physical therapy - not as bad as it's rumored to be

I started physical therapy a couple of weeks ago. The experience so far has not been quite what I expected. To be quite frank it has been rather anti-climatic. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect but I did think there would be more things to do once I got there. I’m very goal oriented so I wanted to be doing something –preferably exercise related with quantifiable reps. I was also prepared for pain, after all we’ve all heard PT horror stories from co-workers, friends etc ., and they always use the word pain somewhere in their descriptions. The good news is that, up to this point, there has been no pain. The bad news is that Der Kommandant (and yes my exercise friends do call me that) has not gotten a lot of exercise at PT yet. I have been given a set of exercises to do at home - most of which I had already been doing anyway.

At my initial visit my physical therapist measured my ankle six ways to Sunday to determine the ankle’s size and range of motion. Frankenfoot is 2 inches bigger than the normal ankle and, oh joy, I have a negative three on the dorseflexion scale. The plantar flexion wasn’t so hot either but at least we weren’t in the negative there. Dorseflexion, for you children at home, means how far one can point one’s toes upwards. A negative three basically means I’m screwed, at least for the time being. She also pointed out the muscle atrophy in my calf. I had to restrain a little bit of sarcasm there as no one comes out of a cast with nice lookin’ calf muscles. She then handed me a sheet of exercises to do at home and I had her watch me do two of them. We ran into a bit of a catch 22 as I could not bend my knee enough to do one of the exercises and she told me that this was due to the dorseflexion being so bad but that I had to do it properly to increase dorseflexion. Still not sure what I’m supposed to do to this day but keep giving it the old college try. After all the measuring I then got a nice foot massage and sat with my foot in hot water for fifteen minutes with electrodes in the water. I never did feel any tingling from the electrodes. She did give me one good piece of information though and that was that I was bringing my bad foot up and then stopping and bringing the good foot up to meet the bad foot. I’ve since been trying to walk with more of a stride. I did tell her that I’ve never had a “normal” gait and that my mother used to describe my walk as “jock with polio”. Also ,judging from the wear in my shoes I’ve never used the ball of my foot, ever. This might explain the tight heel chord the OS always talks about. Currently, even though I’ve gotten rid of Hermann, I am walking pretty much like Frankenstein’s monster, sigh.

My subsequent two visits were similar to the first visit sans the measuring and with the addition of five minutes on a stationary bike. On visit number four though I did get to do something new. The PT had me pick up about 30 marbles with my toes and put them in a box. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’d already been practicing this exercise with ball bearings. She also had me use a roller under my foot which felt pretty good. Sadly though, while the increased activity has lead to some really eye-popping swelling of the ankle (with the oh so fashionable compression sock on I might add) I have not seen a lot of improvement in my gait and this has lead to some pretty severe depression on my part. I’m hoping to shake that soon but at the moment it is pretty much Bleaksville in ankle city. Hoping to report better news in the next couple of weeks

three month ankleversary

November 1st was my three month ankleversary and I went in to see the orthopedics doc for what the next step might be. I started my usual ritual at check-in by inquiring if I was now listed as a worker’s comp patient. The standard reply was that, yes I was in the system as worker’s comp. It seems that no matter how many times I ask this in any given visit that the incorrect insurance company and/or myself will receive these horrendous scary bills. Nevertheless one has to give it the old college try in the hopes that one day things will be correctly billed.

The second step was to take the usual set of three x-rays. To my surprise however I was not going to be lying on the pallet for these but rather standing. The tech told me that not only would I be standing sans boot but that I would also have to climb up onto this tiny weird looking step. Yeah, right since going up and down steps had already been so beneficial to my ankle. However, I gamely climbed up holding on to various pieces of X-ray equipment with a death grip. After many, many repositionings I was allowed to step down and resume the safe embrace of Hermann aka the boot. I do have to say taking even those small steps without the boot was the weirdest feeling ever, it was indescribable how the linoleum felt on my foot.

The doc then came in and then told me my ankle looked like it was healing well. As an aside here I should mention that I am being treated at a teaching hospital. Since it is one of the best in the country I’ve had no concerns about the quality of treatment. What I do love about it is that you are never quite sure who will be in the exam room with you on any given day. I’ve always been fortunate to see my surgeon but on various occasions he has brought in a medical student – who was a bit of a mumbler and who kept looking at the floor. He also had a clammy handshake so I’m not sure he is cut out for the life of a surgeon unless his confidence level is raised considerably. On another occasion he brought in one of the pack of residents previously seen in the hospital. It was not the incredibly good looking but brutal handed one but one of the quieter ones. None of these folks are what I’d call talkative. They tend to give you the bare minimum of information and it is then up to you to burrow out any further nuggets of wisdom. Fortunately, this time, it was just the doc and a P.A. P.A.s tend to be more communicative as a rule so I had hope that I’d learn more than the usual, “x-rays are looking good” statement I usually receive. Sadly this was not to be the case. Instead ,just as a diver looks for pearls by prying open the oyster I had to pry , with words, but gently. I found out that yes, it is okay to wear compression socks to reduce swelling; I can resume Yoga; I can, if I feel confident enough resume riding my bike. Personally I think we are being a bit premature on the whole it’s okay to ride your bike thing. It is a good thing I’m not a gung ho athlete as I can just see someone leaping on their bike only to go for a dismount and then Crack goes the ankle. I amy give the stationary bike a go though to help rebuild the calf muscle.

The other big piece of news the doc imparted was that I could get rid of the boot and begin walking without it, “as comfortable”. I always love the “as comfortable” bit as I am such a cautious Nelly that I’d probably stay in the safety of the boot forever. I asked him to elaborate on that statement (remember you, the patient must burrow for additional info) and he told me to not wear the boot unless I’d be walking for long distances and that wearing the boot for these types of trips might be beneficial. I then asked about the pain I was having at the forefront of my foot and it turns out that Hermann might not be the security blanket I had thought he’d been. That bad boy had helped cause metatarslagia. I had evidently been putting almost all my weight on the bad foot on the ball of my foot and since Hermann is pretty unforgiving in that area it caused inflammation. Suddenly I now had no desire to continue in the boot. Good bye boot, hello too tight tennis shoe!

We’ve now been boot free for a week and while I cannot say I am loving it I have discovered that not being in the boot and liberating myself from the walker has been somewhat freeing. I actually weeded the front portion of one of my flower beds, was finally able to clean my kitchen properly and even managed to do some laundry. In order to use the washer and dryer I have to go down a step, one tiny, tiny measly step but until Sunday that step was my Mt. Everest. I am happy to say I conquered Mt Everest and went on to “climb” the front steps. Who knows what I’ll accomplish next. I feel like I missed out on so much. Summer is gone and now it is almost Thanksgiving.

that which does not kill me.....

That which does not kill me turns me into a puddle of limp exhaustion… In the early days when I was reading other broken ankle blogs I was always curious as they all seemed to taper off into nothingness at about the 6-8 week mark. Surely things must still be going on so why not write about them. Well now I know why… Once “real” life resumes it is just too damn tiring to write anything. I’ve been back to work for 3 and ½ weeks now and all I can say is that I’m impressed that every day I make it to 5 p.m. and then manage to drive home.

I am also convinced that my workplace is out to get me. On a normal “able-bodied” day the university can be hazardous. We’ve got students riding/skating/walking all on their cell phones and totally oblivious as to where they are going. Then, in addition to the kids, you’ve got faculty and staff who are all trying to drive down the street without trying to kill any of the kinder and also not paying a lot of attention to people below their line of vision, i.e. me on my scooter.

Let me give you a glimpse of an average day post borken ankle. I’ve already chronicled my first scooter ride up to the library. However that particular ride now seems like a piece of cake as it occurred before the evil sentience known as the university knew that I was back. Now that it knows I’m here it has turned its full maleficent force into creating new and interesting obstacles for me to surpass on my journey into work.

