8/07/2007 – Exit Stage Left

After almost two months, 40 posts, 30+ comments, and countless ice buckets I believe it is time to bid Right adieu. I have to confess that this brief foray into the world of blogging has been far more entertaining and enjoyable than I would have ever imagined. It was an exercise that forced me to focus on the funny and the positive in the midst of the frustrating and the painful and for that alone it was a worthwhile endeavor.

I owe a great debt of gratitude to all of you who faithfully checked in to read a few paragraphs a week about my ankle – which still is rather astounding to me. I hope you feel you got your money’s worth.

Of course I can’t end this blog without announcing the winners of the ‘Webster’s New Word Challenge’ contest so they are as follows:

1st place winner of longest submission which incorporated all of the words: Klinger
Major Award: Concert/Soccer game attendance of your choosing

1^st place winner of most concise submission: Becky
Major Award: Long overdue lunch date

1st place winner of most anonymous submission: Anonymous
Major Award: ridiculous make believe blog & welcome home cake

1st place winner of haiku submission: Anon #2
Major Award: dinner where I actually make the selection

1st place winner of poetry submission: Dave
Major Award: dinner where I actually make the selection

1st place winner of most risqué submission: Erica
Major Award: Car bomb & crabs

Thanks guys. I wouldn’t have had nearly as much fun with Righty if it weren’t for you all being the most kind and generous audience in the whole wide web. Take Care.

Love,

Righty

7/30/2007: Psalm 31:24

So today was the 3^rd visit with my beloved Dr. My hope was that it was going to be my 3^rd and final visit with him, not b/c I don’t adore the man, b/c I do do do, but because after 45 days of stress and struggle I am ready to be done with Righty. I want Righty to go back to being ‘anonymous right ankle’ with no special needs or handle with care instructions. But hope can be a dangerous thing.

So, I spent the week-end trying to level set my expectations, to base them on data instead of desire. I ran, I juggled, I dribbled, I grape vined, I stretched, I iced, I prayed. I gathered a wealth of data about Righty in hopes that when aggregated and presented to the Dr. he would have no other choice than to declare me cleared to play in this week-end. In the end however, I knew that after he had heard me out and listened patiently to all my proof he would ask me what I thought. Would I clear myself to play if I were him? As Clark put it “what does that gut of yours tell you?”

My gut says ‘play your heart out’ and then it says ‘you have way more to lose than you do to gain’. My gut says ‘you’ve played more banged up than this before’ and then it chuckles and says “when you were 18’. My gut says ‘go, have fun, play your game’ and then it says ‘hiking in Alaska is going to be hard in that boot.’ My gut is worthless. Thankfully, I have my beloved Dr.

I have promised several of you, you who pushed me to make such a promise, that I would not play if the Dr. didn’t clear me. That I would resign myself to his authority and I would skip the tournament no questions asked. I wouldn’t argue or bargain or fudge the facts to try to sway his decision. I would just accept it and move right along to my next goal, Army 10 miler anyone?

Fortunately, I don’t have to keep that promise. I was cleared to play this week-end. It isn’t a risk free situation but as my beloved Dr. said “Your strength and stability is solid and I’m not pushing the envelope to clear you to play but you are one hard tackle away from the sidelines.” I nodded. I understand this.

Yeah, hope can be a dangerous thing unless you place it in the right hands. My hope is now my joy. Thank you guys for all the prayers. . . . and keep ‘em coming ; )

7/25/2007 – From that day on, if I was ever going somewhere, I was running!

So, my running prescription from beloved Doc was a progression of slow treadmill, to faster paced treadmill, to outdoor track, to pavement, to soccer field. Well, I need to be on a soccer field in 11 days so I decided that it was time to kick start this progression.

So, early this morning Righty and I pedaled out to Washington and Lee H.S. and hit the track. Typically, I hate running on a track. I need scenery and forward progress to distract me from the usual monotony of running. And running round and round and round is not at all distracting and is totally uninspiring (this is why I find NASCAR’s rabid fan base unfathomable) Anyway, since just being able to run is now a thrilling exercise in pain thresholds and patience I don’t really need any distractions. The monotony of circling a track is now as compelling as the beach sequence in Chariots of Fire. Unfortunately I didn’t have that song on my iPod or I totally would have been rocking out.

