anatomy of ankleland

Some of you may recall this story from about a year ago:

You can click the picture for a link if you haven't heard the tale, but about a year ago, I hurt my ankle pretty badly. I haven't really recovered. In fact, from favoring the initial ligature/tendon injury which was never properly diagnosed, I developed tarsal tunnel syndrome.

Click pic to read about it.

Then from not dealing with the tarsal tunnel syndrome, I developed tendonitis on the posterior blah blah, a tendon sheathe along a muscle that runs from the knee down behind the calf muscle, close to the tibia. I lost track when the doctor was talking yesterday as he gave me a cortisone injection for tarsal tunnel syndrome. I left the doctor's office and drove in circles (yes folks, it is my driving ankle) to find the place where I was supposed to pick up a boot to wear for the next month, and found it just time for it to be closed, thanks to it's lack of signage. By the time I got home, my foot was on fire up to my knee, and felt dead and asleep, like it was trying to wake up, but never did except partially sometime around five o'clock this morning. Needless to say, it was a sleepless night.  Before I went to bed, I asked a medical friend if my foot/ankle/leg should still feel like this several hours after injection, and she replied that it sounds like I had a classic steroid flare. Yay me and my weird anatomy.

So this morning, I got to drive all the way back across Newport News to find this boot place again and now my fashion statement is this:

May I pass this lesson onto you?

Listen to your body when it is giving you clear signals to see a doctor and take care of yourself, for goodness sake, because if you don't put yourself high 'on the list', this is the sort of thing that can happen to you.

Ironically, in the waiting room, my reading was Hot (Sweaty) Mamas, by Kara Douglas Thom and Laurie Lethert Kocanda, an enthusiastic book about making personal fitness a priority in your hectic life as a mother.

I neglected to mention previously that this book was a win from Kate Hopper's blog, Mother Words:Mothers Who Write. I am incredibly grateful, Kate, thank you. Once I can get back on both feet, I am so on this!

In fact, even before I am back on both feet, I am starting a belly dancing class next Monday. :)

slow down

Is that even possible?

At the moment it doesn't seem so.

Case in point: in the midst of this completely overscheduled weekend (is that three in a row? more, less? I can't even conceive of my past few weeks at the moment), I showed up at a housewarming. My friend whose new home we were warming, took one look at me and laughed in that Aw, are you okay, you look pathetic way. Then I walked into the house and saw a couple of other friends. One took one look at me, threw her arms around me and said, "Are you okay? What happened?!"

I turned to everyone and said, "I made it here, but if I don't go home now and lie down, I won't make it through the rest of the weekend."

Okay, moms who have given birth, especially naturally, you know that point you reach when you've been in labor for hours and you know you don't have it in you to push that one more time, but then the urge comes, and you feel like dying would be so much easier than to do that one more push and you're too tired even to cry, though you feel like that's all you want to do, and you can feel yourself slipping practically into unconsciousness?

That's how tired (minus the painful labor) I felt standing in my friends new home, surrounded by caring women. Thank goodness. They got it and said, It's okay, go home and rest. Hugs, and I was gone. I pseudo napped for a couple of hours with Mr. Cynic on the opposite sofa, old Twilight Zone episodes - funny, huh? - in front of us. And then the rest of the family came home and it was time to go go go to the next events of the evening, and I'll tell you more about everything as soon as I have really recouped and can find pictures, etc. For now, I need to get ready to go to the dentist. again. Wish me luck.

creaky

I did 3 90 minute yoga classes this week.  I also had 2 1 hour weights sessions with a personal trainer. 3 sessions came free with the membership, and I did the first last week.

I entered this regimen in the worst shape of my entire life.

I ache in places I had forgotten about.  I really enjoyed the Hatha yoga classes I had been attending for a couple of weeks.  And then I walked into a Power yoga class this morning, dragging Honey in with me.  He could barely lift his sandwich at dinner tonight.  I could barely do half of the yoga poses today.  He powered through them. 

"Is this the first yoga class you've taken, Hon?"

"I can honestly say it's not the first." 

His tone suggested to me it might have been the second.  And the first was likely over a decade ago.  The man has trained heavily in Martial Arts, sort of taught me some Tai Chi, has been working the weights for a couple of weeks since we joined the gym together.  But Yoga?  Not really his go to workout.