I arrive at my parking lot which incidentally is .25 miles from my work (and yes this is the closest parking lot and yes I emphasize this alot) I get out of the car, lift the seated scooter off the car and away I go. I had pre-scouted out my path before returning to work and it was a pretty straightforward if longish one. Sadly it seems that I will never be able to use it. Observe as i attempt to transverse it. I start down the sidewalk and the university has thrown its first obstacle into my path. The university has decided to overwater the sidewalk in front of me, my boot doesn't do well on wet pavement so I turn to go a different route. Oh look - the groundskeepers are out with their leaf blowers. I decide to proceed forward even though this means a possible cedar chip in the eye. With eyes closed as much as I can to avoid grit blowing into them I scoot by not one, not two but three of these guys with blowers going full blast and blowing debris directly into my path. Normally no big deal if you can walk over leaves, acorns etc. but when you are on a scooter running over, say a tiny, tiny acorn it is a recipe for disaster. I cannot tell you then number of times the scooter has almost tipped. However I’ve made it past the diabolical groundskeepers only to discover that I must now turn away from my usual route yet again as the university has decided to dig up pipes underneath the area I would normally travel. Oh lucky me, the route I must now traverse has a tiny tiny little opening through fencing to bypass construction work, but wait there is more, it also happens to have a blind spot so one has to put one’s body into the opening and hope that no one else is coming. This, of course, is not the case as we have a kid on a bike, cup of coffee and cell phone in hand. With an unbelievable burst of adrenaline I make it through the opening and scoot as fast as I can off to the side. It’s a narrow miss but I make it. My last part of the journey is now upon me. I must now go past the coffee kiosk. Caffeine deprived zombies to all sides I make my last mad dash and…make it to the safety of my building. That, children is how my workday begins

The broken ankle returns to work

Hermann(the boot) and I returned to work on Thursday. I, myself, prefer to think of it as the broken ankle Olympics. We had started our training early. I had rented a seated scooter in anticipation of the long trek from parking lot to my library. For those of you who have never visited my fair campus the closest parking area is about a quarter mile away, and yes this includes disabled parking. Not that I will ever be able to park in disabled parking as I foolishly mailed in my form to the DMV. I was obviously on drugs at the time or I would have known better. However, I digress. I, and my handsome trainer started practicing several days early with the scooter. I would roll out the back door, push my way into the front yard and approach the car. I would then get off the scooter, open the back door to the car and, on one foot, shove the scooter into the back seat. This is somewhat equivalent to shoving a cat into a carrier for a vet visit. Neither I not the scooter were pleased with the action but we got the job done. Still on one foot I then hopped up to the front seat and drove around for a bit. Of course before the drive could commence I had to catch my breath and wipe away the torrents of sweat pouring down my face. After the drive I parked the car and pulled out the scooter . The scooter having once been put into the back seat did not wish to come out. To continue with the cat analogy it was a bit like trying to pull the cat out of the cat carrier once s/he arrived at the vet. The scooter, I swear, developed claws and hung onto the backseat for dear life. Once again, though , I persevered hopping about on one foot. My handsome assistant was not allowed to help as I had to prove I could perform these actions on my own. He did attempt to give what he thought was helpful advice such as “why don’t you turn it upside down and put it on your bike rack?” Why yes sweetie, I’ll just haul up 20 lbs to shoulder height while hopping about on one leg (not).

Having proven that I could indeed get around on the scooter I chickened out and had the saint drive me to work my first two days. We arrived at our parking space and I began to push myself along and towards the general direction of the library. I encountered my first hurdle at a gently sloping hill aka Mt. Everest near the library. I’d push a few feet, rest, request oxygen, and then push a few more feet, repeat the request for air and then push again. Eventually I reach the top of the hill and my right thigh announces that it has had enough thank you very much. However, we still have approximately 500 yards to go so the thigh is conscripted back into duty and we reach the front doors to the building my library is in. Bless all universities for having such solid, solid doors. The doors are wrestled open, and I make it to the second floor to encounter another set of doors. Another wrestling match ensues and voila, I have arrived. I have arrived one half hour after exiting the car. Sadly it appears that I am the Eddie the Eagle equivalent in broken ankle Olympics.

My work day commences with the boss handing over a whole slew of work and various colleagues chatting to me about how nice it must have been to be at home, lolling about in bed and reading. Yeah right, it was just like vacationing at the beach, everybody should try this. However, this did not astound me nearly as much as the reactions of various library patrons. I am ensconced at the front desk, foot on a pillow and the pillow on a library stool. Directly behind me is my walker. A clueless patron would ask a question and I’d get up, hobble around the desk on my walker and in every single case the patron would have a look of astonishment on their face. It was as if the big black boot were totally invisible and that all library staff sat at the front desk with their leg propped at a ninety degree angle from their body. Personally I think we should all be very worried that the crème de la crème of academia are so totally clueless or else be concerned about their fashion taste if they assumed that Hermann was standard footwear.

One other, tiny, tiny factor that turned my return to work into an Olympic event was a visit to the restroom. The library has not restroom so we have to walk down a hallway ~300 steps or so. Sadly, I could not go this way as there were stairs. Stairs and I are not on speaking terms since they chose to fling me down them so I had to go the long way around to use a handicapped ramp. Like an idiot I chose to do this on a walker. Big mistake, I might as well have walked the Appalachian trail. It would probably taken the same amount of time as well as the same amount of resulting soreness in me bum muscles. Future visits were done with the scooter.

Overall I did survive my first two days along with the resultant fatigue at the end of the day as well as the brain fog throughout the day as I reacclimated and my body realized it would not be getting its two hour nap. Tilly, my faithful kitty also survived the separation but neither she nor I were happy about it. For any future broken ankle folks, may I recommend going back to work half time, oh and avoid those hills!

Partial weight bearing to commence

Yesterday was a long day. First up I had an appt with the orthopedic surgeon. Initially, I saw one of the residents who was happy with my range of motion progress. He also commented on the fact that my foot seemed pretty strong when he asked me to push on his hand with it. Hurrah for diligently doing my ABCs (with the foot of course). The main ortho doc was impressed with how well my scars had healed, thanks to my genetics I’d like to point out, but less so with how tight the calf was. He remembered that both my good and bad legs have this problem. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that even my own mother told me that I walked like a jock with polio and this was years ago. He also told me that I am now allowed to put some weight on the foot using the boot as comfortable but will have to continue using a walker for another six weeks.

I love vague pronouncements such as “as comfortable.” As far as I am concerned as comfortable means lying around with my leg propped up or lolling around in the wheelchair for pretty much forever, less chance of bones re breaking that way. Intellectually though I know a certain amount of weight placed on the leg actually helps the bone heal. Like a brave little soldier I got up last night and took a few steps using the walker. It didn’t feel so bad so I took a few more. Then it dawned on me that I might not be placing any weight at all so I had my husband get out the bathroom scale and I put my bad foot down on it. I pushed down as hard as I could and could only exert 28 lbs of pressure and I knew that I had indeed not been putting any weight on the foot earlier. So I tried it again and this time knew I was putting down some weight. As a reward for being hauled all over kingdom come and then being forced to work my ankle swelled up pretty much like a puffer fish. Today, we are allowing a little more elevation and a little less perambulation though I am forcing it to do some walking.

The other doc I saw yesterday was a pulmonologist. Her first words were “why did Dr. urgent care want me to see you?” Err “I don’t know, you tell me.” Unlike ortho doc though she was quite informative and took some time explaining exactly what the pulmonary embolism had done to my lung and why I felt pain in my back. She showed me the CT scan and explained that little white dots (veins) was good, and the pinky vein was bad, as it had been blocked by the embolism. She then went on to explain that the walls of the lung should be smooth, pointed out where mine wasn’t and explained that was where the fluid had accumulated. The back pain is due to a shared nerve between the lung and shoulder. When the fluid started pressing on the nerve the shoulder registered the pain. Very cool. Less cool was when she told me she felt I needed to be on blood thinners for an additional month, sigh. Oh, and I’ll probably be more susceptible to blood clots in the future. Yipee for me.

