Happy Jig

It's a milestone in recovery when your foot doesn't hurt anymore. I didn't think it would take a MONTH to hit that milestone. But alas, no more pain. Generally now, I just dream about rotating my ankle and stretching my leg.

The other night, I dreamt that I had returned from a long run and had to stretch afterward - which is definitely a dream given my lackadaisical attitude toward stretching after spending that much time running. And apparently the clarity of my dream alerted my body to respond and I stretched in my sleep and caused a cramp in my calf underneath my cast. Poor Hubs was jerked out of sleep with my screech and his reaction was, "What did I do?" Poor guy must worry about hitting my foot in his sleep. There was nothing I (or he) could do to get rid of the cramp except writhe in pain and hope it went away. It did and I decided that my bad attitude about stretching is probably better for me in my sleep.

Exactly once ...

As I've made abundantly clear, I'm on crutches. And I can't do much. I can't even drive. I've become accustomed to asking for and accepting help which isn't an easy thing for my independant, self-reliant, stubborn self.

With all the help in the world, though, I still can't work out much. But I've tried ... exactly once. I think it could have been a very funny submission to Funniest Home Videos had someone been lucky enough to catch it on film: one-legged squats, push-ups hanging from the bed, leg lifts with an elastic band attached to my cast, and running-like motions suspended on my crutches positioned perfectly to fall on the bed should I lose my balance. I made sure to attempt this feat of balance when Hubs was out of town so not to subject myself to ridicule or filming. Even though it wasn't the type of workout I would do if I were back on my feet again, I think mostly it made me feel like I was doing something to get myself a little closer to normal ... baby steps. No pun intended.

Torn ...

I've been counting down until the 2008 election when our country has the chance to redeem itself and get rid of the EM EFFER in office. As of now, it's 253 days, 6078 hours - it's so exciting that I even know the minutes from now - 364679. And it's no secret that I dream of revisiting that day when we can elect a Pres with a D after his/her name. If there's a God ... I won't go there - no need to mix politics and religion - that's another story.

I'm torn internally about whether I want to see the names Hillary or Barack before the D on my election ballot in November. And I guess it's a good thing that I'm torn and wouldn't object to either one of them leading my country. But I generally have strong opinions about who to follow and what they should or should not be doing. And I don't have strong opinions either way. I am not happy with the recent reports of Barack getting sloppy with his campaign flyers - let's not stoop to levels generally reserved for the Repugs. But I also get excited about the "change" that Barack promises and that I don't feel with Hillary. Although, truth be known, a change in the health system is enough to make me excited about Hillary. For now, at the end of the day for me, I keep going back to what I've heard about the environment and reproductive choice in her policies from Hillary and what I haven't even heard mention from Barack. But apparently, the campaign is still open and we may not know what D we'll support for a week or two.

If you have any information that will help sway me one way or another (but don't even try to convince me that the Repugs will do anything but disappoint and anger me), let me know. Until then, I'll continue searching for that information ...

Just a phase ...

Hubs and I have had some ups and downs during this recovery period. He is the sole person upon whom I rely for most of the things I can't do because I'm on crutches and can't put weight on my foot. What that means is that I can't do things like laundry, cook dinner, do dishes and take the dogs for walks. For the most part, I try to pitch in where I can but the reality is that I can only stand around on one foot for a short amount of time before I end up unbalanced and on the verge of teetering over. I've obviously gotten better at this as my recovery has progressed.

Because I rely on Hubs for most of these things, he gets a little frustrated and can't help but let me know. Which means that I consistently feel like a burden - not a good feeling when I'm already feeling down because I can't go outside and I can't work out. I mostly understand where he's coming from and forgive him before he apologizes, but it's a little wearisome.

In a breakthrough moment when we finally came to some accord on the situation, Hubs grabbed a Sharpie and signed my cast with the messsage in the picture here. It warmed my heart and made me realize that I can endure this phase for just another 2.5 weeks and I'll be back on my feet again and we'll have a happy household again.

Happy Birthday Papa

Today is my Papa's 59th birthday. He doesn't act a day over 30. Happy 30th Birthday Papa. I love you.

Miss You Already ...

Hubs needed a vacation in a bad way. So last week he flew out and went to the east to "hang with his boys." And since I'm not yet totally self-sufficient, Mama took pity on me and flew out to "hang with her girl."

It was a really nice weekend. We had a very busy schedule of movies, crosswords puzzles, eating and hanging out. We got out of the house exactly once when KM, MC, and AM took pity on us and picked us up for lunch. Unsurprisingly, Mama washed my clothes, took my dogs for regular walks and vacuumed my floors - all things that are either impossible or difficult on crutches.

When I profusely thanked Mama for coming to take care of me, her response was, "You're welcome. You'd do it for me." You're right, Mama, I would and I will. Thank you.

Just What You Want To Hear!

Through all of the ups and downs of pain, depression, wobbling on crutches, and frustrations of recovery, the thing that has moved me to write today is the first normal bowel movement since surgery. I never before knew the trials and tribulations of the uninvited, unwanted and totally abhorred Constance. I asked Mama Doc whether she'd ever remembered me having problems when young and she confirmed that I'd been perfectly "normal" in this regard for my entire life ... until January 25.

Today, I went through all the normal stages of a bowel movement - that feeling of movement, some gaseous production, wobbling to the bathroom (remember the crutches), and I sat down and did my business within minutes, maybe even SECONDS.

Thank goodness I'm back to normal ... relatively speaking, of course.

Warning: Spoiler

A week ago, I was without cable television. In fact, I was without a television that got anything but white noise and played movies with DVD for the past 10 years. The television hasn't been switched to TV mode from the DVD mode at least since I moved to this place 2.5 years ago as we don't even get the 3 or 4 channels with rabbit ears. When someone asked whether I'd seen this or that commercial, I never had. And when people get into conversations about this sitcom or that; this series or that, I would stare blankly and blink a few times. I usually then took the opportunity to express my pride at having chosen books, crossword puzzles and the internet over television; a far inferior choice, no doubt.

As of a week ago, we got cable and have over 160 channels. I'm officially addicted to HGTV. I fully blame it on having been sentenced to a week in the house on my couch recuperating from foot surgery. But there is nothing I can do but admit my addiction and move on from there. I love Divine Design, House Hunters, Design To Sell and anything else that happens to grace the schedule on HGTV. And I really do love TLC when they show things like What Not To Wear and yes, I've even watched Love That Dress where a bride goes to the most expensive bridal shop in the world and gets to pick whatever she wants as money is no object. And then I've discovered the National Geographic Channel and its Dog Whisperer show where I get tips on how to train my dog even though I likely won't do any of it esp. in my seemingly permanent horizontal position.

And then today, I watched a whole marathon of The Biggest Loser; UK. I was disgusted with myself but couldn't tear myself away. In fact, Hubs happened down the stairs and expressed his horror at my choice of shows and soon thereafter, was totally enthralled and we cheered against each other for who to win - I wanted Mark to win, he wanted Martin.

After my conversation with Sis JDoc last night wherein I mentioned my three hour stint of What Not to Wear (and we appropriately named it the What Not To Wearathon), I felt the need to confess today's stint of The Biggest Loser. She chuckled mostly to herself and then said, "Becky, I don't want to spoil the ending for you, but I think we already know who the biggest loser is here."

Actually, JDoc, no worries about spoiling: Aaron was the biggest loser.