He went in skeptical of what it would actually do.  He left saying, "That was not wussy yoga!"  (I censored slightly)

It clearly wasn't.  My ankle and back are telling me so now.  We also got quite sweaty.

In my last of three training sessions with my personal trainer on Thursday, we were working abs a bunch, and my bad shoulder, among other things, and I kept laughing at myself for how weak I was when I tried to do almost anything and we had to drop weight. 

She was a great and gentle-on-me trainer, taking into consideration my surgery earlier this year, my old back and shoulder issues, and my most recent ankle injury.  But told me in her lovely Argentine accent,  "Stope laughing!  Be seriooz!" 

I mean it was funny, I was on the lowest weight settings for ab machines and shoulder/upper back machines, and the thing wouldn't move!

I tried to tell her I was taking this very seriously, I just felt really pathetic and self-conscious at how low my strength had become. It was laugh or cry, so I opted for laugh. Other than that last little scold, she and I did have a lot of fun training together.  I wish I could pay for more sessions with her, but I left with a good training sheet to start two separate workout regimens with weights.  Maybe down the line, I can get some more sessions with her when it's time to change things up.

I never thought I'd be working out in a gym.  I love walking outside, going for hikes, riding real bikes through scenery, but I need to get on target with taking care of myself now.  I'm not getting any younger, and If I don't start taking good care of mysef again now, I will not have a fun aging process into my later years, and likely not many of them.

So, the workouts are tough, but I'm going to stick with it.  I already feel more mentally alert.  And that's half the battle.  If I feel alert, I will easily want to do more. 

It's working already.  And you know what else?

It's actually fun.

tired and travel photo

I am exhausted. I think I crashed long after our whirlwind trip.  I haven't been able to muster musings of the trip, though it was jampacked with visits with friends and family, a foot led wander of my favorite city, Boston.

Here is an iconic tourist shot of Copley Square: Trinity Church reflected in the Hancock Tower.  I even captured a Duck Tour in it.  Toots was enthralled with the fountain and chasing pigeons as the adults who walked around with her wanted to collapse in the grass and shade, which we did, taking turns keeping her out of the fountain and off of Boylston Street.

The above photo is one I never would have been caught dead taking when I lived there.  Although, secretly, even then, I loved the juxtaposition of the old gothic revival stone church reflected in the modern blue glass and steel structure.  The difference now, is that I can't just walk into Copley any old time I want and see the changing light of day and season.  That's why I took the photo, because I always did love this particular aspect of Boston, the blend of the classic and modern architecture.  The Victorian flavor of remembrance of things past while looking to the future that is still very much a part of the general character of the city and its populace.  Boston is simultaneously, continuously Colonial through Current, old ships and new museums.

Since I've been back, I have not gone to bed at a decent hour, and not for any good reason. I have been doing heavy gardening and yardwork manual labor, which has been very satisfying, but exhausting, especially in the heat.  I have tried doing things useful and fun with the kids, but not too far reaching.  Before the trip, we had visitors, while wonderful to see, little Baby G did not sleep much during the night, and Little M was a nearly 4 year old ball of energy.  During the trip, Honey and I definitely ran ourselves down, and exhausted Toots, too, by packing too much into too little time.  We tried to not be too ambitious, but, honestly, the trip itself was darned ambitious. The day we left our friends' place in Cambridge for Connecticut, and picking up the boys, poor Toots was wailing protest over everything, very uncharacteristic behavior for her. 

I am past wailing protest tired at this point.  Now I just want to curl up with a good book and escape the world a bit.  I am absolutely grateful to have the boys back home and am enjoying them, but after the current load of laundry finishes, and after doing quite a bit more weeding out back by the broccoli and pepper plants before it gets too hot and muggy, I may just curl up with the book I am currently reading, and disappear into its Belizean rain forest.  It's time for the vacation from the vacation.

going slightly still crazy

I need to get out of the house, but I'm not supposed to do so as of yet. This is making me start to do things like speak in a Frau Blucher voice.



Yes, I am going schtir crazy.  I haven't quite hit the halfway mark according to doctor's orders.

