Outside is Nice

For the first time in a week I breathed outside air and rolled my walker over concrete. By the way, the hilly sidewalks of Park Slope showed me the walker could use stronger brakes.

Actually had a number of learning experiences today. I learned how to make a bed with fresh sheets while on it. I learned the most comfortable position when using the walker as a leg elevator (straight along the leg with your heel in the basket). And I learned rubber tipped crutches and wet tile floors don't mix well.

I had forgotten how difficult the lip of my walk-in shower is to deal with when you are hopping on one leg. Besides being fairly wide the bathroom and shower floors are at different depths. I had to stand and work it out - with a couple false starts - before even making it in to the shower. And when I tried to emerge after my shower my crutch slipped and, while I was able to catch myself, I stubbed my toe. Fortunately I had brought the walker into the bathroom and was able to maneuver it to a position where I could rest my knee and use it as a base to hop the lip. I actually scared myself when slipped and was more then happy to lie in bed for a while to recover.

You really need problem-solving skills to have surgery, especially if you live alone.

It was nice to get out of the house and see people. Most found my walker fascinating and loved the basket. Though the general consensus was that I need a bell.

I did email my knee surgeon as I noticed that the spot where the screw was removed is red and irritated and looks like it is ready to peel and bleed - not an acceptable activity when you are on a blood thinner. We'll see what they say. I also spoke to the Marco, who says that Dr. H feels I should speak to my Hemotologist about the side-effects I'm having on the Lovenox and get his opinion. Not sure why I'm the one talking to my Hemotologist and then reporting back to Marco to tell Dr. Hubbard. But hey, I'm just the patient.

Anyway, it's been a long day and it's time for me to take my shot late and go to bed.

At What Point do You Worry?

Certain things trigger medical paranoia in people. Mine seems somewhat odd until you understand the context. I get worried if I have bouts of bloating and gas. Seems minor until you know they were originally the only symptoms of my mother's stage 3C Ovarian Cancer. Since that particular cancer runs in my family, I get concerned.

I've had the symptoms for the last three or four days and decided it was time to see if I needed to call the doctor or if they were simply side-effects of the Lovenox. While I didn't see it listed on the medication website I did find multiple sites with patients on the drug, especially women, complaining. What a did find on the site was a simple sentence that had me e-mailing Marco about something I hadn't even thought to concern myself over.

The sentence reads "It is important to contact your doctor immediately if you experience symptoms such as tingling, numbness (especially in lower limbs), and muscular weakness." I've had all of those and just attributed them to post-surgery. I've had one or two moments when my legs have felt like they were going to sleep and thought I was sitting badly and pinching a nerve in my back. Wouldn't have even thought to call anyone about it.

Marco's response was that my numbness and tingling may be related to swelling, and to call the office tomorrow. I'd buy that, except it feels like I've had almost no swelling. Within the first 72 hours the cast around my foot and ankle felt loose enough to shift around in and the spot where the top screw was removed from my knee has been getting irritated by the knee pad on the walker (especially today, but we'll go into that shortly). I've added a call to Dr. Hubbard's office to my To Do list tomorrow.

I was on the knee walker more today then I have been since my surgery. I baked. Almost home-made red velevet cupcakes - I decided I was not up to making them from scratch - and pink vanilla cupcakes. Not going to cook a four-course dinner until I can stand on my own two feet, but I can make treats for my Council meeting tomorrow. It was also surprisingly tiring. It seems sad that it is not yet 8:00 pm and I'm ready to hop (crawling's not an option at the moment) into bed.

My MacGyver Moment

Had a bit of unexpected excitement this morning that taught me a couple of valuable lessons. I had just sat down on the couch with my breakfast when my knee walker rolled across the room. (One of the joys of living in an old loft building are the slanted floors!) I sat there trying to figure out what to do. My cell phone was in the walker basket, so calling for help was out of the question. With no visitors scheduled for today, I couldn't just wait for help to arrive. I thought about sliding on to the floor and scooting across the floor on my tush, but couldn't figure how to get back up without the use of my left leg. I decided to wait until my next door neighbors took their dog for a walk and yell for help. Only problem, they didn't hear me (and I hurt my throat and made my voice very hoarse).

