Little Death

Days are getting shorter. The time change happened Halloween weekend and now the evenings are dark. I've been thinking a lot about last winter. The anniversary of my ankle is coming up. 

Number One: Skiing is off the list this year, possibly forever. 

Number Two: I wore heels successfully for many hours on Halloween. 

Number Three: I am running 5x/week, faster than ever. 

Number Four: My ankle is still visibly larger than its twin. The scar is dark brown and tight. It is sore and stiff in the mornings. 

Number Five: A student asked me if I could change one thing about myself, what would it be? And I said, I would change that I broke my ankle. 

My dad says it was a "little death." He said it's the price you pay for living. I think he is right but I still mourn for the loss of my perfect wholeness. Also for the fact that I didn't know that I was actually perfect and whole, that I always thought something was wrong with me, lacking, less-than. That I still sometimes feel that way, albeit much less often. 

I don't want to give up this blog, so perhaps it will morph into something less ankle-centered. But possibly still body-centered. The amount of time I spend on my body is a little excessive, but. But I do anyway. 

Day Quite A While

Let's see, it's been...almost five months since the injury. 

I am walking all day every day without pain. 

I am doing yoga. Handstands are taking on a particularly interesting glow for me right now. Triconasana, not so much. But yoga is really helping with stretching out the scar tissue and the flexibility/range of motion. 

I am not running so much, although I have recently. It just doesn't feel good. My left knee is wonky from the slight impediment to my gait. However, a chiropractor will be contacted in the very near future so hopefully that can get somewhat worked out. 

The best time to run is after acupuncture, which is also EXTREMELY helpful. 

Western medicine did surgery on me and cobbled my ankle back together, but Eastern medicine is going to heal my joint. I strongly strongly suggest acupuncture for healing from sprains. Or healing from anything, really. It's subtle but strong. I go to this kinda sketchy place in Chinatown where there are a bunch of different non-english-speaking acupuncturists, whom I'm not at all sure are actually certified. One of them puts five needles in my ankle and that's it, another one does twenty, in my ankle and leg and forehead and hand and neck. Although he was treating me for a cough, too, so maybe that's why. He also went a little over the boundaries of professionalism while giving me a "complimentary" leg massage afterwards-- yanking my thong to the side so you can really get to my lymph nodes is frowned on by me and other women, buddy. So I plan to go back only on the weekends, when the 5-needle lady is there. 

Nonprofessional acupuncturists notwithstanding, acupuncture is the single most helpful thing I've done for my ankle so far. 

It is shrinking down, the left ankle, and I can wear cute shoes again. No heels yet, although that is my ultimate goal. Fuck running; I am more interested in regaining the ability to wear stilettos. The scars are there, though, especially the outer one, and I am poking at it daily to try to break up some scar tissue. 

I will return to physical therapy as soon as my medical insurance company stops dicking around with my coverage. Beaurocracy is an unsightly thing. I have had to make innumerable phone calls. Meanwhile I'm receiving $400 bills daily. F you, HIP. Get it together. 

I am having a hard time accepting that my body will never be the same again. My gorgeous, gorgeous right ankle and leg are the marker for what I once had and did not appreciate. I will always have a thicker left ankle; I will always have these scars. The leg does not taper elegantly as it once did. And I just have to accept that. 

At least I can walk, right? This may all be part of learning to love and appreciate my body, but I wish it wasn't so freaking permanent. Leave it up to me to have to endure pain, disability and disfigurement in order to gain some self-love. 

Despite my surgeon's instructions not to put any weight on my ankle until he sees my x-rays on Thursday, I started hobbling on it a few days ago.  I had a vivid dream that I was walking, and when I woke up I was like, Okay. It's time. 

