down.

If there wasn't enough proof that I'm healing, Josie has gone back to mostly snuggling with Robert at night.  He is, after all, her favorite, so I expected this to happen.

Thankfully, she still occasionally picks me.  

Look at that smile!

all the emotions including trench foot

This past week has been a rollercoaster, one I'm stuck on for better or worse (unless the ride catches on fire or another of those catastrophes social media likes to show me sometimes).  I'm choosing to put my faith in the journey of the ride.

I've been scooting around this week like my ass is on fire (when really the fire is just my healing wound).  I started PT on Monday and have been informed warned that when I graduate from scooter to crutches I need to do everything in my power to be faithful to the crutches and not cheat with the scooter.  I've also been told that wearing any kind of bag will affect my gait and ability to learn how to walk again.  As soon as I heard this news I made a list of things I needed to get done before I become more dependent on others than I've been at any point of this journey thus far.  It will only be a few weeks they said (a few weeks?!?!?), but this means no more book journeys where I try to squeeze 20 books into my scooter basket.  No more carrying even a clipboard around when I help customers.  Hell, I could even vacuum on the scooter (but don't tell Robert). 

I also found out Monday I am losing my beloved graphic designer at my business due to her own health issues.  Not sure if you remember my recent post about my gut issues and how anxiety will find ways to kill us if we don't watch it?  Well, this is a similar story, and hopefully she finds a way to slay her anxiety beasts as well.  I've learned about two million things from her over this past year, but I have about four million more to learn.  I am now scrambling to write job descriptions, put out the word that I'm hiring, and setting up interviews, all while trying to learn all the ins and outs of the two lasers, Corel (which is the software we use at the shop), and so many other things in addition to staying on top of my other shop duties.  

During my injury Robert has stepped in too, helping me every chance he gets.  He's already been working two and a half jobs.  He's been the best thing.  Twenty years with this nerd, and I'm still thankful for him every day (when I'm not bitching about socks).

So yes, I've also had strong whiny brat feelings about the socks that were recommended when I transitioned to the boot - soccer/softball socks, which are tall enough for the outer boot and the inner ice sock and more importantly, breathable.  I can tell you right now that any desire I've ever had to become a softball or soccer player at any point in my life (zero up to this point) is forever squashed going forward.  These socks are complete nightmares.  I wear both leggings and skinny jeans no problemo.  But these socks are so tight (even though my calf has shrunk to the size of a grape and the socks are XL mens).  My calf is so incredibly sensitive the slightest pressure feels like a blood pressure cuff at its tightest.  

Robert finally caved yesterday and gave me one of his stretched out socks.  It was much better.  I proceeded to dust the entire showroom yesterday and do some production that required me to stand up with my scooter and had zero issues with the calf pressure.  Dusting the showroom was the right move too, because the HVAC folks recently descended on the building, which means much poking around, moving ceiling tiles, throwing dust, dirt, and dead bugs all over our black shelves and merchandisers.  HVAC visits are normally a chance for me to practice my creative cursing, but yesterday I just felt like an enraged, deflated mylar balloon, trailing my scooter and massive booted leg behind me.  Not sure if you've ever seen a birthday balloon fighting the limbs of a tree.  That's pretty close to how I was feeling.

Naturally, Robert's old sock gave me a case of trench foot.  God bless him, he's such a giver.  

So yea, I had PT this morning, and the first thing we did was take the boot off.  My incision is still weeping, so we've been keeping an eye on it.  The boot and sock came off, and the physical therapists both gasped and asked what happened.  The only thing Robert and I could think of was the sock, which had only been on my foot for 24 hours.  They took some pictures and messaged the doctor.  There were a few uncomfortable minutes where the physical therapists turned away from us and started whispering to each other.  I've never had trench foot before.  Apparently the physical therapists have never seen trench foot before.  Robert went into frantic Google-Fu mode, which is when he starts chewing the collar of his shirt while staring intently at his phone screen.  Meanwhile, I started to quietly panic.

Finally, the news came back from the doctor, and the tension eased up some.  Instead of spending the rest of the session teaching me how to use crutches, the physical therapists talked to me about socks while bending and squeezing my sad, bloated white foot in the spot that wasn't claimed by trench foot.  Needless to say, I cannot progress to 25% weight bearing because my heel is where the worst of it is.  So I will be on the scooter (and the dreaded soccer/softball socks are here to stay) until at least next week when we check on the trench foot.

I've had such unusual off and on pains in my heel, I didn't even think there was an issue.  When the doctor did my surgery he had to go into my heel and also up my calf due to the severity of the tear.  I just assumed it was a bunch of miserable healing going on down there.  

For now, Robert and I have been tasked with changing my sock several times a day and airing out my foot when I can be completely still and have Robert around to help me get the boot on and off.  The combination of these two things is the equivalent of finding gold at the end of the rainbow right now, but hell we're going to try.