Finally, my bladder had me deciding I had to rescue myself. I was able to scoot myself down the couch until I could reach a footrest with my right leg. I hooked the footrest and pulled it close and piled it high with pillows. Fortunately it goes with my Eames chair and was wide enough for me to rest my left knee and hands as I bent over and shuffled across the floor to the recalcitrant walker.

Lessons learned, make sure the walker hand brake is locked when I'm on the couch and if I really hurt myself no one is going to hear me. Not a pleasant thought, though it does justify my taking my cell phone with me every time I went into the bathroom for the first three days (might even start doing that again).

After lunch I did some more household chores and stared at the bed trying to work out how to change my sheets tomorrow. I did figure out how to unload the dryer, fold and put away the clean clothes.

Tomorrow celebrates my one week anniversary (what is the official gift for one week post-op?) and the beginning of my life intruding on my recovery. I have to try to bake red velvet cupcakes tomorrow, though the true excitement comes on Tuesday when not only will I leave the building for the first time in a week, I will also attempt to take a shower (which sounds both cleaner and scarier then the sponge bathes I have been giving). Definitely have to have someone on call for that.

Wish me luck!

Pushing

Every now and then I seem to need to push boundaries - be it in relationships or other parts of my life. Today was one of those days. This morning I started to respond to an e-mail and realized I didn't have all the information I needed. My options were to call and text people on a Saturday morning or see if the information needed had arrived in my mail as promised. I decided to go the independent route (huge surprise I know) and loaded my crutches over the handle bars of my knee walker and bravely set forth from my apartment.

I had to stop and stare at the stairs for a bit, working out in my head exactly how to get down - and half hoping a neighbor would come out I could hand my mailbox key. I was able to hop down the stairs with the aid of a crutch and the railing and then at the bottom (admittedly only 4 steps) reach back and gently maneuver the walker down as well. Took the crutches with me as I managed to turn myself around in a small elevator (did I mention the walker has a huge turn ratio) and then get back on the crutch to hop up the first step in the lobby, before discovering that the windowsill opposite the mailboxes was the perfect height to sit rather then hopping the remaining step. Valiantly made it to my mailbox and dumped my mail in the bag I had remembered to bring with me before repeating the journey in reverse back to my apartment.

I have to admit, by the time I got home I was more then happy to collapse on the couch for a bit and hadn't even tried to venture outside. But now I know that, while tiring, I can manage to leave the apartment. Though I know I will be yelled at for doing it without supervision. I had made certain my cell phone was accessible in case I needed to call a neighbor or ambulance.

I did decide that besides a bicycle bell the knee walker could use some sort of storage or base for crutches for when have no choice but to climb stairs or for getting in and out of cars.

My throat has been worse today. I don't know if it was because my liquid for the day was a tart lemonade, but the raw painful spot never seemed to get coated with phlegm the way it was earlier in the week. It made talking very uncomfortable, which kept me off the phone most of the day. Marco swore it would clear up on its own, so far not so much. Other then the ER, which is stupid for this, I can't figure out how to see a doctor. I'll have to call my Primary on Monday, maybe his office has a secret entrance that doesn't involve steps. I know he has another office, but going out to Gravesend / Sheepshead Bay.

On the information I didn't need to know, but now need to share - I read the small print on the generic Lovenox syringe container. "Each syringe contains 30 mg enoxaparin sodium injection derived from porcine intestinal mucosa in Water for injection." I guess if people are willing to get botulism injections in the hope of looking younger I should not complain that pig gut snot is keeping me from getting a blood clot.

Pushing It

Haven't taken any pain meds since last night. Some pain, but I prefer a clear head and haven't been debilitated. Just would really like a clear throat! Woke up around 3am with that giving me more pain then the foot.