Onward and upward, every step in the boot and on the walker means I’m that much closer to being healed.

Urban fantasy - the good and the bad

So I just finished my umpteen thousandth urban fantasy and it got me to thinking about what I like about this subgenre and what I don’t like. Obviously there is something to like about them as I read quite a few so let’s start with the good.

Urban fantasy, at least for me, is pretty much a female centric version of a lone knight (medieval not dark knight) protecting their world. Obviously there are some good male urban fantasy characters that spring to mind – Harry Dresden and Atticus O’Sullivan for example, but the genre really is saturated with women heroines. These heroines tend to be strong, independent types who are able to take care of themselves, thank you very much. There generally is a love interest, generally male, but our heroine is not dependant on this person in resolving their issues. It’s great to have this type of role model to counteract all the thin pouty helpless female images we are inundated by in other visual media. I also really enjoy authors taking certain tropes and tweaking them and the universe in which all the characters reside. As long as the rules remain consistent within that universe I’m a happy camper.

So, let’s move on to the less desirable qualities in urban fantasy. One of my biggest peeves is that we introduce a trope such as a fallen angel, vampire etc and have the character differ from the standard but then don’t explain why this character isn’t following the expected behavior associated with this trope. My most recent read used fallen angels including Lucifer yet did not explain whether Lucifer and his associates were truly evil or not and how they function in the author’s universe outside of being convenient plot devices to move the story forward. The author doesn’t have to expend the whole novel sketching in character but doing so as well as showing the heroine’s reactions to the goodness/evilness of these secondary characters is going to add depth to the story. One liners are sometimes used to sketch in brief answers such as the following “mortals are not permitted to know these things” but this is just lazy writing and poor world building in my opinion.

I’ve also noticed that author’s don’t necessarily think about basic questions a reader might be asking themselves as they read the book. To use the example of the fallen angels above, if there are fallen angels/demons destroying cities then where are the other angels, if there is Lucifer then where is God? Author, it is your world so think of a reason why these other characters may or may not be in your book. Once again, you don’t have to spend the entire novel on this type of question but a paragraph or two isn’t going to hurt either.

There are other things I don’t like about urban fantasy but my last gripe concerns the injuries our heroines sustain over the course of a novel. This gripe can extend to many other types of genres, by the way, as it seems to be endemic. Our heroine gets knocked unconscious, beaten, shot, what have you and yet never really appears to be debilitated by what happens to her. Inevitably there is generally some healing spell, salve etc. that rejuvenates her but never have I read where the heroine is laid up for days due to a concussion after a blow to the head or in extreme pain due to being shot. Make the heroine a little more human and have her suffer a bit before healing her. It makes for a more appealing character in my opinion.. Well that’s all I’ll say on the subject for now.

What fresh heck is this?

Yesterday was a bit of a busy day for me. I got some gardening done if you call sitting in the chair and reaching the one spot I can weed gardening. I also started another paperbag book and got caught up on some light reading. Evidently attempting to lead something approximating a normal life though has sent THE FOOT over the edge.

Instead of having my usual pins and needles last night we went into full blown my foot’s on fire sensations. Massage and ice helped but as soon as those stopped, whammo – 3 alarm fire at the end of my leg. I was so tired I just wanted to sleep but no such luck…. Another interesting and relatively banal phenomenon is that the skin around my incisions has begun to peel. My ankle on both sides rather resembles someone’s badly burned back where the skin begins to peel off. Can I get a resounding ewww? I’m taking this phenomenon as a good sign and that happy new skin is underneath evenif the gross factor is high.

All of this has contributed to the heck that is currently going on but what is most heckish at the moment is my cat. I do not know why but she absolutely has to sit on my chest right under my chin. If I gently dislodge her she immediately climbs right back on. I, of course, am a sitting, make that lying, duck. I’m trying to keep the foot elevated in hopes of appeasing it and diminishing the pins and needles. The only reason I’m able to type at the moment is that we’ve come to a compromise. She gets to lie between my legs under the covers while I get to sit in the most painfully contorted position possible. One leg is straight out elevated on pillows, the other is bent forming a little tent for her. So why not just move her off the bed you ask? Because she is 22 years old and I just don’t have the heart to do so. I know I’ll pay for it in hip pain later on but let’s face it at 22 I might not have her around that much longer so I’ll let her be for now.

Why I wish orthopedists were more like pharmacists

Anyone who has ever gotten a prescription medication has also gotten a three page informational pamphlet with their drugs. You are told what the medication is, how to use the medicine, possible side effects , and cautions about the medicine, i.e. call your doctor if…..

With my orthopedist we did get the equivalent of what the medicine is – that is to say what he was going to be doing in surgery. I knew going into surgery I’d be getting a plate and a bunch of screws. If it were the spouse I would have also heard about how they were going to insert the plate and screws, the size of the screws, etc.. This is something I’m mildly curious about by the way as I have visions of my orthopedist wandering the aisles of OSH and then randomly pulling screws out of one of their cute little drawers. No matter though, as , should I be so inclined, I can watch the type of surgery I had on youtube.

What I’d really like though is a more thorough equivalent of the call your doctor if…section. Right after surgery the resident basically told me to keep my leg elevated but I did get a small instruction sheet outlining big ticket stuff – bleeding, redness or pus at the incision site and so on. As a side note I got a kick out of the “if you see redness or pus at the incision site, call your doctor right away”. Hmmm, my leg is in a huge honking cast, I won’t be seeing anything. What they should say is if your foot starts to smell like a zombie call us.

What is normal though a few weeks into the healing process? I want the equivalent of the reassuring voice over actor telling me you may experience the following symptoms, these are normal. If X occurs then seek immediate medical attention. For three days, I’d had constant pins and needles sensations in my foot and it was driving me bat…t crazy. Since I didn’t have reassuring voice over actor telling me whether this was normal or not I began to troll the internet. Ms. Self-effacer also ended up asking the OS’ office and it turns out that yes, pins and needles sensations are normal. Had they given me a sheet on what to expect while you are healing though I wouldn’t have felt silly contacting them. I’m convinced my medical record has a big hypochondriac note on the top. On another side note: I found out via the internet broken bone community that over elevating the leg can aggravate the pins and needles bit. As soon as I let my leg rest on the same level as my normal leg the pins and needles dissipated. Now I’m just awaiting the next “normal” symptom to come along. Happy, happy, joy, joy.

Broken ankle equipment and tips

I’ve actually been intending to put together a list of useful “equipment” for several days now. I’m sure I’ve left some things out but without further ado, here is a list of things that are right handy to have if you’ve have a broken ankle.

First and foremost,– a caregiver – friends, family, whomever. You are not going to be able to do a lot, especially at the beginning so make sure you have someone willing to help with cooking, transportation, etc. People, myself included initially, will often assume you are merely inconvenienced by your surgery. They may also assume you are able to take care of yourself and your surroundings. This is not the case. Ask for help if you need it!

Unless you really feel comfortable with crutches I’d advise using a combo of a walker and a wheelchair. Since I fell on crutches and found them cumbersome, I refused to use them and feel much more secure with the walker.

Pillows, pillows, pillows. I never thought I’d be able to sleep on my back but anything is possible. I personally found propping my bad leg with pillows and using a wedge (snore) pillow at my back to be quite effective. Many people have also reported that using a body pillow, or beanbag, or ergonomic pillow to be effective in propping the leg. Addendum, I got an ergonomic pillow a must have!

If at possible access to the internet. Not only does it provide entertainment but there is a wealth of useful information out there. My two favorite websites: http://www.mybrokenleg.com; http://www.livestrong.com. Youtube also has tons of stuff on it including, if you are so inclined, videos of actual surgeries.

Any entertainment source that will keep you from going barmy as you lie there with your foot elevated. I found books, magazines with pretty pictures, crossword puzzles, and Hulu all to be quite useful.