I have been riding such a wave of emotions, trying to stay on top of everything.  I completely lost my cool after realizing I emailed a customer with a day later than planned on with his Christmas order of all things.  The work order simply got scooted over on my desk.  I attempted to storm off on my scooter, fell into a metal shelf (better that than my bum foot), and immediately chastised myself for losing my cool (as one does).

I honestly thought that one email was a sign I was going to fail all these new missions.  Thankfully, Robert was once again there for me, reminding me to give myself some grace.  I usually listen to music every day, any chance I am alone, since I like it loud and pumping through all the speakers in the house.  Music is how I heal.  It's my fuel, and how I relax.  When I was at the PT appointment today a Destiny's Child song came on (thankfully not during the trench foot moment so I don't have to think about rotten feet every time I listen to their music in the future), and I could feel all my working muscles relaxing.  I knew right then that I needed to take a break and think things through tonight while listening to some extra loud music.  I decided to sit down and write it out, face the music so to speak, and accept this new challenge that I have been given.  So I'm scrounging up some grace, both for myself and my work, creating some gentle wind to untangle myself from the trees.  Trench foot, interviews, learning first.  Second, let go and ask for help when I'm on the crutches.  Third, everything else.

Meanwhile, humor and grace.

And...finding the best person to tackle graphic design and production with me.  If you know of anyone in the Kansas City area looking for an amazing job opportunity that comes with a daily dose of golden retriever and all the feels and happiness that comes from amazing and thankful customers, please give me a shout. 

care bear beams and roller grill nights

My miserable cast and stitches were removed yesterday.  Good riddance!  The stitches were causing about 80% of the pain, which makes me feel a little embarrassed.  The achilles rupture didn't take me out, but the stitches?  They pretty much turned me into a monster.  

I am only feeling some superficial pain from the stitches.  The biggest thing I'm dealing with is what feels like a forest fire in my boot.  Turns out I carried the fire with me from cast to boot.  Who would have thunk it?  The healing powers are doing some kind of fire dance with bonus crackling flame sensations.

Thankfully Robert found the best ice machine ever with a bootie that fits underneath my boot.  We put the machine between our heads last night and set it to 30 minutes on, 30 minutes off.

This picture is the machine taking up valuable book space.  Sacrifices!  Unlike the ice machine I had after my meniscus repair surgery which had the plug beneath my foot, I can unplug this one on my own.  This is what eleven years of technology advancements looks like.

Josie has been absolutely glued to me since this whole thing started, but even more in the last few days, especially at night.  We weren't sure what she would think of the ice machine and long hose, but she squeezed herself in.  Each time I woke up to rotate myself she was there and a couple times she was even laying on the hose, which didn't look comfortable at all.

She does something I've only known one other dog to do.  She stretches herself out so that she's touching me from head to toe.  Each time I turn she makes small adjustments so that she's still snuggled as close as she can get.  Rose, our maternal and sometimes stern reincarnation of Emily Post, would do this same thing. It's a little like being in a roller grill but the hot dog next to you is glued to you and covered in fur.  Sometimes Josie cuddles so close she oozes into my roller grill spot when I rotate.  After about five turns I only have about five inches of bed space left, and poor Robert has to help me roll her back to her own spot on the roller grill.  This is how it's been going a few times a night: 

"Robert?"

Silence.

"Robert!"

Some kind of unintelligible noise.  

"Your dog's butt." 

That's all I have to say, and he knows it's time to help me move her again.  

I just can't get over this dog.  She is taking such good care of me.  I think Josie and Robert's care have doubled the healing powers in my house.  The beams of light from these two care bears is probably what's fueling the forest fire.

I am wearing all four wedges in my boot right now and non-weight bearing.  One by one the wedges will disappear, and as each one disappears I will become weight bearing 25% at a time (and probably have a taco party each time too).

I start PT next week, and I already know the first question I am going to ask.  I have been separated from my home workouts for too long, and I've already modified the lists to remove the things I can't do at the moment (see you later sumo squats and planks) and left the things I can do (hello upper body weights and leg lifts).  

At the exact moment I had the achilles injury Robert was busy coding a new version of my home workout list.  Prior to the summer, I used a program (shortcut) Robert created to pull 25 numbers from from my exercise list, which has about 100-150 exercises.  Sometimes multiple numbers appeared in the same workout - like a motherload of planks (which I did 30 miserable seconds at a time because that's my max time).  Sometimes the random numbers were balanced.  Sometimes the numbers zinged the other way and I would spend an ungodly amount of time rolling muscles and doing breathing exercises. 