I still haven't made it farther then the steps in my hall, but have discovered more independence around the house. This morning I swept the floor. Can't say it was perfect, but did get some of the cat hair and other bits off the floor. Fortunately I have a long-handled dustpan, so I could get the small pile off the floor. Makes me feel a lot better about hosting my Condo Board meeting next week. My apartment won't be perfect, but it will be relatively clean. 

Still bored, but wound up with a semi-unplanned Bradley Cooper festival. A friend lent me the re-make of "The A-Team" as an easy movie. It is that. Then watched the movie from my movie group this month, "All About Steve", not my favorite Sandra Bullock movie, but it definitely had an interesting ending. Then decided if I had started a Cooper marathon, I should keep it going and watched a couple episodes of "Kitchen Confidential".

I am going to go nuts if I don't get out of this apartment, this mornings roll to the hall stairs did not do it, so my goal for tomorrow is to just get to the lobby. Don't even have to leave the building, just need to see some new walls!

Questions Never Asked

Two questions it didn't occur to me to ask at the time have been bouncing through my head.

How big a scar am I going to have? This will join the three major surgery scars (or as in my knee duplicate surgery scar) on my body not to mention the numerous almost invisible ones - where I cracked my chin on the playground or where I got my finger caught in an old-fashioned folding elevator door to name two I can remember the cause of. Will this scar reach the blue heart tattoo I got on my ankle two weeks before my Dad died? Will it make slingbacks uncomfortable?

The second question is how much nerve damage will I have? Having been through leg surgery, I don't believe for a minute that some of the nerves on my foot and toes didn't lose their connection to my brain. I can already feel, or not feel as the case may be, spots between the little piggy that went to market and the little piggy that had none. I don't know what else I will or won't feel when I am out of this cast and can begin to move my foot.

I was very proud of myself this morning. I managed to do a load of laundry and scoop kitty litter. I then realized I can't get the dirty litter bag from my apartment to the trash shoot and am still trying to figure the logistics to get the laundry out of the dryer and put away, which takes away some of my pride in the moment.

I want to thank all my friends who have called, e-mailed or texted to see how I'm doing and if I need anything.  Thanks to them I now have a safe container for my used needles, though the sharps will now smell like Basil laundry detergent. I have Extra Strength Tylenol to replace the Percocet I mentioned I seem to be allergic to, and have been kept in good meals - today's lunch arrived via a local Chinese restaurant from a friend in California. (Have to remember that trick for far flung friends in the future.)

It's the boredom that is getting to me. I don't have the concentration required for the minutia of the grant proposals I hope to finish while I'm laid up, and I need more narcotics than I have available to manage to sit through one more Republican Presidential debate. Friends shocked to learn I had never seen any of "The Godfather" movies lent me the trio on DVD, I gave up about 20 minutes into the first one.

At least after my knee I had the CPM machine twice a day, which gave me some semblance of a schedule. Now it's get up when the cat's yowling starts to drive me mad, move to the couch so he can climb on my lap, try to watch tv, or play Sudoku, realize it's only 10:30am, try to watch something, check the internet, or read from the large pile of books and magazines, lunch, more of the morning activities, doze, listen to the cat cry for 90 minutes before his actual dinner time, feed the cats, write up my day while I eat dinner, answer any email's I hadn't gotten to, get my evening shot, do my nightly ablutions, go to bed, try to read, sleep and do it all again tomorrow.

And I know I need to be quiet this week so I can push it to attend a meeting Tuesday night, still trying to decide if I'll be able to bake for it and then host a meeting Thursday night. And then a week from Tuesday it's back to Dr. H to hopefully change to a walking cast. Any particle physicists with the ability to speed up time please contact me at this blog. Your gift to mankind will be greatly appreciated by this woman. 

