It’s a blinding array of forms I have saved from the past few years, of reminders not to drink or eat anything after midnight for my surgeries, to statements from the insurance company (I wonder if they hate me, if they see my invoices coming. I personally love them, but I can understand a corporation who is betting on me and whose profit margin is based on people like me not getting ill is not that eager to love me back.)
How am I, you might ask. Or not. But that’s what this post is about, anyway.
I have graduated from the ankle surgeon. The last procedure I had in November was successful and I am very happy to report that I can actually walk down stairs now without walking like a flat-footed platypus to avoid any pain. The procedure was the interim step between falling down stairs and them opening my ankle up again and doing surgery, so I am very happy it worked. My ankle aches like fuck on cold and damp mornings, but I always knew arthritis was in my future and in damaged joints it’s already made its presence known. C’est la vie.
My wrists are much better. I’m no longer in double splints and I can actually use my hands and wrists. I’ve had regular physio for two months to try to repair the nerve damage and I have done all of the exercises in order to try to recover. Yes, really. I’m all about getting out of permanent wrist splints. I can write small amounts of writing by hand now, but my hands are still incredibly weak (I’m the classic weak female stereotype in that I can’t open bottles or jars anymore, and maybe never will again, not even if I tap the top of them against the countertop first). I am still not great at things like grating cheese or chopping vegetables, but maybe them’s the breaks. I have a modified lifestyle now and maybe always will. I get it. It’s ok. After long rough days I sit on the sofa and my hands curl in on themselves just a bit, and I remind myself to do my exercises and keep the hounds at the door.
My jaw…I don’t know. I think it’s working. I hope it’s working. I have a seriously cool surgeon that I respect a lot and he’s hoping it works, too. I’ve thus far not re-dislocated my jaw, but then again I can’t open my mouth very wide at all so it’s pretty hard to dislocate a gob that won’t give. I miss things like toffee, walnuts, and providing my spouse with a specific promiscuous night time activity that involve my mouth, but it’s not like I can go to my nice surgeon and ask when I’ll be all better so I can get down on my knees in the bedroom. It’ll heal if and when it heals. Although the scar is neatly hidden by both my hair and the seam of my ear, the side of my jaw has a hard bumpy knot on it and it continues to feel as though I’ve been sucker punched. The facial paralysis remains. It’s not that big a deal but I’m pretty fucking tired of people asking if I’m either angry or if I have a question.
I keep working hard to keep myself going. I don’t want to be one of those who ends up in endless surgeries, or in hospital, or in a wheelchair. I want to be healthy, I want to be well.
We have a cross-trainer (elliptical machine) that I am on up to 6 times a week now. It’s definitely having an effect – not only is it brilliant for IBS gas (what? Tell me that this is news to you!) but I have dropped down to a US size 6 in my favorite jeans. It’s getting to be a bit of a compulsion if I’m honest, though – on days when I don’t go on the cross-trainer I feel lumpy and heavy, as though I should just blob my way around the house on feelers, letting my flabby bits ooze me on the way. It’s impacted the way I see food, too – if I work like a maniac for an hour to burn 350 calories, when I look at the calorie content of food and see 350 calories staring back at me, I’m unlikely to proceed. Sweat makes things stick in the mind a bit like that.
Once a food issue always a food issue, perhaps.
It helps to have family and friends who tell me that I am ok, that I will be ok, that I look healthy and that they care about me and my joints.
Surgeries, physio, daily IBS medication, exercising, changing my activities…I can’t remember the last time that I didn’t have something that was broken or didn’t hurt. I wish I could go back in time and not take those times for granted. It’s ok – I’m not being melodramatic, I’m not wringing my hands and moaning “Woe is me!” and adjusting my stays before I swoon or anything (although it would be nice to hear someone say “What’s wrong with that chick?” and to hear the reply: “I dunno. She just swooned. It was so weird.” because it would be fantastic to bring “swooning” back into modern parlance.) I just shrug and wait to see what the next joint will be which fails. It’ll happen and when it does it will be managed. I suppose what’s more frustrating than the pain and the scars and the hassle is knowing that I live inside of a body that I do not get to control anymore, one which does not listen and lives inside borders that I no longer get to patrol.
Then again, maybe that’s part of the adventure, too. Life would get boring if your foot always went where you told it to. Predictable and all that.
-S.
Featured photo is a hospital ward filled with iron lungs. It gives me perspective – no matter how suck my day may get, at least I’m not in an iron lung – dropped your favorite eyebrow tint? Flat tire? Snagged your tights? Running late for the report? Are you in an iron lung? NO. Life can’t suck that much then. It works a surprising majority of the time.