I decided I would aim for 2 miles and depending on how I felt I would go for one more but I agreed (yes with myself) that regardless of how good I was feeling that I would cap it at 3 miles. So, I did the first mile and felt pretty ok and decided that the second mile needed to be faster. So I finished mile 2 fifty seconds faster than mile 1 and decided that I had an even faster mile 3 in me. This is why beloved Doc didn’t want me doing this alone. I am incapable of not pushing harder. It can be a good trait of mine but it can also be a tragic one. Left to my own devices I might accomplish great things by destroying myself in the process. This is why God does not leave me to my own devices very often, well or ever.

Well I pushed and I finished the 3^rd mile 65 seconds faster than the 2^nd mile. And thanks to all the great coaches I have had in my life this ran through my head: “You know, that just means you didn’t push yourself hard enough on the first 2 miles. What you save you lose.”

For the first time in weeks my heart was pounding in my ears and my lungs hurt for want of breath. I had sweat in my eyes and dripping off my chin and elbows. Side note: I love sweating, Christine thinks I am insane for this but that makes it no less true. I actually had a really hard time when I lived in Denver because I would run for hours out there and never sweat. It’s so dry there it sucks the sweat right out of your pours. It’s very unfulfilling. Anyway, I digress. I was tired and sweaty and happy because Righty held up. As I walked my cool down lap I paid very close attention to the pain signals emanating from my lower right extremity. There were a few familiar pains but rather dull, a 3 (if you will KB) on that stupid pain threshold scale. And there were a few bandwagon pains in my foot and calf. But overall, we were doing just fine.

I pedaled home, stuck Righty in an ice bucket and got my day off to a good start. I hope you all are having a good day too.

7/24/2007 – PT Update

PTG and I are on a roll. She revamped my routine again and here is the run down.

· Weighted ball bounces against angled trampoline while standing on a foam pad = 88, up 30 from last weeks paltry performance.

· Olivia Newton-John jazzercise running in place, replaced with rabbit hopping over a string of 10 mini orange cones (think construction cones but like for Lilliputians)

· Substituted heating pad for ice bag post “massage”

AND . . .

· graduated to the blue band. Hip hip hooray

It was a good PT day. Quite a bit of pain but an equal amount of progress so I am a happy camper.

7/23/2007 – No Gnews is Good Gnews

Righty and I went for a 20 mile bike ride yesterday and the good news is that I have absolutely nothing to say about it. It was virtually pain and consequence free. There was a bit of swelling this morning but hardly a noteworthy amount, unless you have a blog that allows you to note unnoteworthy things. So, in the famous words of Gary Gnu “No Gnews is Good Gnews”

I suppose the other noteworthy thing is that Righty and I went on this ride with Kelly, who took us on a route that she used to frequent many moons ago. And despite the fact that over 95% of the route is paved, I am apparently the only person she’s ever taken on this ride who didn’t wind up crashing into her or a bush.

P.S. for those of you who weren’t in elementary school in the early 80’s: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Space_Coaster

7/19/2007 – Carnies, circus folk, small hands...

Yesterday was PT session #5. In addition to clearing me to run my Doc also ordered me back for 2 more weeks of PT. Lets just say I wasn’t overjoyed at the prescription but I dutifully obeyed and found myself back in the capable if not conservative hands of PT girl (PTG). Well much to my great surprise whatever my beloved Doc wrote in my file and faxed to her convinced PTG that perhaps I was ready to progress beyond level 1 recumbent bike type activities. My excitement rapidly morphed into amusement as she laid out my new PT routine.

It started with a warm up on the recumbent bike, yawn. However this only lasted 5 min b/c the 2^nd half of the warm up was on the treadmill . . . walking backwards, up hill, with my hands in the air. Why, you might ask? Well b/c this works on balance silly goose, or so claims PTG. I think it’s her payback b/c I ask her 7 and a half zillion questions about everything she makes me do.