Feeling the Love and Itching

Whatever higher power you believe in, I figure I'm blipping on the radar somewhere. A Brooklyn Priest, my Uncles in Texas and a Cousin/Priest in Louisiana have all been lighting candles and saying prayers for my recovery. Add to that a Muslim in India, a Jew on the Upper West Side and a Buddhist currently in Paris and I'm feeling fairly well covered.

The pain reached a crescendo last night and I found myself taking two Percocet instead of the one pill I had been dosing with. An hour later I found myself very itchy. I didn't see any signs of a rash this morning, but did leave a message for Dr. Hubbard and told the Recovery room nurse when she called to follow-up with me this morning. All I need, another pain med I'm allergic to.

Just getting up, washing what parts of me I could and getting dressed exhausted me this morning. I had to push myself to get some breakfast and then eat. My upper arms are sore from having to lever myself up without using my left leg. I am reminded again that it would make sense to have pre-surgery Physical Therapy / Occupational Therapy to work on all the muscles and activities you will have to do after surgery. But then again the term "health-care reform" seems to be an evil phrase in the US these days.

I continue to be utterly bored with my confinement, especially as I still don't have the attention or focus required to read any of the books and magazines piled around the couch and bed. (I have enough problems hoping these posts make sense.) I've grown tired of tv and Sudoku, but my throat is still rough enough to make me sound like I have a cold and long conversations difficult.

It occurred to me this morning that if my throat doesn't start to show signs of improving soon, I can't even go see my Primary, both because just getting out of the house is difficult and because his local office is no where near ADA compliant with a good dozen steps and no elevator. If I still feel like this in a day or two I will call my neighbor the nurse for her opinion.

In the meantime I have a scintillating schedule of watching workers on the top of the new Nets Arena and catching up on my Hulu queue.  

Day One

Who knew you could get insomnia after anesthesia. I stayed up until 8pm to give myself the first Lovenox injection and then tried to sleep. I could blank my mind, but couldn't do more than doze in fits. I would periodically check the clock and saw 9:30, 11:30 and 3:00. At 5:30 I tried rolling to my side, keeping the pillows between my legs to maintain elevation. This helped as it also allowed my left knee, which had been feeling very sore and tense, bend.

When I woke just before 8 it was time for another shot and I could finally wiggle my toes and my foot was tingly as the nerves tried to re-establish communication with my brain. Decided to take a Percocet to try to get ahead of the pain. It hasn't 100% worked, been taking one pill every 4 -5 hours, but have a low level throb that I keep thinking will ease if I can just find the right support for the cast, but is just my heel letting me know it doesn't like me much right now.

Was very proud that I managed to get up and put on clean clothes and fixing some breakfast (banana bread and a mandarin orange cup) before collapsing on the couch and letting the cats climb on me for a nap. Sat there with my brain going nowhere for a while before settling in to some DVDs followed by lunch and a doze.

Not surprisingly, no calls from the recovery nurses to check on me (though it's only 5:30 they could still call tonight).

My throat is still bothering me. It was very sore during the night and felt swollen this morning. I can swallow, but it feels rough and scratchy if I try to talk. I also noticed when I was trying to chew that my lower jaw muscles hurt too. Definitely not a fan of intubation. If I catch a cold from this I am going to be very grumpy.

The problem is that with the residue of whatever meds they used yesterday and the Percocet I'm not focusing well but am aware enough to be bored. I realized I couldn't even go check my mail, because I shouldn't risk the stairs. It's bad enough I feel like I have to take my cell phone with me anytime I go to the bathroom.

It's almost time to take another pill and feed the whining cat, then decide if I'm going to watch some more movies or go to bed, hopefully I'll sleep tonight.

Anybody Want a Cat?

My eighteen year-old cat with feline dementia wanted dinner and saw no reason why my smelling strange or having a giant thing on my foot should mean I shouldn't do my duty and get out of bed a feed him. So I'm up with my foot raised above my hip, trying to figure out how I managed to cut myself just hours before my first dose of Lovenox.

With him temporarily satisfied, dinner for me is a simple, warm and mushy chicken and dumplings as my throat recovers from the intubation.