For bathing an overhead shower spray and a bath bench are rumored to be handy. I can attest to the shower head but haven’t quite mastered the bath bench yet.

Clothing – go for comfortable and forget fashionable. Make sure they are easy pull on/off type of items. Sweatpants are de rigeur. Get really warm socks for the good foot/leg . You’d be amazed at how cold it gets. You may also need jackets/sweaters that are easy on/off as well. Since we aren’t moving around a lot we tend to have poor circulation which equals cold body parts.

A couple of tips – keep everything you think you’ll need at an accessible level. You’ll find out quickly enough things you’ve forgotten but a few examples would be: your toothbrush, wash cloth, plateware, snacks, etc. Also make sure you have some way of carrying things while in the walker and/or chair. I have saddlebags on my walker so I can carry basic things around the house.

Communication with an outside world is also vital. I have a friend who calls twice a day as well as other friends who call or e-mail several times a week. It is almost a gaurentee that you’ll have some depression and having other humans that are not medical personnel really helps.

Broken ankles and crafts

Not surprisingly, when one has to keep one’s ankle elevated over ones heart (or at least waist) crafts can be somewhat difficult. I, fortunately, am a hand piecer and appliquer of quilts so I can actually do some of these things with my ankle sticking up in the air. Last weekend I sat in the wheelchair for about an hour and directed the saint in the cutting of background pieces for a new appliqué block and I then sewed the pieces up pretty quickly. The whole endeavor took maybe an hour so THE FOOT wasn’t too irritable.

Yesterday a friend of mind asked if she could come over and we’d do some paper bag books and I jumped at the chance to have company. Paper bag books are a sort of scrapbooking effort in that one generally uses scrapbook papers, stickers etc ., but using paper bags instead of a flat album. Having her come over was truly a godsend. I needed to converse with another human being who was not a medical professional! We had a very good time and the Saint got to take a break from care giving. We worked for about six hours though and much of that time I had my leg down as one really cannot accurately cut paper in leg up position. This may have turned out to be a bit of a mistake as THE FOOT was really quite disgruntled and achy last night, not to mention horribly swollen. All in all though I think it was totally worth it to feel productive and almost normal! We are on strict leg up today though. So how was your Labor Day weekend?

Whimper –range of motion exercises

One of the “joys” of getting a boot on is that I now get to take greater responsibility for my own recovery by doing range of motion exercises. Range of motion exercises in this case simply means I’ve gone back to school. Basically I trace the alphabet in block letters with my big toe with my foot hanging free over the edge of the bed. The key is to use your foot and not your leg or hip to do this. I’m supposed to do this exercise three times a day. What a lucky, lucky gal I am.

While THE FOOT was in the cast we had reached a détente. I’d keep it elevated and it wouldn’t hurt. Alas with the boot our truce has ended. The boot keeps my foot in a more correct position and the range of motion exercises, like any other exercise make it sore. What really angers THE FOOT though is wrestling the boot off and on. There is some major Velcro action going on there and I definitely feel like I’m wrestling with myself, foot held first down on the bed and then hanging in midair. After the wrestling match is over I definitely feel a margarita is in order. Alas no drinking with THE FOOT.

Oh and we engaged in a different type of exercise with THE FOOT as well last night. I got to take a ”bath”. I use the word in the loosest of terms. One of the things I was excited about with the boot is that I could take it off to wash. In this case washing means that I sit on a bath bench clinging for dear life while the spouse hoses me down with and adjustable showerhead. I really did feel remarkably like an elephant being hosed down in a zoo. The best part of the whole process was that I was able to loofah off some of the disgusting dry skin, the bad being that it took 15 minutes to get on and off the bench. I felt like I had run a marathon. Oh, and I’m so scared of THE FOOT not being supported that I left the boot on with a garbage bag tied on over it. This is not exactly a Project Runway look, trust me.

One last thing about the foot. I now know why so many people refer to their ankle as Franken ankle. Initially when the cast came off and the stitches were pulled I didn’t think it looked so bad. Sure I’ve got sutures running up and down both sides of the foot and the ankle itself still looks like a swollen death’s head mushroom but okay…Then this morning I took the sock off for a closer look. On the bottom of the foot I have the worst looking, huge purple bruise. I have no idea why this is what sent me over the edge but on went the sock and never shall I look again.

The post-op visit

It has now been exactly three weeks since my surgery and the Saint and I were scheduled to go in for a post-op visit today at either 9 a.m. or 11 a.m. depending on what person/machine etc. one spoke with. Now normally I’m a nervous Nellie but today it was the Saint who was nervous so he pushes me out the door at 6 freakin ‘45 a.m. Away we go and arrive at the doctor’s office at 7:30 – no big surprise there so we wait in the car until 8 and then out we go. We had been warned by the nice physician assistant that the clinic would be busy that day so we should be prepared and bring snacks. The Saint assumes Sherpa mode and packs out enough water, snacks, books, appliqué, electronic gadgetry etc. for a long afternoon hike. And yes – before you ask – I always take a book even while hiking. As for the Saint, heaven forbid he be without a computer device.

We ”walk” up to reception and start the check in process. “So you have Blue Shield@” ? I’m asked. “No, this is a worker’s comp insurance claim” (i.e. Yes I’m the pariah and no you won’t get as much from workers comp as you would from Blue Shield@ but please see me anyway). “We don’t show that in the system.” I begin to have just a bit of a nervous breakdown when another receptionist walks up and calmly says “oh just change the insurance and ask J to make sure it is recorded properly”. Breakdown averted.

I’m wheeled off to get X-rays. “We are going to remove your cast first” they tell me. Excuse me, you are going to take away my protection, my ankle support?! The cast comes off and man does it feel weird. My foot is feeling totally neekid and a little wobbly. So there I am kind of holding my foot up via the knee and the cast guy keeps saying “go ahead and relax your foot”. Ah no, I don’t think so. I’m eventually whisked off to X-ray where I’m asked to contort poor unprotected ankle and my left hip to get a good set of X-rays. Thanks to yoga the hip, at least ,contorts, really well.

I’m then wheeled into a room to await the doctor. He and a medical student come in. He takes a look at the ankle and at the X-rays and then asks if I have any questions. Why yes I do. You’ve left a librarian idle for three weeks with a computer connection and the vast world of the internet at her disposal. So I ask about the likelihood of reinjuring myself – slight – as well as the possibility of a non union. The man is very polite but I’m sure he is wondering where I came up with non union thoughts. He tells me it is very rare and that he has actually never seen a case. I politely refrain from pointing out that blood clots are somewhat unusual in this type of surgery too and that I seem to be having the worst luck lately. I figure if nothing else, the medical student kid can find all about non union. Non union by the way means this “A nonunion occurs when a broken bone does not heal.” He then tells me when to wear the boot – always except for bathing, and to start range of movement exercises. Basically I’m to spell out the alphabet three times a day with my toe. He also informs me to come back in three weeks and that we may start some weight bearing at that time and that it would be a further six weeks in the boot even after partial weight bearing commence. I am not particularly surprised to hear this, internet savvy explorer that I am. He and medical student depart.

After his departure I spell out the alphabet and then a very nice young lady comes in and tells me that she will be removing my sutures. She tells me this may hurt. The fabulous news is that after having my foot reduced twice, various IVs shoved into hands and arms, and shots in the stomach that hurt is a relative term. It was mildly annoying, much like pulling a scab when one was little, but does it hurt? No. She departs and boot guy comes in. He shows me how to wear the boot and then we are done. The whole visit was extremely quick. Basically from 8:30 to 10 a.m. Alas, Mark has assumed Sherpa mode for nothing.

Sadly, THE FOOT now known as Hermann, is a little uncomfortable now. The cast had gotten to be pretty loose so I could basically position my foot in the cast to be as comfortable as possible. The boot is lighter weight but is now holding Hermann in a more rigid and correct manner. My friend Nancy is alarmed that I have now basically identified my foot as male. I look at it this way – shy wallflower that I am I think of my relationship with THE FOOT the same way I used to interact with young gentlemen. The interactions were generally somewhat uncomfortable and awkward and so too is the relationship with my ankle. Also, since the boot also very much resembles Hermann Munster’s shoe I figure hey why not call it Hermann.