After that I moved on to another balancing act. This one required standing on foam pad balanced only on Righty (ok so far not bad) and then throwing a weighted ball at a trampoline angled at about a 20 degree angle. This angle ensured that the ball would bounce directly back into my face. I had to do this continuously for 2 minutes. I got 58 throws in, touched the floor with my left foot to rebalance 10 times, and successfully avoided a bloody nose. I wasn’t overly pleased with my performance, I mean that is fewer than one toss every 2 seconds. Next time I am totally getting 75 tosses in, bloody nose or not.

To round out this trifecta of circus tricks I ended the session with 2 minutes of jogging in place . . . on a hot pink round trampoline that women used to have in their basements during the jazzercise era. Seriously, think Olivia Newton John circa 1981. All I was missing was a pair of head and wrist terry cloth sweat bands.

This new set of “exercises” was certainly more advanced (I graduated from red to green, one step closer to the prized blue band) but man oh manishevitz is it a sight to behold. But hey if this sort of stuff gets Righty healthy I’ll ride around the room on a unicycle juggling rattlesnakes. Yeah I said it, rattlesnakes.

7/18/2007 – Hello Pot

Ok so one of the main, if not sole, reasons that I resisted starting a blog was because I think they’re dumb. Any time I have come across a blog it is usually filled with overly precious, self-indulgent drivel. I can’t for the life of me determine what purpose they serve except for making it seem like simply having an opinion means that you should write it down and put it on the internet.

I have lots of opinions, hoo boy, lots. But I also have general wherewithal and therefore know that most of my opinions need not leave the confines of my cranium. I think I have a pretty good life but I don’t think it needs to be documented for public consumption. I don’t visit YouTube, I don’t have a Facebook or MySpace page, and I don’t read other people’s blogs. These were but a few of the hurdles that my dear BC gals (and a few very influential others) had to attempt to push me over in order to bring The Chronicles of Righty to life.

Well, as you know b/c you are reading this, they were successful. I acquiesced. It is amazing what a little bit of flattery will do to convince someone that they should, in fact, post their precious, self-indulgent drivel. And I have to confess that I have enjoyed writing The Chronicles and I have received a decent amount of generous feedback that you all, my loyal readership, are enjoying it as well. I think all this enjoyment lulled me into a kinder gentler view of blogs. And I got to thinking that maybe they do serve a greater purpose. A unifier, if you will, of far flung friends who don’t otherwise get to be regaled with the details of my daily life. A mechanism for uniting friends of friends, who otherwise would never meet, if not for comment block discussions. A means to shrink our crazy busy world and keep us all just a little better in touch.

Turns out, nope, they’re still dumb. Here is my proof, there is a blog entirely dedicate to espousing the greatness of Croc’s (http://www.crocfans.com/) AND one entirely dedicated to hating on them (http://www.ihatecrocs.com/). AND both of those blogs and their “authors” got a shout out from the NY Times Magazine. You see, they are idiotic. Blogs are just clogging up the world with worthless discussion topics and critical judgmental opinions that thanks to, you know Al Gore, we can now post on a worldwide forum. If you have an internet connection or live in decent proximity to a coffee shop you can unload the mundane details of your life to the unsuspecting public. I mean its like, its like, its like writing a blog . . . about . . . an ankle. Oh lawdy what have I become.

Hello my name is Julie. I am a blogger. It has been one day since my last blog post.

7/17/2007 – Third Time’s A Charm

“You’re cleared to run, well to jog, on a treadmill, for no more than 2 miles, and no faster than 11 min mile pace. Now, can I get a smile out of you?”

A smile? Sheesh, if he weren’t married I would have leapt from the table and given him a kiss, right on the mouth with reckless abandon. As it was, I gave him what he requested. A huge, whole face, all the teeth, crinkly eyed smile. You just can’t contain that amount of relief and joy, it just sort of erupted across my face. Actually, its still there.

So, I went for a run. A 2 mile run at an 11 min pace. In my previous life that would have been like driving at 15 mph. But now it was the greatest feeling in the world. Don’t get me wrong, it hurt like H E double hockey sticks but it was the pain I was told to expect, soreness and stiffness from 4 weeks (count them FOUR WEEKS) of virtually no use. My gate started as a bit of a hobble but by the end I was striding out like a gazelle on the Serengeti (mid post commercial break: I had to google ‘serengeti’ to make sure I spelled correctly and I came across this awesome website: http://www.serengeti.org/ . I’m totally going on a trip there.)