I arrived at the surgical center bright and early, went through all the paper work and was put in a little dressing room and told to strip naked, couldn't even wear my out underwear, instead I got these cotton net things that not even a cheap stripper would wear. I always forget how repetitive the questions are as a safe-guard measure - pre-op nurse, anesthesiologist, resident, OR nurse, second OR nurse. Got my allergic to Morphine wrist band and saw Dr. Hubbard and the band of inquisitors and was led to the OR around 7:40.

Two beds in my OR so they could start me on my back for the IV and anesthesia and then roll me on to my stomach for the surgery (where I'm sure I got to show off my net undies). I commented on the 70's early 80's influenced soft rock on the OR speakers, very different then the hip-hop from my knee surgery. The resident joked they liked the quiet stuff to keep Dr. H calm. I remember the anesthesiologist putting in my IV and telling me he was adding the sleeping meds and it was going to burn. It didn't, but it did act quickly.

I now understand the term "swimming into consciousness" as that is certainly what it felt like as I opened my eyes in the recovery room to see the resident, the recovery room nurse and the anesthesiologist standing at my bed. My entire left leg felt like a dead weight and I could taste the plastic of the breathing tube in my throat.

When I could focus on the clock on the wall opposite my bed it read 10:30 - so much for leaving the hospital by 9:00. Betty said that no one told her I was out of surgery and when she finally found the ill-marked in-house phone no one gave her any info the first time.

It was a very different post-op attitude to what I've had at HSS, my Usbeckistani nurse (the woman in the next bed asked her where she was from) made not-so-subtle hints that she was over worked (as far as I could tell she was only covering two bays) and that my nit moving on her schedule was a bit of an inconvenience. I watched another nurse get huffy when a young woman who was in to "get hardware removed" needed extra Percocet for the pain and then after being discharged came back crying because she didn't feel well. My nurse told me the nausea I felt the first time I tried to stand was because I didn't sleep enough when I was moved to the recovery room. She also felt my knee-walker wasn't good enough, so provided me with crutches whose max height was 3 inches too short.

By 12:15pm I was sitting up eating a corn muffin, having managed the short crutches and showed I could use the bathroom. (Never understood the science behind needing to show you can pee and eat before discharge.) At 12:30 I got a new nurse who was entranced by my knee walker and was ready to put my clothes on and come home.

I was home and in bed by just after 2pm and happy to drift in and out of sleep with the odd sip of water to help flush my system and sooth my throat until the cat decided it was dinner time. I did take this picture wit my phone. The blob is foot shaped, so I'm assuming there is one in there somewhere.

I did have some un-planned issues with the knee walker. I had thought through the 4 steps in my hall and left the crutches for easy access once I got home, but I didn't think of the difficulty of getting in and out of the car. Just figuring out what to brace on to hop off the curb gave me a couple worried moments. Also elevators are not great as the wheeler has the turn radius of a bus. I wound up having to back out of my galley kitchen and I haven't even tried to take it in the bathroom yet. But I do feel steadier on it then on the crutches, especially around the cats. We'll see how the relationship progresses. I have decided what it really needs is a bicycle bell, or one of those reverse horns. Betty thinks it needs a flag to tie to my heel like one of those truck long load notifications. For now, I'm going to use it to go back to bed.

Shh...I Think the Foot's on to the Plan

As if to remind me I'm doing the right thing, my heel has been periodically twinging and my ankle swelled impressively yesterday.

Friday I kept wishing it was Sunday and I was getting it over with, today I'd like to add some extra hours to the day - 120 should do! I thought I was basically ready until I wrote up a full "to do" list last night. None of the tasks will take very long, except for baking the banana bread, but seeing a sheet of paper filled with things to do in the next 20 hours feels overwhelming. Add that to the general stress of surgery and I'm ready to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head.