I’m now at home trying to nap but poor Tilly and Hermann have other plans, oh well….,

Food, glorious food

Another thing I used to take for granted was cooking. I don’t know why but I have the worst yen to cook today. Well actually I do know why – a friend called yesterday and mentioned what she’d be cooking for dinner and then today another friend mentioned that I should stop by our favorite bakery on the way home from the clinic. They have , literally the world’s best carrot cake. Man, I am really craving good food. I so want to try and new recipe. The fact that I’m fixating on food is also sort of good news. I’ve had a very low appetite lately – good for weight loss, not so good for bone health

Sadly, the best I can do at the moment is throw T.V. dinners in the oven. Our microwave is too high so I have to go old school even on stuff like lean cuisine. I can instruct the saint in trying to follow a recipe but it is not really the same. I cannot taste the food as one does when cooking nor can I do a little last minute – well let’s throw this in and see how it tastes. The saint in his own is very much a bachelor cook. Don’t tell him but please, no more canned spaghetti sauce and frozen meatball

Another reason why I’d like some really tasty food at the moment is that – yes I confess – yesterday evening I had another meltdown. Sobbing, despair etc. One good thing is that I’ve discovered that these feelings are pretty normal, and thanks for meditation for mindfulness, I allow myself to have them but only up to a point. Then I start to focus on something else, ergo carrot cake

On a more encouraging front, I no longer have to have injectable blood thinners (hurrah!) and am now just taking a pill. Most exciting of all though is that my elderly kitty, who we were starting to worry a bit about healthwise, seems to have rallied somewhat and she too seems to be on the mend. Here is hoping that both Tilly and I keep heading up that hill.

Broken ankle’s big day out

I had tickets to go see the play “War Horse” this past weekend. Unfortunately there was no way THE FOOT was going to survive getting up and down those tiny, tiny little stairs in the theatre so I stayed home while the saint and his mother went. I couldn’t really grasp whether the hubster enjoyed himself or not. I sure hope he did.

THE FOOT has had minor outings before Sunday. Himself wheels me out to the garden on a nightly basis for example and one Saturday I went with him to the store to explain the difference between fresh and frozen veggies. This past Sunday though was going to be the first outing where I’d be out more than an hour and get to see things besides the anticoag clinic or the vegetable aisle at my local supermarket

So on Sunday the spouse took me out to JoAnns and then to lunch. Yes, I know Joann’s isn’t that exciting to most of you but for me it was like being a kid in a candy store. I used to zip n and out of JoAnns not infrequently to grab whatever quilt magazine I needed in any given month. I’ve been so stir crazy that this outing was heaven. You’d think I’d been cooped up for years instead of a couple of weeks. Poor Mark trailed along behind as I kept up a running commentary on floral – nice fall colors-; the fact that Halloween decorations are already out; the fact that we need to reupholster the dining room chairs and “Oh look, isn’t that a nice fabric”. He manfully held my scrapbook papers and my quilt magazines as we stood in line. Heaven, I tell ya, heaven. Oh and JoAnns even has wheelchairs with a basket. Sadly we did not know that before going into the store so Mark became my faithful Sherpa

We then headed over to Applebees. We went in and it was not exactly a happening restaurant. We were one of maybe five couples in the joint. We were seated, or at least Mark was and we then proceeded to wait, a lot. One thing I’ve discovered is that THE FOOT has a time limit in terms of how long it likes to dangle. Turns out time limit was up about halfway through our meal. It turned a bright purple and began to throb gently. No waitress in sight, more throbbing and I finally flag her to get the check. She takes our cash and then disappears for another fifteen minutes or so as we had the audacity to ask for change. At that point I was willing to just roll out of there but himself is a much more patient and whole bodied man. We finally get our change put down a tip and voila, off home we go. THE FOOT goes to bed and all is well

My one piece of advice if you do happen to end up with a broken anything is make sure someone can get you out of your domicile. After the initial shock of breaking something, surgery etc boredom can become a big problem. I’m holed up in a room that is almost paradise for me. Lots of stuff to look at on the walls, bookcases (or as my mother in law calls it - a Borders Annex) behind me, and a window to my garden. Paradise can be just as much a prison as anything else though if you cannot get out so make arrangements with friends, family etc to go somewhere every once and awhile.

A better day

Amazing what the attention of a small furry creature can do for one. Marguerite, our second cat, absolutely ignores my existence. I’m not even a food source for her, so great is her disdain for me. So, imagine my surprise when she hopped up on my bed Monday night and actually sat with me for a whole fifteen minutes! Even she knew I needed a bit of TLC. She has also been coming in daily now and spending some time with me on subsequent days. Our furry companions make a world of difference!

Secondly, Miss Whimpery has been taking her shots in the stomach, without passing out or shrieking. Here’s hoping that trend continues.< P/>

Thirdly, while I cannot take a long soak in the tub, I got up and gave myself a nice long bath, well as nice and long as sitting in the chair and spot bathing can be. Even this type of bathing though can do the trick .< P/>

I received a very nice phone call from my worker’s comp rep to clarify some issues. I’ve mentioned it before but I am absolutely scared spitless to see what the final bill is going to be, who is going to pay it, and how much of my future life will be spent on a phone. Incidentally, the first thing she asks was “How are you feeling, are you okay” Good public service persona right there

I got a phone call back from the urgent care doc the day following my visit to urgent care. I was initially suspicious as no one ever calls you back, ever, but he was doing simple follow through and he apologized for sending me to the wrong anti –coag clinic. I’m definitely beginning to see the differences between an HMO clinic and a hospital. Let me say once again how much I appreciate PAMF!

I let myself be good and upset for a day or so but have let it go, much better for my psyche. BTW I would like to clarify that it was not the surgeon who was a jerk. I don’t have much contact with him but he has been very pleasant when I do speak with him. Let’s remember and give equal acknowledgement to the fact that nurses, PA assistants, etc are also health care professionals .They too should get the respect and be held up to the standards of the MD.

My lowest day...I hope

By now I should be used to how shabbily Health care professionals can treat their patients. However, today it was my turn and this truly was a low point for me, so I’ve decided to write a bit of an open letter to the health industry.

Dear Health care professional , First let me state that I know that you are busy, overwhelmed and definitely do not get enough credit for what you do. However, and this is a biggie, you are in what we call public service. This means that you interact with people, lots and lots of people. Those of us in other public service professions have been trained in public service persona. In my profession you are taught to be polite, regardless of how ignorant or ill informed you think the person is. What you do not get to do is treat them like garbage. I've had books thrown at me and kept a smile on my face. If I can do it then so can you. If you feel you cannot keep up a modicum of politeness then please, I beg of you, take up a profession that keeps you out of the public’s way. Try the morgue maybe.< P/>

Please be aware of what is being handed to patients. Sheep that we are many of us actually follow instructions, for instance if the patient’s (my) bloody discharge sheet states to call your clinic if chest pains occur, do not be surprised when we do so. If you don’t want us to call you then please be explicit and state “if chest pains occur call your primary care physician as we don’t give a damn.” .< P/>

This was my experience from this morning : I had chest pains over the weekend and I wished to ignore them but himself was adamant that I call as I had begun coughing in addition to the chest problems. So I read my instructions given to me by a doctor and reviewed with me by a nurse. I phone the orthopedics clinic per written instruction. I get transferred twice and repeat my story. The person says she will send an urgent message along with the words chest pain. So, in my world, chest pain means “attend to as a priority”. Evidently not so at the orthopedics clinic. Four hours later – not a peep. I’m so perverse that I refuse to call back. I want to see response time - 4 and one half hours in case anyone is interested.