Do I recall you saying that all of this renders you with having often cold hands? Is that a symptom/manifestation of what’s going on? Random question I know, but there’s a method to my madness.
I love when you write, and this is no exception. And know that even people who don’t see you often but in the occasional picture you include yourself in care about you and your joints.
<3
I do indeed suffer from cold, courtesy of Reyanud’s (hands and feet). I’ve yet to find a satisfactory solution for my feet, but I have brilliant gloves from D that I wear, and on extra cold days I wear those plus I also have a particularly fugly but warm pair of gloves that are the equivalent in look and feel to shoving my hands up the backside of a rabbit. Not like I’ve actually felt the backside of a rabbit. That would be weird.
Well now that’s a visual. The rabbit I mean. I have constantly cold hands and feet as well, and finding a solution for when I”m in the office has been difficult. Obviously the feet can be handled with thick socks or boots, but I do a lot of typing and gloves make that hard. Fingerless gloves are good, and I’m in the midst of knitting a pair, but they leave enough of my hands open that I’m still cold. Any advice?
“Life would get boring if your foot always went where you told it to.”
A-fecking-men.
And Hurrah for losing the wrist splints. I’ll come take a turn at chopping your veg. And… bacon…?
I’m glad to hear there’s improvement. I hope all the surgeries and exercise will prevent (or delay) further degeneration.
I also think it would be cool for swooning to come back into fashion, but I would abuse it. You want me to work overtime? Oh, I’m not feeling well….*swoon*
Ellipticals are amazing, aren’t they? I’m hoping I can survive this pregnancy without my pelvis falling apart, care of the elliptical.
Glad that your management plans all seem to be working. I’ve been thinking of you. x
On the foot front, have you tried wick-away wool ski socks? Again, something I learned about when I was skiing. I have a couple pair I’ve used all of twice because I actually prefer losing feeling in all but two toes to feeling as though I’m skating with Muppet feet. Impedes spinning kind of a lot.
Your iron lung thing – I like it. I swear, every time someone says “I hate my life” or “FML,” I want to drop-kick their asses to Pyongyang or Darfur…or Wyoming, which I’m still convinced is a place made up to scare children (similar to Limbo. Or Narnia).
Glad you are feeling better(ish). On an unrelated note, I got a phone call yesterday from my best and pregnant friend who had her first scan… You’ll never guess what she’s expecting… twins! So I pointed her this way to show her its not all that scary to have two at once (unlike what non-twin having people who have you believe).
You have the right attitude. However, the “Things could always be worse” comment always reminds me of the movie “Young Frankenstein”
Gene Wilder (Dr Frankenstein) is grumbling while he & Marty Feldmen (Igor, pronounced Eye-gore) dig up the body. Igor says, “Could be worse,” and Frankenstein says, “How?” Igor replies, “Could be raining,” and just then lightning flashes, thunder is heard, and it’s followed by a downpour. : )
A friend of mine has Reynaud’s and every time she shows me her fingers, I think of you (when you mention yours, I think of her. Viscous cycle!) I wish I could help you both with magically hand knitted gloves/mittens and socks that keep you toasty warm. While I’m wishing, I also want Mrs. Weasley’s enchanted knitting needles.
I’m glad there’s some improvement and here’s to hoping for more.
So glad you are rid of the wrist splints! I have a favorite sock I get at REI, http://www.smartwool.com If anything there looks promising, just let me know and I will send some your way. Or, I could just find my thickest pair and send them to try (if you haven’t already). Suffice it to say I never wore them during 5 years in Houston, and wear them rarely in Atlanta.
As far as “swoon”? My friends and I still use the word as if it never went out of style. Primarily in describing beautiful, sexy men as “swoon-worthy.” I say go for it…or perhaps I should be less dork-worthy. Meh. It’s cool.
The featured photo, you mentioned that a couple of times, but I can’t see any photos beyond the link to flickr. I use Chrome, but checked on on IE as well.
Have you tried these? I sent them to my father-in-law who had dreadful circulation, and it allowed him to go on winter walks.They have hand warmers too. http://www.warmers.com/ItemDetails.aspx?itemid=TWES40&gclid=CJnyrdDRka4CFSU0QgodUmztBg#.TzQfyFwgpSQ
I dunno, I think you’ve hit on the perfect bl0w j0b excuse- ‘sorry, but my surgeon says no’.
;)
g
This is when I’m tempted to make a sign that says “Had surgery. Not angry. Deal.” Of course, in my case it’s simply that when my face is at rest, I look sad or angry, so people ask me what’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong; I’m just not talking.