Today Righty is sore and stiff but more cranky than pissed off. So, we survived our first run with sang-froid. Now I figure I’ll find out where Dean Karnazes is and see if he wants to go for a run. Juuuuust kidding. I am happy with my 2 mile, 11 min pace progress . . . for now.

7/13/2007 – The Muddy Buddy

So this week-end is the Muddy Buddy race. For all of you who don’t know what this is, check it out b/c its wicked fun and I highly recommend finding a buddy and signing up: http://www.muddybuddy.com/

In fact just to show you how much fun it is, take a gander at this gem:

Anyway, my buddy Tori and I are proudly Team Heffa and this year we were all set to bring home the gold. We took 3^rd place last year and were mere seconds outside of first. So this was going to be our big year, and then Righty happened. Tori was actually there when Righty happened (in fact if it weren’t for her I’d still be in MD with all my belongs strewn about Rico’s parents house) and I suspect she has known all along that this week-end would come and go without Team Heffa in the starting blocks. I knew it too but refused to say it out loud until I got to today. So here we are at today and Righty is not ready. My PT girl so gently put it this way . . .

“oh you’ve healed enough to do your race thing but I 100% guarantee that you’ll damage your ankle worse than before and you’ll be back on crutches for weeks”

Well peeps you don’t have to tell me that twice, or at all really. I am still walking with a slight limp, I can’t stand on my tip toes (but really who needs do to that) and I still have to hold on the railing when I go up and down stairs. So, the Muddy Buddy will go on without me (though hopefully not w/o Team Heffa – we’re trying get Chris to be my stand it, we look a lot a like, no, not at all) . I can’t say I am excited about it but I can say that I can live with it. Instead of running and riding and muddying, Righty and I will be cheering and mocking Kelly and Erica, Tori and Chris as they make their way through the muck. And Team Heffa will live to race another day.

7/11/07 – Commercial Break

I have been asked by more than a few of my faithful readers, yeah apparently there are people who actually read this thing, when the next Commercial Break is coming. Now, I don’t really want to set any sort of precedent for taking requests but I realize it has been a while since you all have had a break from ankle news.

So, the Webster dictionary added 100 new words to its 2007 edition, which I find sort of cart before the horse seeing as its only July of 2007. I mean who’s to say there aren’t a stockpile of brilliant palabra’s out there just waiting to be uttered. Well anyway, the ink has dried and the new 100 are set. So here are just a few that I thought you all might like to know have been formally added to our lexicon:

ginormous: they actually list the etymology of this word as “gigantic + enormous” which floors me. I mean really, that’s considered etymology? They also list the date as “circa 1948” which I find suspect.

smackdown: this word gets 4 definitions but the only one I consider valid is “a contest in entertainment wrestling”

crunk: a style of southern rap music featuring repetitive chants and rapid dance rhythms. Has anyone ever heard of this? Urban dictionary claims that it means ‘crazy drunk’ which makes more sense to me but I’ve never heard that either. I googled crunk bands and here are a few that came up: YoungBloodZ, Lil John and the Eastside boys, meghan mishap & KORRIE, and ff5, which boast the claim of ‘best crunk band EVER’

nocebo: the opposite of placebo - a harmless substance that when taken by a patient is associated with harmful effects due to negative expectations or the psychological condition of the patient. I think this one is my favorite.

Speed dating, soduko, Bollywood, DVR, telenovela, and IED all made the list as well. They’re not all that exciting but I think are pretty reflective of our world right now.

Ok now for your assignment. I would like each of you to use at least two of these words in a sentence, haiku, or limerick and submit them back to me. The most creative, entertaining, thought provoking submission will win a major award, frah gee lay.