Huzzah I finally get a call back…..Dear Health care person please learn to LISTEN. My first words were “Your discharge sheet states call the clinic if you have chest pain.” I could have gotten an actual appointment with my primary care doctor but I am following YOUR instructions. Learn to ask questions. Patients come in many different forms and I happen to be a self-effacer. This means I will minimize my pain and or health problems. Please ask questions beyond what the patient is telling you. We librarians do it every day. News Flash by the way “I am having chest pains” should be a trigger to ask MORE questions. DO NOT, in the snobbiest, bitchiest voice possible tell me that “doctor does not treat ribs”. The implication in those words was loud and clear that I was wasting your precious time. I’m not stupid and I know ankle does not equal rib but remember I am following the instructions given to me. I don’t know what the doctor wants. You can be efficient but kind in stating that the steps I should take are as follows….. Interestingly, and I’m not sure why I got an immediate second phone call from the clinic but that person listened to me through my sobs, asked pertinent questions and then gently suggested that I go to urgent care. She is what everyone should aspire to be

I also have a horrible suspicion that since this is worker’s comp related that maybe I’ve been shoved down to a second tier of care somewhere. I suspect that workers comp insurance doesn’t pay as much back to the docs and there is always the stigma related to workmen’s comp issues. Once again DO NOT judge your clientele. My issue was absolutely related to my job and I wish with all my heart I hadn’t been injured at work. Life would be so much more straightforward. I am aware that there are people who milk workers comp but I am not one of them. I have so much sick leave I could be off for 35, count em, 35 weeks. I throw this figure out to prove I’m not a slacker taking advantage of the system

So to make a very long boring story short I ended up in urgent care and was diagnosed with a blood clot. Urgent care takes words like chest pain seriously and all told I was in for 4 hours (less time than it took the orthopedics clinic to phone) and the people there were all fabulous. I am trying really hard to think of all the fabulous people I’ve met and who do have the public persona down. PAMF urgent care – the BEST! You want to see how kind, efficient professionals work, shadow a PAMF person

on a lighter note, Mark got to say I told you so when I balked at going and he gets to give me, the girl who passes out at the sight of a needle, shots 2x a day for 5 days. WHIMPER

Now what?!

So, yesterday started out so nicely… This was the first evening I was able to sleep though the evening with no opiate pain pill’s assistance. This is a big thing for me as addictive personalities tend to run in my family. So far, chocolate seems to be my main problem but I didn’t want to take any chances so I weaned myself off the Percoset. Hurrah for moi!

Then, as an extra special treat, ooh ah, the spouse took me to the store so I could explain fresh as opposed to frozen veggies to him. – I may not like veggies but I am Velma’s daughter( MS. always eat fresh and , if possible, raw ) It was so nice to have a change of scenery and I got to talk to a slightly odd but nice man in produce while himself wandered the rest of the store. One side note here about the saint. He is the best, most patient nurse ever but a good conversationalist he is not. So not only did I speak with slightly odd man yesterday but also to my friend’s husband on the phone for an hour. I am kinda starved for conversation.

So the one thing I noticed yesterday was that I had a nasty pain in my upper right back, under the shoulder blade. I had assumed that I had slept on my back funny but as the day progressed it started to get sharper and sharper regardless of icing or heating the area. I couldn’t breathe in deeply without sharp shooting pains and I had really, really bad heartburn. Initially Ms hypochondriac thought she might have a blood clot traveling around, but the all knowing net didn’t seem to support this as the pains should be on my left side. So then, I started to think about it. I had just gone off my opiates which were probably masking the rib pain and I was so freaked out by THE FOOT that nothing else registered in those days. I’m now thinking that I probably cracked a rib in my fall based purely on the evidence that strapping up that section of the rib cage seems to have helped. It still hurts like a house on fire but it is more manageable by now.

Himself wants me to go have it X-rayed but , as far as I can tell, they don’t do much other than send you home with ibuprofen or Tylenol. I’m already taking the Tylenol and, to be quite frank, after my experiences in the emergency room I refuse to go back unless I’m unconscious.

On the plus side, the heartburn has been so bad I don’t feel like eating. I’m hoping this will help me not gain more weight than I can help while THE FOOT heals. Generally though not the type of weight loss method I’d recommend. I am also kind of hoping that I don’t have another body part that becomes its own entity. After all who want both THE FOOT and THE RIB to rule their lives?

But you'll get so much reading done...

So, I’ve been getting a lot of “staying home isn’t so bad, you’ll get so much reading done…” . On paper as it were, yes this is absolutely true. I love to read, I always bemoan the fact that I don’t have enough time to do it, I’m a captive audience of one, I’ve been imprisoned in my home library and yet… For the first several days I couldn’t concentrate on anything, I read a whole 15 pages in three days. I was too busy worrying about how big the bill was going to be, who was going to pay etc. I was also busy calling my HR department, the disability insurance folks and so on.

Then, after the initial set of worries, I invented others. Yes my husband will tell you I can worry about anything. However things have calmed down a little bit and now I have started reading. Things are still not exactly paradise. I seem to become so easily distracted. I dunno, it could be due to the fact that THE FOOT, alternates between feeling like I have a hundred very small bees in the cast, to having a red hot vice clamped down on my heel. Sadly THE FOOT seems to prefer watching John Stewart on Hulu. It finds itself more easily distracted by the folly that is American politics. So we’ll see if I can actually finish off my fifteen books by the end of August. So far it isn’t looking good. I got five read before the accident and another r one is almost done but that leaves seven to go in two weeks. I’m thinking of forgiving myself though and resetting the clock once THE FOOT behaves itself again.

On the plus side, Miss Scaredy pants “I’m gonna fall again” made it from her walker, to the wheelchair without killing herself. Motivation – fear that my mother in law would see the vast balls of cat hair rolling through the house. German Hausfrau obviously took over from Miss Scaredy pants just long enough to Swiffer the floors from the wheelchair. Huzzah!

Stay tuned – Can German Hausfrau keep it up, will Miss Scaredy pants be vanquished? whoops THE FOOT also just reminded me that it can do sharp dagger needles of pain too!

It really is all about the cat

Obviously this was brought home with Me, the cat, in mind. ALmost as good as that snazzy white perch at the end of my mom's leg

My broken ankle - what I took for granted

Before I write anything else I want to send out my deepest and most profound apologies to my mother. I used to become impatient with her after her surgery when she’d tell me how difficult it was to reach the restroom. After all, she had her walker, she was good at using it, so what was the problem. Mom, I now know what you are talking about and I’m so sorry I was so short with you.

My instructions are to have no weight bearing weight on my left leg for 8 weeks. I have interpreted this as thy leg shall not touch the floor, ever. So the first thing I used to take for granted was a quick in and out in ye old powder room. Anyone else who has had major surgery will understand this. No one else on the net has mentioned this but…

For the first three days of my break I was on crutches. I have a somewhat low toilet seat. It was literally impossibly for me to lower down and control the crutches at the same time so my husband and I came up with a cirque d’ absurd routine to compensate. I’d hobble halfway into the bathroom, he’d follow behind to make sure I didn’t fall; he’d then grab a kitchen chair and contort around me and the crutches to place the chair next to the toilet. He’d grab the back of the chair and I’d then ease on down and over. We then had the “dignity clause” wherein he would leave, I’d do my thing and then have him come back, hold the chair again and I’d ease back on over. I’d then get back up on the crutches and lurch back over to the bed. I told him there’d be no way for him to go back to work if I had to stay on those crutches

Thank heavens, I now have a walker and it is so much easier to get over and back on my own. I do have to use the towel rack to steady myself so I send a little prayer to the local bathroom appliance deity that the brackets will hold on pretty much a daily basis. I’ve also allowed my foot to touch the floor as I slide down which makes things easier.