This ankle is way un-flexible. All kinds of scar tissue, swelling, muscle atrophy, etc. My physical therapist says I sprained my ligaments, in addition to breaking the tibia and fibula. I actually have two physical therapists, Mike and Jesse. Mike is a big bald black guy who stretches out my hams and glutes; Jesse is a little jewish guy with a baby face who massages the shit out of my foot and ankle. I can feel the scar tissue breaking up when he does it. Yesterday after the foot massage (which is excruciating, by the way), I could see a bunch of veins popping up, which is a good sign. They say when I start weightbearing exercise the muscles will be able to help pump more blood, which will bring down the swelling. Which I can't WAIT for, because I still can't wear normal shoes on my left foot. My right side is all stylish, wearing cute shoes, and my left is still encased in the robo-boot, all black felt and velcro straps to the knee. Not cute. 

Week Eight-=-One On One

I had my first appointment at One On One physical therapy last night. It was pretty great to have someone touching that ankle and stretching me. They gave me exercises to do at home, which I'm supposed to do 4 times a day. That seems excessive to me, but if it makes things heal faster, I'm bout it. I am a good little follower of directions. 

There was a girl there wearing the shortest black shorts imaginable and a shrunken softball jersey top, running around in her New Balances and long dark hair, doing exercises and smiling. I met her when my therapist called her over. He said this was her first day walking without her boot. She and I conferred about how great it was to get out of casts-- she was in a hard cast for 7 weeks and the boot for 8. That's longer than mine took. Is taking. She broke her talus snowboarding. Her ankles looked perfect now, both of them.  It gave me hope. Later, Tom called mine elegant and reassured me I'd have the other one back someday. 

Afterwards I took myself out to a prix-fixe dinner at an Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. I sat there with my robo-boot under the table and didn't even think about the ankle. It was nice to be out, alone. I watched people walk by the restaurant and ate my filet of sole and drank my Pinot Grigio. Then I had to take a car back to Bushwick, which cost 25 bucks, taking the shine off the evening slightly. No matter. I'll be able to take the subway soon enough. 

Day Something-- Spring Equinox

Yesterday, Goldman finally looked at my ankle and said, That looks great. You are ready for physical therapy.

I pumped my fists in the air and said, Yessssssss.

But I still don't want you to walk on it. Two more weeks before you can put weight on it, he said. 

I was so happy to hear the words "physical therapy" that I didn't even care about the walking part. He wrote me a prescription for PT 3x/week for 4 weeks. 

He also told me I can sleep without the Robo-Boot (joy of joys!) and that I don't have to wear it around the house, only when I go out, for protection. At last I am unfettered by heavy, clunky casts!

I am getting so good on those crutches. Also, I have been hopping. A lot. All over the house. I woke up in the middle of doing something the other day and looked around me. Where were my crutches? In the other room. How did I get here? Did I fly? No, I hopped. My right leg is so diesel right now. And yeah, my left leg is, as my mother says, "all dweeby." But PT will start to fix that. Meanwhile, I'm  doing pistol squats: on my right leg, lower myself all the way to sit on the ground without using my hands, and then raise myself back up again on the same leg, without using my hands. Diesel. That's biology for you, my father-in-law says. Humans are adaptable.

Spring is here. This has so been the Winter of My Discontent. I am incredibly happy to feel the milder weather and to open my windows to the breezes in the neighborhood.

I have been wanting to plant things, as I always do at this time of year, veggies and flowers, digging in the dirt, but alas I live on the 3rd floor with little to no fire-escape real estate. I've been staring out the window into the back yard every day, wishing that I could somehow get access to that big patch of dirt down there and grow something. was downstairs, picking up the mail, which is sort of a long journey (stairs are tough when you only have one leg) and the highlight of my activity for the day, and I stopped by the downstairs' neighbor's door. They were cooking pasta and asked me to come in. We started talking about the backyard, and it turns out, they want to plant things too! And they want our help. They're giving us keys to the basement so we can access the yard through the bulkhead. 

So I have been reading through all my gardening books, making lists of things to plant, tools we'll need, steps to take. I'm excited! I love that spring coincides with healing and new beginnings. 