7/10/07 – Survival of the Least Injured

Today was PT #3. It started off well enough b/c I graduated from recumbent bike to treadmill for my warm up. Now mind you I only got to walk on the treadmill at a blistering 3.6 speed (which is like .25 miles an hour but whatev) and a 2.0 incline but its progress so, wahoo. Then we moved on to those band exercises, you know the giant rubber band things that you affix to the legs of chairs and then tug on them. Well I was assigned the yellow rubber band, the lowliest of the resistance bands. I was in the middle of my second set of 20 tugs when SNAPPEROO I broke the thing right in two. I thought my PT girl (I would tell you her name but again, not sure on the rules about putting other people’s names on the internet) was going to kill me but she just laughed and said “I guess you’re ready for the red band.” I was really holding out hope that I could go directly the blue band, but no dice.

Next up, the clockwise/counter clockwise exercises, which I suck at b/c my calf muscle is so atrophied that it can no longer push things in circles. This frustrates me beyond all words. Righty’s calf muscle shrunk a quarter inch after spending 2 weeks in the Darth Vader boot. I mean think about that, ¼ inch in 2 weeks. Doesn’t that seem like crazy excessive?

So, as I am sitting there struggling to push this round board on a ball in circles I said to my PT girl “Don’t you think it’s sort of evolutionarily backwards that it takes so much effort to build muscle and so little to lose it all? I mean back in the day when food wasn’t so easy to come by mr. caveman would have had to expend a lot of energy to get the food necessary to build the muscle necessary to get the food necessary to build the muscle ad infinitum. And if he happened to get tagged by a tiger and had to sit it out for a week the wham there goes all his muscle and his ability to get food” Yes, this is the sort of stuff that runs through my head when I am sitting there incapable of performing basic functions with my body. Well actually, this is just the sort of stuff that runs through my head pretty much non stop.

Anyway, you know what she said “Well it’s actually right in line with Darwin’s Survival of the Fittest. Those who are prone to injury eventually die out.” Then she smiled and said “Its time for your massage.” Calling what she did to me a “massage” is like calling ice buckets a “whirlpool.”

7/09/07 – Design Flaw?

Ok so you know how when you burn your tongue on something scalding, for me its usually coffee b/c I am not awake enough to make good decisions hence the piping hot coffee in the first place, it heals almost instantly? You know, you put something that is approximately 9 billion degrees in your mouth and despite scorching the tar out of your tongue it heals overnight. One minute you can’t even touch your tongue to the roof of your mouth it’s so damaged but 14 hrs later and it is totally healed and fully functional. This holds true for biting your tongue as well, it hurts more but heals just as quickly. The tongue just closes up that hole and keeps on doing its tasting.

Now I know the tongue isn’t a weight bearing joint BUT it is a very complicated and complex bodily mechanism. I mean this is the part of your body that can distinguish between Coke and Diet Coke, lets you know when to expel rotten things from your mouth before your stomach makes you do it, keeps ice cream in the cone and not on your arm, produces thousands of syllables a second, and can be a really effective yet harmless way of expressing disdain or irritation at being grounded.

So if this marvel of a muscle can almost instantaneously recover from being bitten, burned, and otherwise battered don’t you think the ankle should be able to rebound a tad more quickly? I mean I don’t know about you but my ankle can’t say superkalfragalisticexpealaldocious.

7/6/2007 - Driving Mrs. Righty

So I’m back from a brief hiatus. I got a little tired of talking about Righty and thought you guys might be a bit tired of hearing about us. We celebrated the 4^th sans crutches, see it really is the land of the free. Free from tyranny, oppression, and crutches.

Not much new to report. This morning I had my second PT session. It was the first session where I actually did anything. The first session consisted of the therapist (a nice girl who has no idea what she’s in for) measuring my range of motion (20 degree differential) and strength (super human), and giving me a few new take home exercises complete with giant rubber band accessory.

Today I was out on “the floor” actually doing things with my ankle. We got off to a iffy start, I got caught cheating on the warm up. She told me to do a 10 min warm up on the recumbent bike and not to go higher than level 1 (see above statement about no idea what she’s in for). As you can imagine I did not stay at level 1 b/c really, come on. I mean that is like posting 15 mph speed limit signs, it’s a nice thought and a good bottom bench mark but no one drives 15 mph. Cars aren’t capable of going that slowly unless they’re out of gas and sputtering to a stop. After I was gently admonished for exceeding level 1 we moved on to balancing exercises – think DUI test minus the terror and alcohol. I thought I was doing wonderfully until my therapist said “see if you can do that without staring at the floor and holding on to the door jam.” Which, for the record, I could do, but a gentle breeze would likely knock me over. But hey I can bike for 10 min at level 5.

