Feb 27: And then the fall--literally
So, back to last Sunday: I'm home. I'm in a great mood. I'm starting to think about changing my outlook from being chronically sick to stable. I'm so excited. Lots to do: pick up my mess around my house/apartment (depends on how you look at it--it's only about 1,000 sq ft), light cleaning, grocery shopping, trying to get to the movie theater for one of the Oscar-nominated movies.... And in the morning, carrying some books down to the basement, I misplaced my left foot just slightly on the 2nd or 3 step from the bottom and fell.
I was distracted, thinking about all the things to be done and deciding what to prioritize to do before getting too tired, and just as my weight was coming down on that foot I knew something was wrong. But you know how you get to a certain point in a physical movement and while your brain might register that something isn't right your body can't pull back in time? I've sprained my left ankle probably a dozen times over my life, the last time July 2004. I am sure that the use of crutches then was what pushed my heart over the line and into heart failure because I became severe in August 2004. So, the ankle is weak and doesn't take much to re-injure. I went down, hit my left knee, left hand on the way down, landed partially on the ankle and partially on my butt (which can take more trauma then the ankle!). Kept telling myself to breathe, remain calm, mentally inventoried everything, reviewed the incident to be sure I hadn't had a run of that V Tach and briefly passed out, decided it was just a slip of the foot. Figured it was still better to get up on my main floor, so slowly moved up the stairs on my butt. Dragged myself to the couch and just rested for a while. Eventually struggled back downstairs to get a quad-cane my mom had left. Hunkered down for the day.
Did a great Quasimodo up to the garage Monday morning where I also got my crutches. Discovered that the crutches were great for the ankle, but really bad for the chest with the non-healed sternum. Went to work, then to the podiatrist who saw me before. The ankle joint was swollen to the size of a baseball and looked really bad. He was impressed. Are you surprised? Do I ever do these things by halves? No, of course not.
Once the x-fays ruled out it being broken, he introduced me to the concept of a 'bone blister'. This is apparently something that happens with those on coumadin: the tiny blood vessels inside the bone start oozing and form a blister on the inside of the bone, which then expands and damages more bone. Consider the damage this summer to my right hand when I banged the knuckle on a cabinet and it bled into the tendon sheath--it's still slightly abnormal, and this was a lot worse. And with the amount of swelling and bleeding into the joint it will affect the healing of any muscle/ligament/tendons that are damaged. He even broached the dreaded "S" word (surgery, in case you didn't get that), which is just a massive big deal when you are on coumadin. I don't even want to go into that description now.
Honestly, I barely made it home before I lost it. I'm just so tired of coping. I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of looking on the bright side, finding the silver lining. I'm tired of one damn thing after another. I'm tired of being sick. I mean really--12 hours after getting back from Boston?!?!? 12 hours of feeling more positive?!?!? Apparently that was 12 hours too many.
The next 24 hours were really rough psychologically and spiritually. I even briefly questioned the existence of God, and I've really never done that. It wasn't a good feeling. And, regardless of my anger at the situation, it didn't last. This is not punishment. I'm not doing anything wrong. God does not have it in for me. There is not a battle for my soul going on between God and the Devil. Although I haven't ruled out being the butt of a colossal karmic joke--that's still a possibility.
After my existential crisis I returned to my usual pragmatic self. And coped. With help. I sent 'Uncle' Bidge to a couple stores and eventually settled on an office chair with wheels, then he rolled up the rugs, which allowed me to get around the one floor using a cane and the right leg. It worked rather well except for the do-hickeys in-between rooms. Those require a delicate dance of standing with the assistance of the cane, hopping over the little ledge and balancing against a wall, then pulling the chair over and plopping into it without letting it roll away too far. It can be a little tricky. Bidge also did my grocery shopping. Then my loyal friends Kim and Rick came over Tuesday night and helped me out more, did the basement steps several more times, got as much stuff as possible off the floor, helped me get showered (well, Kim did!).
Wednesday I went to work and in the afternoon I was fitted with this weird "air cast". It fastens on with a lot of velcro straps, weighs about 7-8 pounds and can be personalized with inflating/deflating these air bladders in the sides, also allowing me to walk with one crutch, relieving the pressure on my chest. And, for some reason I'm not entirely sure of, the swelling went down dramatically.
Thursday I called a nice woman at the Valley Forge Christian College (VFCC) who someone told me about. She sent out an e-mail requesting help, and within hours there were phone calls from at least six students offering to help me for the reasonable price of $13/hour. One came over last night and got me supplies from the basement, kitty litter from the garage, took out the garbage, stayed while I showered, did the dishes, etc. Another one is coming over tomorrow to do some cleaning and errands. I SO wish I'd known about this place after the last surgery.
The girls in my office have been just great--carrying things, getting my coffee, holding doors for me, scolding me for moving too much. And lots of people have called and checked on me, e-mailed offers of assistance and cooking.
I am not being punished. I am not being taught a lesson. Sometimes bad things just happen to one person. Over and over. And over. Sigh.
So, I go back to the doctor Monday night, but it sounds like the bleeding into the bone won't be ruled out for another few weeks. And I leave for the England/Italy trip five weeks from tonight. Next week is really busy: extra days at work balanced out by shorter days but several hours of lecturing at PCOM's P.A. Program. As always, it could be much worse. But Lord, this has gotten really old.
And just to put the icing on the cake, my 2 1/2 yr old cell phone totally bit the dust. I'm sure the new one is going to be wonderful as soon as I figure out how to use it. I'm on call now and this weekend, so it was a necessity. All things considered I'm really not feeling like expanding my limited grasp of technology right now.