Now you know why I went out to sing on Sunday.  I'm really not one to lie around and do nothing for weeks at a time.  I have a hard time sitting still during the prayer/meditation for Sunday services.  That's about a minute, folks.  So my internal combustion is about to blow.  I may start climbing the walls while singing "The Hills are alive...with the sound of music!"

Trust me, I'm no Julie Andrews these days. 

I'm also weeping over the Olympics.  Poor Lindsey Vonn, Poor Julie Mancuso, last night.   Everytime the news or the Olympic playback commentary revisits the performance the other night of the Canadian skater whose mother died, I absolutely bawl.  I know I'm going to lose it when she skates again tonight for the long program.

I swear it's all just because I really want to bust a move and can't.  All that energy has to go somewhere.  I'm also looking out the window at my scrappy garden and just want to break out the handtiller and get some sunshine.  But it's going to be a while longer.  Patience is a wondrously elusive quality.  Especially patience with self.

But I have started critiquing my writers' group stuff, some of which was written at the retreat.  I'm enjoying what I'm seeing from them and it's getting me back in the mood to finish the edits on my manuscript.

a sprinkling, a spattering

Just a few random things, like snapshots, but not.

Sunday's weather was gorgeous here, over 60.  Captain Comic entertained himself playing one of his made-up giant monsters, Ulmaragon, in the backyard for hours.  At one point, Grandma looked out the window and noticed he was beating an uprooted plant against the fence.  It was my hibiscus I planted last summer.  This would be the second hibiscus, as voles ate the roots of the first, killing it dead.  After Ulmaragon's handiwork, there may be a third.  Honey said he managed to get it back in the ground okay.  But we'll have to see come the really true spring. 

Speaking of spring, I awoke to birdsong this morning.  Well actually, I awoke to the bathroom light blasting through my eyelids, and the sound of racing sneaker shod footfall on the stairs, not sure which came first but each represented my sons' awakening to  Monday morning.  Oh, and Toots mewled from her crib even before that, I think, and had joined us in bed.  But that's just life with my kids.  But Birdsong,  yay!

Speaking of song, yesterday, though I shouldn't have according to doctor's orders, I went out and sang a solo at my UU church.  It was actually a big production number involving the whole chorus, a drummer, guitar and piano.  We were amplified.  If you've ever attended a UU service, the music is usually pretty subdued and on the folkie side, other than the hymns. 

Speaking of hymns, if you google Garrison Keillor and Silent Night, you'll see an example of what a lot of people find disconcerting about UU.  We change lyrics on hymnal standards.  Sometimes a little, like in Silent Night.  Sometimes, it's a complete lyric rewrite of an old hymn or other familiar tune by a classical composer.  Some people get really upset about it.  Some people don't.  That second group tends to join us.  That first group includes Garrison Keillor, which I find ironic, as he is a big member of the folk tradition, through oral tales, and those folkies are changing traditional stories all the time!

I digress.  It's bound to happen.  Just the kind of free thinker I am.  So, my solo was in the song Seasons of Love from the musical Rent!  It was fun.  I haven't soloed intentionally since early in college, may have even been back in high school.  That's a long time ago, folks.  Mr. Cynic said I sounded good.  And he hates the song.  Of course he hates the song, it's about love and friendship, not gloom and doom. 

It was a good thing I had another post-op follow-up doctor appointment today, because I just didn't feel right after overdoing things by singing the solo in both services.  Everthing checked out fine, but the doctor reiterated to me, do nothing for 8 weeks was his original protocol.  Yesterday was three weeks.  Bad, Cathy, Bad.  Well, he didn't sat the bad cathy, part, that's me.  I feel like Costello, no not Elvis Costello, the other guy, the heavy sweet  half of Abbott & Costello, when he says, "I've been a baaaaad boy."  So innocent.  We both meant well.

But I love to sing, and singing felt good, so there.  I will go lie back down momentarily, too.  As soon as I finish this post.

Toots keeps me smiling.  I'm so glad we made a later in life decision to add to our family.  Yes, she's a toddler, but as toddlers go, she is very easy going and happy.  I am lucky.  I am happy as a clam. 

One last thing for laughs:  Mr. Cynic likes to watch Iron Chef.  Saturday evening, as we watched an episode that involved a vat of 3 pounds of butter melting,  Mr. Cynic said, "That's a lot of saturated fat!" 