I'm also waiting for the final word if I have to scramble and find a back-up to pick me up from the surgical center tomorrow. The friend I had lined up to pick me up has a family crisis which may throw both our schedules out the window. As I started trying to find a back-up plan Friday I had to wonder, what happens to those who can't pressure spouses, lovers, parents, siblings or children into being our "responsible adult" escort? Are you banned from ever having surgery? Do you have to live in the hospital?

It is especially hard for those of us who live alone and don't like asking for help at the best of times. For me a hospital pick-up (and this is my fourth since October 2009) is a delicate procedure. Finding someone reliable, whose schedule can be changed without worry I immediately rule out friends with office jobs or young children. Some of my freelance friends may be in the middle of a project. Other friends may agree to do it, but will make me feel they are doing it under duress or that I owe them for their generosity. Ex's are always tricky with all the relationship baggage and possible false expectations. I often get to the point where I have to wonder if it would be easier to simply call an escort service and book the fantasy of being taking home from the hospital.

For now, it's time to start working my "to do" list and not stress over anything until I have to. 

Ouch

I have spent most of the week preparing my world for surgery. I ordered a knee walker and a shower stool; stocked up on supplies (both food and entertainment); re-arranged the loft to be more crutch and walker friendly; and caught up with meetings and editors.

I've been busy checking things off my list, trying not to think about the actual surgery. Until I got hit with logistics in a one, two punch. First came in the mail, the letter authorizing my surgery. A simple line in the Requested Services Summary, Description of Service Code(s). The first description I expected "Repair of achilles tendon". Strait forward explanation of what this surgery is for. It was the second description that threw me, "Part removal of ankle/heel". It made it sound like some sort of amputation, like I would wake up and all the bone under my tattoo would be gone. Not a phrase to inspire the belief that everything will be fine and I will be up and running quickly!

Before hyper-ventilating and calling Dr. H. (not a completely unreasonable reaction considering some of the strange dreams I've been having about this surgery - I don't remember any prior to my knee surgery.) I decided that he actually meant shaving the Haglund's deformities and the bone spur. (You can see both on the photo of the x-ray below.) But still, bad wording.

The second came in a phone call from Dr. Hubbard's office. My surgery is scheduled for 7:30 am, which means I have to be at the surgery center at 5:30 am. Sit and do the math and that means I have to get up at 3:30 ish to be showered and awake enough to get to Union Square. Does it even make sense to go to bed?

On the plus side, they predict I'll be ready to go home by 8:30 - 9:00 am (which doesn't make 100% sense if the surgery lasts an hour unless they are wheeling me straight from the OR to the car) and I have to believe I'm the first surgery of the day. Dr. Hubbard's assistant said I should be happy it's early, because it means I won't be hungry like later patients.

The doctor is still waiting for insurance authorization to put me on a blood thinner, Lovenox, to prevent possible blood clots with my leg being immobilized for so long. I had been told that the PA would be talking to my hematologist and was expecting a blood thinner. Then I went on-line - from drugs.com "Lovenox can cause a very serious blood clot around your brain or spinal cord if you undergo a spinal tap or receive a spinal anesthesia (epidural)..." Didn't even get to the websites partial list of side-effects before emailing Dr. H., my pre-surgery packet says that my surgery uses an epidural instead of general anesthesia. 


Maybe medical internet research IS a bad thing! In the meantime I'm left with four days to worry and obsess.

Countdown Begins

 I have started my pre-op "to do" and shopping lists. Top priorities are making the apartment crutches friendly and stocking up on entertainment. Other jobs have included replacing the padding and grips on my crutches and stocking up on easy, healthy food. Even though I have the list well in hand, somehow a week doesn't feel long enough.

I also realize I'm much more afraid with this surgery then I was with my knee. It's not that I don't have faith in my surgeon, but that this surgery seems to have the ability for more complications. Plus everyone seems to want to tell me a horror story - not helpful!