I also miss actually being able to carry things. Hands must be on the walker at all times so I cannot do something as simple as grab a glass of water. No big deal until you realize you really need it, like I did last night. My leg really started to throb at about 1:30 a.m. I fumble around get the right pain med and then realize I don’t have a glass – no way am I going to wake up Mark, who is utterly exhausted and who is in another room. But hark; do I hear the therapy cat hacking up a hairball next to the spouse? I do. Mark has been attuned into instant wakefulness for years to the sound of hairballs so up he gets. Huzzah, I then legitimately feel I can yell for some water. Had it not been for therapy cat though I would have been in trouble.

And finally, I miss being able to put on garments with no problem. I’ve been wearing oversized t-shirts and granny panties for ease of on and off. Yesterday Mark took me out into the backyard in the chair and I realized I really should either have what they used to call a bed rug on or contorted into a pair of pants. Fortune smiled though and the neighbors were not at home to see my lower extremities.

So you broke your ankle, what's that like?

So, ta da, I broke my ankle. News flash kids, Do not try this - it is not fun. For those of you who don’t already know the story, I and a co-worker were taking some “accompanying materials” to a Spanish textbook “accion” over to her new supervisor. (Note the irony in accion =action) There were eight books in total, just enough for them to be too heavy for her to carry on her own, so we each took 4, a very manageable load. I volunteered to help her carry them from my library over to her supervisor’s desk. We started down the stairs and I was conversing with her about a recent gift we had received when my foot slipped out from under me. I don’t think I fell more than four steps but evidently it was enough. I heard a snap and knew I’d broken something. (A side note here, everyone kept saying that maybe it was just a sprain but, trust me on this, you know when something is broken) I told my poor co-worker to go get my boss while I propped myself up on the landing. A very nice gal came and called 911 as did a co-worker. Many nice firemen and EMTs then came and took me over to the hospital. After three sets of x-rays and two reductions of my ankle I was sent home from the ER and was told I’d have surgery.

An ankle reduction BTW sounds so harmless but it is where they splint your ankle, which involves plaster of paris and lots of squeezing of the ankle (lots of squeezing and being told to relax while they seemingly smash the bones back together. Dude this hurts , you relax).

Initially the ER doc seemed surprised that I didn’t want any painkillers but honestly, initially the ankle didn’t hurt. Come time for the second reduction though, The orthopedist asked if he could put lidocaine in my ankle and I said yes please. Now for anyone, and I mean anyone to get near me with a needle and ask to insert aforesaid needle, normally the answer would be a polite but firm no thank you. That I said yes was an indicator that yes, the pain or fear thereof had ratcheted up just a notch.

So the waiting commenced, I was told I’d be on the waitlist for surgery for Thursday so, in the meanwhile, I started calling my HR department ,OHC, the workers comp insurance folks etc. Workers comp assured me I was authorized to have the surgery. I also phoned the surgeons office to let them know this.

On Thursday we wait, and wait, and wait, until I am almost in despair but are told to finally come in. Now getting out of Mark’s truck when we came home from emergency and getting back into the truck to go to the hospital is quite some feat. They gave me crutches at the emergency room but I didn’t feel comfortable using them on the stairs so, and to this day I don’t know how I did this, I managed to get out of Mark’s truck and unto my butt and then slithered into the front door. I got on a rug and Mark dragged me to the bathroom. I then sat on the tub and was able to use the crutches from there.

In reverse, to go back to the hospital I then had to slither on my butt down concrete which must have had a temp of 90 degrees., have Mark set up a chair, haul me into the chair and then from there I was able to get into the truck. If I have one piece of advice for anyone, please make sure your transport is a sedan and not a truck.

Another side note – DO NOT give crutches to someone with a broken ankle and who may/may not be on drugs. They are not stable, you have tons of weight you are trying to hold up on one by trying to keep the one leg from touching the floor and balancing on another leg which gets fatigued pretty darn quick. Their primary use, as far as I can determine, is holding them in front of you while you are in a wheelchair and using them as a battering ram to keep people away from your foot. Trust me a foot in a cast is the equivalent of a light and a moth. People will veer toward your foot.

Finally got into surgery and, thank goodness, it is a success. I get an overnight stay and then home on Friday – Night nurses, bless them, are the most fabulous creatures ever. I loved my nurse and want to adopt her.

Now comes the reality of living with a broken ankle and reality seems to equal fear.

I’m afraid I’m somehow going to get stuck with a huge hospital bill even though it is should be covered. Due to some statements made at admissions I’m really, really scared about this.

I’m afraid I’m going to fall and rebreak the ankle and have to do all this all over again. It’s not the pain I fear so much as it is the inconvenience

The odd thing about a broken ankle is, while there is a lot of discomfort and some pain, it is not the worst pain I’ve ever felt. When I stabbed myself in the butt with my sewing scissors, that was pain! It is almost impossible to do anything on one leg though, when the other leg has what feels like a 30lb cast on it (Mark tells me it is more like 10/15 lbs) It is such a drag not being able to casually walk from one room of the house to another.

I’m afraid my primary caregiver, Saint Mark, is going to snap, and run away from home.

I’m afraid of how helpless I really am. I can barely manage using the facilities without help. I cannot open cupboards or the fridge, my window, or turn on/off my lights as hands must be on the walker at all times.

I’m afraid I’m going to yell at my very elderly cat who thinks she is helping me by sleeping on my bladder all the time.

I’m afraid that the one perceived upside, i.e. I will get lots of appliqué and reading done, will turn out no to be true and I’ll be more behind than ever on my projects.

I’m afraid of stupid things, like the fact that, I’d finally gotten pigeon pose down and was this close to being able to do hero pose. Actually, I’m more pissed about this. I get my exercise routine down, baby, only to have to start from ground zero, come on!

I’m afraid that I might not be able to age well in my current home, after discovering that hallways are not really suitable for either the walker or wheelchair. There are also too many steps in my house though Mark has already built ramps all over the place. I’m afraid of something called a highrise toilet, which my friend Nancy assures me I’ll love but I don’t know, does it have a penthouse at the top?

Since I’m quite the captive audience I’ll post more on the trials and tribulations of living with a broken bone. Stay tuned.

Married with zombies

Married with zombies - by Jesse Petersen Let me just say this rates a definite 4 severed heads Sarah and David are having marital problems – Sarah is the breadwinner in the family while David is an unemployed schlub who stays home and plays video games all day. After five years of marriage they are almost through with one another but have been seeing a marriage counselor as a last ditch effort. You can tell how bad the marriage has gotten as they bicker over the music selections in the CD changer on their way to see their marriage counselor. They are so busy fighting with one another it takes them awhile to notice that traffic in Seattle is suspiciously light. Their garage attendant is absent from his post as is the receptionist for their counselor. We, as the reader, knows something’s up but Sarah and David are so absorbed in their grievances they have no idea of what they are about to walk into. They barge in on their counselor chowing down on the perfect couple who normally has the appointment before them. It’s only after the counselor turns on Sarah and she and David then have to fight her off that they begin to have an inkling that something is, indeed horribly wrong. David, who Sarah has felt has been pretty useless, is the first to cotton on to the fact that people are turning into zombies. The bulk of the story then revolves around their trying to leave Seattle to get to David’s sister. Along the way they meet some characters who are even scarier than the zombies. The story breaks no new real ground in terms of zombie lore partially due to the fact that Sarah and David utilize all their zombie knowledge from the books/movies/video games they’ve consumed. Rather it is a fun snarky read told from Sarah’s point of view and some of her observations are priceless, I defy you to not laugh at the vision of zombies still pulling handles on the slot machines. Since the two main characters ring true it’s entertaining to sit in their backseat as it were and watch they learn to not only fight zombies effectively but also learn how to get along. Learning to work as a team killing zombies is so much more effective than those trust exercises counselors are always trying to use. Anyone who has ever blown a gasket over finding the toilet seat up or the toothpaste cap off can relate to these two. A hoot – recommended even for you non zombie lovers as long as you don’t mind what my grandmother used to call salty language.