Captain Comic, half paying attention, piped in "Exaggerated fat?!  What's that?" 

I cracked up, but thought exactly! 

Otherwise, mostly these days, I am enjoying the Olympics.  Are you?

Olympics and gaining my sense of humor back.

Okay, so while I am lying around a lot, I am watching the Olympics a lot.  This is a nice combination because while I ache to roll from my back to side and groan and moan, I can live vicariously through extreme exploits of the upper echelon of the athletes of the world.  I do recognize the humor in it and am revelling in the vicories, etc.  I'm also getting weepy at the inspiration stories of every profile excerpt between the various sports runs, etc.

I think we're in for an excellent show in the men's figure skating long program tonight.  I was extraordinarily moved by Lysacek's short program.  Even when I  thought Plushenko's was flawless, in my opinion, Lysacek's rose above program into transcendant art.  So what if he didn't do the quad Plushenko did.  His artistry and flawless technique were above Plushenko's.  Sorry, I can't recall the names of a couple of the other guys, but the Japanese guy who skated to Hendrix?  Beautiful.  The one guy who spun circles around himself and his competitors? We're going to see a lot more of him in the future.  I've never seen anyone come close to his speed and spin capacity.  At least double anyone else around him. Johnny Weir is a hoot and totally aware of what he can bring in his cheeky humor as well as the tech and art side.

Louie Vito was dissed in his scoring.  His halfpipes were far and away better than others who fell and got better scores.  I think he was being dissed for doing Dancing with the Stars.  And frankly, while he was unconventional for DWTS,  he was fun to watch because he was so out of his element and yet did everything to learn and improve for his new field of play and had fun doing so.  That's right, I have confessed to watching a show I did not watch for several seasons, but now really do enjoy.  again, vicariously.  I love dance, have a long history of it, so there.  LOVED when Cloris Leachman was on.  She's brilliant. I want to be her when I grow up, which is by the looks of her, never.

Shaun White is so ahead of his competition, it's unbelievable.  He's in a category by himself, truly.  Wow.  Loved the show last night, and it was a show.  There was no need for him to even do the final run, he already had the gold, but he did it bigger and better just for the sheer joy of 'just because I can'. And he gave the crowd the move - the double mac whatsi-doohickey that no one else can do and everyone wanted to see from him. It was stunning.  Man, he's on top of the world.

Okay, now it's time for my confession.  I tried really hard - really and truly I did.  But I just can't get invested in the Curling games.  Mr Cynic came in from the school bus or walking Lucy  when I was trying the other day.  He said it all: "Isn't that what old people play on cruise ships?"

I burst out laughing.  Not quite, but close.  I've played shuffleboard.  Frankly, I found it more exciting than watching curling, no matter how intense the athletes are.  I kept asking myself at what point does a kid or teen see curling and say, that's it!  I want to be the best in the world at curling!  It is my life's mission!  I have purpose!  

To the Curlers, (tee-hee - see, I can't even go there without thinking of the iconic comedic image of old woman in curlers ) I mean no disrespect, and I am trying really hard to relate to that, but it's just not working. Kudos for the hard work and intensity, though.  You deserve it.

Slow going

Just so no one starts to worry....I'm doing alright, slow going.  I had an allergic reaction after a few days on my second pain killer, so have been doing without.  Healing is happening, just trying to take it easy as I go.  Thanks for well-wishes and all. 

Not much inspiration while I'm focussing on healing.

and now back to our regularly scheduled program.

Or not.  I'm still recovering, and if I ever complained of a lack of inspiration in the past *sputter* now I have a headful of hazy cotton.

But my dreams, when I am napping are a colorful burst of hyper-realism and surrealism. like Gaugin, Dali and Magritte threw a party and worked on the same canvas.

I can't write those.  They are too colorful and plot twisted into nonsense. When I awake, they disappear, leaving a rainbow infused wake behind them.

And I am starting to go stir crazy.  Just a little. 

recovery update

I am recovering from Monday's surgery and napping lots because of the darvacet.

Yep.  That ought to do it.

No, wait.  Toots looked at me from her perch in Honey's arms this morning, and with a very concerned and sweet look said, "Mommy is bwoken."  Then she added, "You ok, Mommy?  You ok?

I do believe in heaven on earth.  What a sweet kid.