I think it's also the idea of not being able to weight bear for two weeks. With my knee I started passive PT immediately and could at least use my foot (with some pain) to maneuver around and get up from a seat, etc.  This time I ordered a medical shower seat and have been thinking about trying to borrow a wheeled office chair to scoot around the apartment for the first two weeks. At one point Dr. Hubbard had mentioned the possibility of a knee walker. (see my favorite picture from a testimonial page of rentakneewalker.com)

I don't know if my insurance would cover it, and all the images show that the weight point is directed to the knee - the one thing I have never been able to do since my first knee surgeries 25 years ago is kneel without pain. But it certainly looks like a safer and steadier option to crutches - especially around the cats. Will email Dr. Hubbard or his PA, Marco, and call my insurance Tuesday. (With the knee walker, I might even be able to bake for Precinct Council.)

I am probably going over-board in all my preparations, but I'd rather discover I don't need something I have then try to figure how to get it afterwards.

And Maybe an Ankle

You sometimes forget how your body is related, or maybe now that I'm 40 everything is just falling apart. Anyway, about a year ago I tore my Achilles. I didn't realize I had injured it and now believe the tear to be caused by tightening of my calf muscle after surgery. Once I understood the tear could be the feeling of a simple pop at the back of your heel I could find a vague memory of the event.

It wasn't the actual pop that sent me to the doctor, but the continuing and increasing pain as I tried to maintain my schedule and routines during the following months. The morning I woke up and couldn't walk to the bathroom I decided to call the doctor. I bypassed my primary and went strait to Dr. W. who fit me in and sent me for a sonogram, put me in a short immobilizing boot and ordered physical therapy.

When the pain did not dissipate, Dr. W. decided I needed a foot and ankle specialist. He recommended a few at HSS. Only one took my insurance and he had a nine month waiting list, which became six when I said Dr. W. had recommended me. That seemed ridiculous in a city like New York, even with my less then amazing health insurance, that it should take longer to see an orthopedic specialist then it does to see my gynecologist.

As the pain began interfering with my ability to take assignments and the PT wasn't working I started scouring lists of top doctors and cross-referencing them with my insurance. I found Dr. Hubbard at Beth Israel and sent an impassioned e-mail through his website.

When I saw Dr. H. in June he changed my brace to a knee high contraption with built-in air pockets that could be inflated and deflated for a perfect fit. He also showed me an x-ray of my heel and pointed out both the spur where the Achilles had tried to reattach and the Haglund's deformity bumps that were making it difficult for my body to repair itself.

The hope was that with rest in the brace and continued physical therapy, my heel would find a way to mend. But, we're talking about me, so simple and easy wasn't an option. After a month in the boot it quieted some, but would periodically flare, especially during photo shoots. and somehow, simply ignoring it didn't really help.

I worried about my knee as my gait changed and began to change my activity level to baby my heel. After one flare Dr. H. sent me for an MRI and shortly after my right knee put it's two cents in and Dr. W. sent me for an MRI as well.

I continued to have low-level heel pain, but figured that was simply part of my life. Everyone I had spoken with talked about how they took over a year to recover from any Achilles issues. As December arrived the pain increased, but I tried to work through it. I certainly knew I couldn't wear the brace to meet with editors to discuss future assignments. The ankle swelled so badly my Primary sent me to the hospital for a Doppler for a blood clot and the pain increased to the point that my heel would throb while I was in bed.

I put the brace back on and called to see Dr. Hubbard. I got to celebrate my birthday in his office, being told that my two options were surgery or coming home from every big assignment and going into the brace for two weeks. Neither sounds particularly appealing, but after much soul searching, discussion and research I've gone with option A.

So the doctor's office works on my insurance and I am tentatively scheduled to get my Achilles cut and the spur and bumps shaved down. Two weeks in a no-weight cast, three in a walking-cast and then a month back in my boot. Nine weeks of severely limited mobility and four to six months before I am fully recovered.

Terrified seems the emotion of the moment. I'm spending my time trying to get any outstanding work done and get the apartment back into a crutches friendly zone. Now if I could just get Lowe's to finish installing my new washer and dryer.