I decided to just take my 12 weeks of leave and not rush myself through recovery. That means I'll be returning to work on April 20th, right after vacation. Tom and I are going to Mexico with my parents and my goal is to be able to walk by then. I think it's feasible. I'm looking forward to having my normal life back, but now that recovery is in sight, the time off seems very precious and like I ought to be doing something productive or at least healthy or at the very least pleasurable. Planting a garden (albeit while sitting down in the dirt) seems like a great thing to do in the meantime while I finish healing. 

Day Fifty-One-- Heal, Wound, heal.

Well now. I believe I have gotten over the hump of depression for this week. This weekend was tough, though. For three reasons:

1) Tom is working. This is good, because we gotta make some money, but it is bad because, Lonely me. Couch-sitting, pajama-wearing, net-surfing, window-staring me. 

2) The 2-ct aquamarine earrings my mother gave me for my wedding were stolen by the cleaning lady last weekend. I am utterly heartbroken about this. 

3) A new little gap in my skin showed up beneath the bandage strips, extending the unhealed part by 1/4 inch. 

Crying a lot doesn't always help matters, especially where one's husband is concerned. Take note, all you married ladies. He may tolerate one crying jag, even hold you and pat you through it. But be advised, daily crying jags, especially during sex, will not be well-liked. When he got the work, I'm sure he was totally relieved to get away from me. 

But, after a bunch of time spent obsessing about the wound, reading internet pages on Persistent Chronic Wounds, daydreaming about hyperbaric chambers, complaining to anyone who would respond, and sobbing fitfully, the wound actually has begun to look better. It's shrinking. I started taking Lysine on Lynsey's suggestion, and I think that helps. Lysine is an amino acid that helps the body build proteins, to make stuff like...skin. I've taken it before to help with canker sores in my mouth. Also started a round of Echinacea, now that I'm off antibiotics. 

I am taking so many different pills and supplements, it's kind of ridiculous. 

Vitamin C (1 pill/day)

Vitamin B-50 (1 pill/day)

Vitamin D-3 (3 pills/day)

Omega-3 Fish Oil (6 gel tabs/day)

Calcium, Magnesium, Zinc (3 pills/day)

Glucosamine-Chondroitin (2 pills/day)

Multivitamin (1 pills/day)

L-Lysine (2 pills/day)

Glutamine (1 pill/day)

Glycine (1 pill/day)

Omega 6&9 (3 gel tabs/day)

Desogen (1 pill/day)

Vicodin (1 pill/day)

Acidophilus (1 pill/day)

Echinacea (6 pills/day)

Yesterday I finished the second round of Keflex (6 pills/day). 

In total, minus the Keflex, that's 32 pills/day. 

That doesn't sound healthy. 

Here are things that help pull me out of depression: 

Leaving the house

Friends visiting (Marianne, Monica, Laura all helped this weekend)

Exercise, even if it is just lying on the floor doing leg-lifts

Writing

Cleaning the house, which takes such a long time on crutches, there's no time to lie around moping.

The wound is actually shrinking, the skin is growing together. Still red in parts, and fluid soaks the bandage every night, but it's healing. I am secretly hoping that by Thursday it will be healed enough to start P.T. Cross fingers! Pray! Beg and plead! Please let me walk!!!!

Day Three Million- No Thank You, Plastic Surgery

Healing is taking longer than I thought it would. 

The wound on the inside of my ankle (smaller, shorter) is healing nicely. 

The wound on the outside of my ankle (bigger, longer) is not. 

Remember when the surgeon told me I would be able to walk in 3 weeks to a month? That turns out not to be true. He won't let me put weight on it or start physical therapy until the wound is closed. And it's still not closed. He says it's because my ankle was still so swollen when he operated, even though we had waited 12 days since the injury. He said he had to make a judgment call to do it, because the bones were starting fusing back together which would make the surgery more difficult. 

