I know it's been a long time since I posted last. Let me tell you that it was never my intention to leave the pitiful "I'm depressed about turning 35" post as long as I have. I have learned since that post that turning 35 is DEFINITELY not the worst thing in the world. It isn't even the worst thing that's happened this month.
This is:
The sad thing is, I don't even have a good story to tell. I was walking down the stairs from my apartment on my way to work when my ankle twisted on the last stair and I went down hard twisting both ankles and falling hard on both feet. I was in so much pain that I lay there thinking "I can't get up. I'm going to die here. Annnnnd I'm wearing a skirt. That's not pretty."
I soon realized that I live alone and no one was going to come to save me except possibly Jesus from the landscape crew, but he doesn't come to my complex until about 10 am. I needed to get up, but hurt so badly that I didn't know how I would even begin. I dragged over to the handrail of my stairs on my behind and then pulled myself up. It was so painful I thought I was going to black out, but I was sure it was just a really bad twist/sprain and I went to work.
I'm sure I was in shock; that's the only way I can explain the fact that I drove to school with a clutch and got to my second floor classroom on a broken left foot and sprained right one.
It wasn't until I got to my classroom that I looked down and saw that my foot was swelling at an alarming rate. I called my dad and told him about it as if he could tell me what to do without seeing it, but I pretty much knew from the location of the swelling that I'd done more than just sprain my ankle.
Once I got a sub I left, walking on my broken foot again, and drove my car to my brother David's, crying every time I had to push in the clutch.
Bless my brother David's heart he took me to urgent care, went to work while I got my diagnosis, and then picked me up afterwards. I honestly don't know what I would have done without him. (Love you David!!)
As I sat in a wheelchair in the Urgent Care entryway waiting for David, clutching my crutches and x-rays I realized that I couldn't
1. drive my car,
2. get into my apartment,
3. take care of my dog, or
4. do my job,
and I started to cry. I called my mom and dad and told them my pitiful condition and my mom got in the car and drove down to Las Vegas to pick me up(She'd been waiting to do so since I called my dad from my classroom). My dad got on the phone and called his orthopedic surgeon's office, found out they accepted my insurance and made me an appointment. They did all of this without complaint and I didn't have to ask for any of it. It made me appreciate, all over again how blessed I am to have such incredible parents.
So, I've had surgery and now my foot looks like this:
I know, I know. The improvement is startling. Actually, although I'm still in a splint, this one is MUCH better and I know that I'm on my way to healed. Also, I was lucky to have a talented and respected orthopedic surgeon fix my foot, and almost as important, an incredibly handsome and talented anesthesiologist who gave me a nerve block that lasted two days and got me through the worst of the pain.
I had my surgery Tuesday, but was originally scheduled for Friday. They called me at 11 am Tuesday when they had a cancellation and I'd already eaten breakfast. I was told not to eat anything else, and to be at the hospital at 3. When my mom and I got there I had to repeat about 5,000,001 times exactly what I ate and when. I was overjoyed that I hadn't snacked wildly that morning. Even though I'd only eaten a bowl of cereal and 2 pieces of toast I felt ashamed. I know they needed to know what I ate, but was it necessary to ask the chubby girl to repeat it so many times? I was waiting for them to bring out the spot light from NYPD Blue and have Sipowitz question me until I cracked and admitted to eating the bag of Cadbury Mini-Eggs my sister Christy had sent me just to get out of the room. However, finally, after all of the questioning it was decided that I'd get a nerve block in the back of my knee and be sedated, not anestetized. Bless the beautiful beautiful anesthesiologist (I would have loved him even if he wasn't cute, but he was. That made it fun to talk to him while wearing a hospital gown, unshowered, with no make-up) I remember nothing between being moved to the surgery table and waking up post-surgery.
Since the surgery I've had minimal pain, all things considered, and although I'm suffering through major cabin fever and am stressed out about missing 4-6 weeks of work, I'm just fine.
I've also learned:
1. Lortab binds you up.
2. Modesty is a luxury.
3. Showering with one leg hanging out of the door is not as effective as you'd think.
4. *Grading research papers while on narcotics is not easy, but it is QUICK!!
5. You can get tired of wearing jammies.
6. When you shop at Wal-Mart in a wheelchair everyone(including the polygamist women who everyone else is staring at) stares at you.
7. Day time TV is horrible.
8. America's Top Model is on nearly 24 hours a day when you have DirectTV.
9. Toilets are REALLY low to the ground
10. I naturally lead with my left foot, or did until February 25, 2009 at 6:30 am.
so there you go.
*Disclaimer: I didn't really grade papers under the influence of Lortab, but some of them were so bad that I kinda wish I had.