So, it's time for me to go to bed. Added to the list of things to do this weekend is to re-read "When Bad Things Happen to Good People", just for the reassurance. Laurie
I was distracted, thinking about all the things to be done and deciding what to prioritize to do before getting too tired, and just as my weight was coming down on that foot I knew something was wrong. But you know how you get to a certain point in a physical movement and while your brain might register that something isn't right your body can't pull back in time? I've sprained my left ankle probably a dozen times over my life, the last time July 2004. I am sure that the use of crutches then was what pushed my heart over the line and into heart failure because I became severe in August 2004. So, the ankle is weak and doesn't take much to re-injure. I went down, hit my left knee, left hand on the way down, landed partially on the ankle and partially on my butt (which can take more trauma then the ankle!). Kept telling myself to breathe, remain calm, mentally inventoried everything, reviewed the incident to be sure I hadn't had a run of that V Tach and briefly passed out, decided it was just a slip of the foot. Figured it was still better to get up on my main floor, so slowly moved up the stairs on my butt. Dragged myself to the couch and just rested for a while. Eventually struggled back downstairs to get a quad-cane my mom had left. Hunkered down for the day.
Did a great Quasimodo up to the garage Monday morning where I also got my crutches. Discovered that the crutches were great for the ankle, but really bad for the chest with the non-healed sternum. Went to work, then to the podiatrist who saw me before. The ankle joint was swollen to the size of a baseball and looked really bad. He was impressed. Are you surprised? Do I ever do these things by halves? No, of course not.
Once the x-fays ruled out it being broken, he introduced me to the concept of a 'bone blister'. This is apparently something that happens with those on coumadin: the tiny blood vessels inside the bone start oozing and form a blister on the inside of the bone, which then expands and damages more bone. Consider the damage this summer to my right hand when I banged the knuckle on a cabinet and it bled into the tendon sheath--it's still slightly abnormal, and this was a lot worse. And with the amount of swelling and bleeding into the joint it will affect the healing of any muscle/ligament/tendons that are damaged. He even broached the dreaded "S" word (surgery, in case you didn't get that), which is just a massive big deal when you are on coumadin. I don't even want to go into that description now.
Honestly, I barely made it home before I lost it. I'm just so tired of coping. I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of looking on the bright side, finding the silver lining. I'm tired of one damn thing after another. I'm tired of being sick. I mean really--12 hours after getting back from Boston?!?!? 12 hours of feeling more positive?!?!? Apparently that was 12 hours too many.
The next 24 hours were really rough psychologically and spiritually. I even briefly questioned the existence of God, and I've really never done that. It wasn't a good feeling. And, regardless of my anger at the situation, it didn't last. This is not punishment. I'm not doing anything wrong. God does not have it in for me. There is not a battle for my soul going on between God and the Devil. Although I haven't ruled out being the butt of a colossal karmic joke--that's still a possibility.
After my existential crisis I returned to my usual pragmatic self. And coped. With help. I sent 'Uncle' Bidge to a couple stores and eventually settled on an office chair with wheels, then he rolled up the rugs, which allowed me to get around the one floor using a cane and the right leg. It worked rather well except for the do-hickeys in-between rooms. Those require a delicate dance of standing with the assistance of the cane, hopping over the little ledge and balancing against a wall, then pulling the chair over and plopping into it without letting it roll away too far. It can be a little tricky. Bidge also did my grocery shopping. Then my loyal friends Kim and Rick came over Tuesday night and helped me out more, did the basement steps several more times, got as much stuff as possible off the floor, helped me get showered (well, Kim did!).
Wednesday I went to work and in the afternoon I was fitted with this weird "air cast". It fastens on with a lot of velcro straps, weighs about 7-8 pounds and can be personalized with inflating/deflating these air bladders in the sides, also allowing me to walk with one crutch, relieving the pressure on my chest. And, for some reason I'm not entirely sure of, the swelling went down dramatically.
Thursday I called a nice woman at the Valley Forge Christian College (VFCC) who someone told me about. She sent out an e-mail requesting help, and within hours there were phone calls from at least six students offering to help me for the reasonable price of $13/hour. One came over last night and got me supplies from the basement, kitty litter from the garage, took out the garbage, stayed while I showered, did the dishes, etc. Another one is coming over tomorrow to do some cleaning and errands. I SO wish I'd known about this place after the last surgery.
The girls in my office have been just great--carrying things, getting my coffee, holding doors for me, scolding me for moving too much. And lots of people have called and checked on me, e-mailed offers of assistance and cooking.
I am not being punished. I am not being taught a lesson. Sometimes bad things just happen to one person. Over and over. And over. Sigh.
So, I go back to the doctor Monday night, but it sounds like the bleeding into the bone won't be ruled out for another few weeks. And I leave for the England/Italy trip five weeks from tonight. Next week is really busy: extra days at work balanced out by shorter days but several hours of lecturing at PCOM's P.A. Program. As always, it could be much worse. But Lord, this has gotten really old.
And just to put the icing on the cake, my 2 1/2 yr old cell phone totally bit the dust. I'm sure the new one is going to be wonderful as soon as I figure out how to use it. I'm on call now and this weekend, so it was a necessity. All things considered I'm really not feeling like expanding my limited grasp of technology right now.
So, it's time for me to go to bed. Added to the list of things to do this weekend is to re-read "When Bad Things Happen to Good People", just for the reassurance. Laurie
posted by Laurie @ 10:26 PM
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