But the swelling meant the skin wasn't in very good shape when they cut into it. And now, a month later, it's having trouble healing. I asked Goldman if I could start walking or putting any weight on it at all. He said not unless I wanted plastic surgery. No, thank you, no plastic surgery for me. 

It's a setback of a few weeks...two, at this point. I was supposed to go back to work mid-March but I had to extend that to mid-April. Which sucks for everyone. But, no thank you, plastic surgery. 

It feels terrible to know this after visiting Heritage and telling everyone I'd be back in two more weeks. Especially the kids, who were so happy to see me, and who so need help. Being out for so much of the Spring Semester is bad. And I miss my studio sooooo much. But, no thank you, plastic surgery. 

Plus, what a pain to not be able to walk! Still! And I'm so tired of this couch! Still! And I hate the robo-leg! Still! And just, I'm ready to be done with this, my bones are back together, this should be over with by now. But, no thank you, plastic surgery. 

But at least there has been a fair amount of pleasantry in this apartment. Tom is still not working, which is beginning to be kinda bad, but it means that we can host fun brunch parties. There have been several nice visits with friends, and we've gone out a few times to eat. We did a puzzle, with Erika and Monica and Zach, on Wednesday in the middle of the afternoon, after an epic brunch by Tom. Homemade biscuits, beat that. I'm not sure how we tricked our friends into spending a perfectly fine afternoon putting together a jigsaw puzzle of a painting by Breughel, but we did. Maybe they were lulled into it by the cheesy scramble. 

Joe and Liz came over on Friday night; Renna came yesterday; Kate, Peter, and Giovanna are coming today. I love visitors. 

I have also been watching more than my fair share of movies:

-Michael Clayton,  I give 5 stars. Good acting by George C, and supporting cast; interesting plot.

-Me, You, and Everyone We Know, I give 4 stars. I think the movie is just an excuse for Miranda July to indulge in quirky people and quirky behavior, but at least it's not pretentious. Plus, the little boy is incredibly adorable, and any movie that can discuss pooping back and forth, forever, while maintaining its cinematic dignity, is worth a look. 

-Paradise Now, I give 5 stars. It's a movie about two Palestinian suicide bombers, the day before they are to carry out their mission. There's a lot of detail shown in the preparations, the experience of the two men, and there's a lot of discussion of why they are going to do this, their beliefs about the occupation of Palestine, whether it is possible to cause change, whether or not it's worth dying for, what Allah wants or doesn't want, what freedom is about. Some of this discussion is mildly hilarious, even. There's also a good little romance, and plus, the two actors (Kais Nasheef and Ali Suliman) are gorgeous. Like, dreamy. Like, wow. Highly recommended.

-Rescue Dawn, I give 3 stars. It deserves 4, maybe, because Christian Bale is pretty good and the shots in the Lao jungle are intense, but it's just not the kind of movie I like. It stressed me out to watch it; it was scary, gory, and somewhat painful to watch. I'm not into torture. But, if you like stories about POW's, the military, survival, escape, murder, and brutality, or hacking through jungle vines with a machete while starving, you might enjoy it. Tom did. 

-Several Pedro Almodovar movies. Talk to Her, I give 5 stars, if for nothing else than the hilarious giant vagina scene. But also for the awesome female bullfighter and her hotttt outfits. There's actually much more to the film, like vegetative states and emotional damage/healing, but those are the highlights. 

Also, The Law of Desire, I give 2 stars. Too long, to begin with. Too many side-stories. Young Antonio Banderas is pretty good, but not good enough for that role. Although his last scene is pretty touching. If you enjoy gay sex and cocaine, you'll probably enjoy this. NC-17. 

Also, Women On the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, I give 4 stars. It's really funny, to begin with, well-acted and slapstick, and Antonio Banderas is  pretty good, at least good enough for the role. The lead actress wears fabulous earrings. 

I could go on and on, but you'll begin to see just how very small my world has become, and I don't want to depress you.