Over the summer I learned the importance of sequencing, and an expert went over my exercises with me.  We deleted a few that were either not a good fit or they just weren't good for your body (turns out sit ups are terrible for you!).  We added in the ones I needed to do for my specific kind of pelvic floor therapy, and the last thing we did was sort them into four categories - warming, strength, balance, and stretching/mindfulness.  Cardio is important too, but it's separate from the home workouts.  Robert was busy coding a program that would give me a list of 3-7 exercises per category.  In addition to creating a program for the four different categories, Robert was factoring in duration too (gotta love his beautiful nerd brain).  There are longer exercises like sun salutations and shorter ones like getting off the floor with zero assists (although there are days this one takes longer!).  I was initially worried about the sequencing, because the surprise of various random generators and shortcuts is a small gift to myself and also helps my mind relax.  With Robert's program I will be able to follow the sequencing while still randoming the numbers within each category.

I know I will not be able to play tennis for another 8-11 months.  But getting my daily exercises back and doing my PT will be a huge mood boost for me.  I've heard it's not going to be easy, but any work I can do will help me feel like I'm doing something to put all the pieces back together again.  Who knows, by the end of the year I might be going for walks with my care bear homies.

a jar full of barn sunshine

This piece took a while, but it gave me zero grief to make.  I have definitely become a little too attached to the green felt, so I'm determined to walk away from it for a while and use a different fabric next time.  Most of the buttons from this piece came from one of the several jars of buttons I found in the barns on Robert's grandma's property.

I used up a lot of neutrals to make this piece, but sunshine found its way in.

I am eager to share the piece I made for the Columbia Art League's Interpretations VII, but I haven't taken proper pictures of it, and I have been unable to travel and see the show.  I've been apart of Interpretations twice as a poet, and this is my first time as an artist.  I have been a little bummed about missing the reception and not being able to meet with the poet I was paired with.  I'm hoping I can travel at some point next week and see the show before it comes down.  I should have pictures and the poet's poems to share soon.  

But for now, there's many paths to take in the threads of this piece, all leading to sunshine.

play by play

Robert has been doing a great job keeping up with our two businesses, taking care of me, and doing all the necessary chores at home.  But there have been some things that have slipped through the cracks.  Robert mentioned to me that he was going to have someone help us with our yard for a while.  We already have someone who helps us stay on top of mowing and leaf/snow removal, so I was confused.  

When he said he had hired someone to do dog poo duty, I was shocked.  That type of thing exists???

This morning I noticed someone outside.  I quickly pulled up our home cameras and yep, someone was in our yard, and all I could make out on his shirt was the word POOP in capital letters.  The heck with work.  I called Robert.  "No need to call me," he said.  "They're texting me the play by play."

The play by play of doggie poo duty?

Apparently these doggie poo duty folks text their every move: 

No need to worry.  Poopy pickup is on the way.  

This is your poop technician, and I have arrived.

Taking the scoop for the poop out of the truck.  

Ready to take a load off your yard!!  

What do you feed your dogs?!???

I honestly don't know what they texted (although they really do call themselves poop technicians), but I was laughing so hard thinking about the play by play.  

I wanted to say thank you but I can't even get myself out to the porch to say thank you.  I can go up the stairs to the house unassisted, but I cannot go down the steps without help.  I've learned the hard way that our rock landscaping does not make for a soft landing place when you fall off the porch.  

I would wholeheartedly recommend this poopy scoopy business, but they failed to do one important thing.  The man's shirt said POOP instead of P💩💩P.  

I have been at home more than I had hoped to be this week.  I went to work for a couple hours on Tuesday and a little more than a half day Wednesday.  Unfortunately the evenings have continued to be complete hell.  Everything is fine until there's swelling, and when that happens it feels like I'm going to bust through the cast.  I've been doing almost continuous icing, even at work and through the night.  But for some reason the icing during the night is like trying to spit on a forest fire to put it out.

The good news is that all that fire and swelling hopefully mean a lot of healing.  A lack of sleep is a small price to pay for healing.  I also think about our neighbors who have a newborn and two kids under the age of five, and I instantly feel better about the quality and quantity of my sleep.

Robert was on a job in a different part of Kansas City today and offered to bring me lunch from a vegan place I love.  It's a good 30 minutes or more from our house, so I rarely get to eat there.  He walked into the place and a customer said, "Thank you for spending your white Johnson County money on this place."  Seriously!  I asked Robert what he said in reply.  Robert told me he was thinking, "Well this guy isn't wrong..."  But he ended up saying, "We've all got to support this place!"

Robert said when the customer left he drove off in a Hummer.  

I'm not sure if it's the lack of sleep, but the strange interaction Robert had at the vegan place seems even funnier after our first visit from the poop technician.

Here is a fun video I found while sorting thousands of old pictures and videos.  It seems appropriate here.  It's the moment Robert and I first discovered Siri would translate emojis in meaningful and sometimes life-changing ways while driving.  As you can hear in the video we got very lucky our first time trying out this new technology.  Over the years we've discovered it all depends on the car, the Siri voice, and the emojis.