Furry fisherman

The terror, aka Marguerite, has learned to fish. I had recently left the silverware drawer open and this is also where we keep rubber bands which Marguerite loves. She proceeded to fish around in the drawer with her paw into she was able to scoop one up. Sadly she would not permit her picture to be taken at that time so we did a "staged" picture with her toy. Then this evening I had set the laundry basket down on the footstool in preparation for folding.. There was a small piece of paper under the basket and just enough space for a little paw to shoot under and, once again, fish for it. The curmudgeon has accused her of stealing one of her tricks being as it is that paper play is her baliwick.

Weeding the shelves July 23rd

I've accomplished removing four books from my pile. I cheated a bit by returning two books unread but the goal is to diminish the pile so I figure it counts. One of the books has been around quite awhile in the pile and I wish I had picked it up sooner. A dead man out of mind/Kate Charles explores a series of deaths in a "high catholic" Church of England church. Suspects abound and the reasons why the suspects might commit murder are valid and keep the reader guessing. I enjoyed entering the world of the Church of England as well as meeting our sleuths Lucy Kingsley and David Middletown-Brown. Since the book is older and, as an American, I tend to think of the C of E as very similar to the Episcopal church so some of the issues seemed a little dated to me including the opposition to women priests; a subplot of a man who is probably hiding his homosexuality by being married to a woman; and a 14 yr old who is disturbed by her aunt living with a man. I also felt that I would have understood the characters of Lucy and David better if I had started at the beginning of the series. David had had an affair with someone in the church and I was unsure as to why he stopped seeing this man and started seeing Lucy. This kept pulling me out of the current story. Overall the I did enjoy the mystery and when I can resume hitting the library stacks I intend to check out some of the other titles in the series.

The Crime Writer - a review

As promised my first review of my read or weed em pile The opening scene of The Crime Writer by Greg Hurwitz opens with a bang. Drew Danner wakes up in a hospital bed to “a haze of face, too close for casual”. Two policemen are waiting for him to become conscious. Turns out these officers think he killed his ex-girlfriend as they found his unconscious body slumped over hers. There is only one problem, Danner had a tumor which caused him to black out so he has no memory of whether he really killed his ex or not. He is convicted of her murder but is released due to insanity of the time of the murder (that pesky tumor). He returns home only to find odd things happening - the first night he is home he awakens to find his patio sliding glass door open and bloody footprints which turn out to be his as he has cut his toe, or so he assumes, with the same type of knife used to kill his girlfriend. Since he is not sure whether he is sane or not he decides to look into the murder as if he were writing one of his own thrillers. He doesn't get very far along before another woman is found murdered in a manner very similar to the first murder and he is again arrested. However, due to his previous nocturnal activities he had filmed himself sleeping and the police must release him from custody.Drew determines to investigate this new murder as well. What I liked about this book is that Drew does think he might have killed his ex girlfriend and is terrified by this knowledge. I also liked the conceit of "writing" his own murder mystery and got a kick out of the pages marked up by his editor. His descriptions of Los Angeles and the types of people who live there are also fabulous. Here is just one example as Drew is waiting to see an actor friend in a club “they gain position in the scrum by working in concert, like raptors, with the friends they’ll only be too eager to drop once they book their first pilot.” Drew has a lot of people help him in his investigation, including his editor, a cop and forensic specialist, his AA sponsor and a young Latino kid. The AA sponsor, who is African American and the Latino kid sometimes veer awfully close into stereotype sidekick territory and I would have liked to see their characters fleshed out more. I was willing to overlook this problem though and just go along for the ride as Drew tries to solve his own mystery. Recommended with the caveat that this is more of a mystery than a thriller.

Weeding the shelves

As with most people in the book profession I tend to accumulate books. Some I collect with a view towards permanence, for example, I have a small collection of children’s books, first editions, quilting books etc. and these types of books I’ll never part with. I also have a large number of books for casual reading – which have made unmanageable by pursuing other people’s reading blogs. Quite a few blogs have a mailbox Monday, waiting on Wednesday day type of feature wherein they are looking forward to new books and thus adding to my reading piles. However, I’ve come to the realization that I have more books than I'll ever get to and I really need to weed some of my books so I’ve set myself a challenge. So I’m going to do a similar type of thing but call it weeding the shelves. Hopefully once a week I’ll report on what I’ve cleared from my shelves and perhaps even write a book review or two. My initial goal is to work with the 35 books that have wandered into my living room. I’ve decided that I must read 15 of them by the end of Sept. If I haven’t read 15 then I must get rid of an equivalent number to make it 15. I must read the remainder of the books by the end of December or get rid of the rest of the pile. Then it is onwards and upwards – I’ll continue winnowing by setting deadlines and to help with the reading part I’m not going to the public library. So far I’ve finished one so I better pick up the pace!

Peace at last?

Detente has been reached! Tilly and Marguerite have reached an agreement. If a common enemy approaches the back door such as the baby possum that visits nightly they will ignore one another and sit side by side, ever vigilant that a new enemy is not allowed in. Tilly has also decided not to expend too much energy in hissing unless the terror ventures really, really close now. The spouse even tells me that there has been an occasional touching of noses, this I’ll believe when I see it. I believe that peace will continue to reign as long as tiny one is not allowed into the main bedroom. Should she come between Tilly and her beloved at night – well then all bets are off.

Stealth moves

The little one has pulled out the best weapon in her arsenal in her attempts to ingratiate herself to the human half of the curmudgeon duo – uber cute play moves. Last night she took her feather toy, carried it over to Mark’s shoe, stuffed it in and then proceeded to insert half her body into said shoe to recapture her prey. Pretty good move! Though Tilly remains impervious

Love is ever hopeful

Poor Sammy – he persists in continuing his love call to the lovely, but now spayed, Marguerite. He sits at the back door night after night only to be rudely rebuffed. He calls to her she repays him by rushing the door and swatting him through the screen. I ask you though, who could resist this face?

The curmudgeon and the terror

Anyone who knows us well knows that somehow stray cats know to come to our house for rescue. We currently have two rather moth eaten toms who make their home in our backyard. Then in early May we noticed a youngish looking longhaired calico who occasionally flitted in and out of yard to eat some of the boys food. We just assumed that she belonged to someone as we had other moochers come by and partake of the dry food we left out for the boys. However, we began to notice she seemed to be ravenous all the time and came to the conclusion that she did not belong to anyone. In early May we decided we needed to do something about her. She had already had one litter of kittens and was showing clear signs of being in heat again. We were able to snatch her and have her spayed. During her recuperative phase she remained indoors but my intention was to turn her into an indoor/outdoor cat as we have a very old (22yrs) cat already indoors and I knew she would not appreciate a new cat being in the house My husband had other plans and so Marguerite has remained indoors with us. Tilly, the other cat is not amused by the newbie. Tilly can sulk rather effectively around the house and rather ungraciously growls at the new cat and generally goes out of her way to show just how displeased she is. Being set in her ways she would just as soon that this new, loud animal of elephantine habits would disappear. Marguerite, not to be outdone in the surly department, has the lovely little habit of lunging at one both front paws fully extended in a sort of an Mountain lionfish type of lunge. Her claws are fully extended and she does not attack with a light paw. Little wonder then that Tilly is so curmudgeonish around Marguerite. Tilly mainly growls at the newb and then vacates her immediate vicinity as she does not want to play the role of hapless victim. Last night though Tilly finally got her own back. She, my husband and I were all lying on the bed reading while the terror aka Marguerite was providing her own entertainment on the floor, darting in and out beneath the dresser, rooting around in the baskets I have set out for books and magazines and just generally having a good time. Tilly, in a very stately way slowly made her way down the cat stairs next to our bed. We had thought she was perhaps going to go get a drink of water or perhaps snack on a few kibbles. This, however, was not her plan. She waited until the little one was halfway beneath the dresser chasing yet another dust bunny when WHAM, Tilly plants a paw right across the backside of poor Marguerite. Marguerite somehow does a flip out from underneath the dresser with a most shocked expression on her face. Tilly, being a wise one immediately fled the scene.