Anyway, the rest of the session was rather unnoteworthy, just think of any ankle exercise you’ve ever done when rehabbing a sprained ankle and there you have my morning. Thrilling stuff let me tell you.

Oh and I am driving again. A friend has requested that I drive with my hazards on b/c she’s not completely convinced that I am not a menace. I assured her that I am back to being my perfect driver self, she was unconvinced. I am taking Kelly to the airport today so she gets to guinea pig it for me. But seriously folks, its all good. I only stall out when trying to parallel park . . . and when driving 15 mph.

7/03/07 - One Step Closer to Healed

Today I am wearing my new boot, which is really more like a brace. Its really rather subtle, comparatively speaking and despite having like 56 velcro straps. The old one looked like Darth Vader’s leg and had about 112 velcro straps. So, huge fan of the new one b/c mostly it just looks like an ankle brace AND allows me to wear a shoe. I haven’t had a shoe on my right foot in over two weeks so this is a treat. Since I actually own the Darth Vader boot, they weren’t interested in a trade-in at the ortho’s office, I was able to do Before and After photos just so you can fully appreciate the freedom that I am experiencing today.

Before doing "everything perfect these past two weeks"

After doing "everything perfect these past two weeks"

I do think this marks the end of any more random stranger ankle/water/kickball stories b/c the new brace is so inconspicuous that I actually look mostly like a normal person, aside from my peg legish limp. Although maybe now I’ll start getting random stranger pirate stories . . “On the high seas, your ship attacked, and the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.”

My new brace and I are off to PT. If its at all noteworthy I’ll let you know.

7/03/07 - Measure Twice, Cut Once

So after over two weeks of hobbling around on crutches with a very conspicuous black boot on my leg I have noticed an interesting trend, when people encounter someone visibly broken, within seconds they are sharing their stories of brokenness. I don’t ever ask “Hey so have you, or anyone you know, ever been busted up? Wanna tell me all about it?” Which is not to say that I mind the stories, I just find it an interesting sociological phenom that virtual strangers are so forthcoming and sometimes with really horrific stories. Mind you not all the stories are from strangers. Some are from friends who are empathizing and entertaining me. Which I thoroughly appreciate and enjoy.

The stories fall into 3 categories: water related injuries, kickball related injuries, ankle/lower leg related injuries. This is 100% true if you forget the story about my co-workers kid who broke his elbow. And the totally random custodian who interrupted my morning bagel the other day by sweeping up to me and blurting out “so are you on Vicodin?” And to be honest, I’m totally willing to forget about both of those. I find it rather astounding how many people have a water, kickball, and/or ankle related injury? However, so far, I haven’t met anyone else who has a three in one, the trifecta if you will. I like to break the mold, dare to be different.

I was thinking that I would share some of the stories with you but even the funny ones end with someone being pretty damaged and that sort of saps the humor out it. And a lot of them are about random strangers and I don’t know what the protocol is for putting someone else’s story on the internet without their permission. It might be some sort of copyright infringement/privacy violation infraction. Well ok, I’ll tell you the one that, minus the injury, is funny and made me go hmmm . . .

John (names have been changed to protect the innocent. Ok not really, I don’t know his name so I can’t change it, its just made up. The story is about the uncle of the guy who told me the story) was pledging a fraternity (see already you feel less bad about the fact that you know the story ends with him hurt) and therefore he was being hazed. One night he was blindfolded and marched out to top of a building. He was told that he was standing at the edge and that all his soon to be ‘if only he could prove himself worthy’ brothers were down below ready to catch him. All he had to do was jump. Well completely empty his head of all logical thought and then jump. So jump he did. And since he was told he was atop a building that is how he jumped, as if leaping from a great height. In reality he was standing on a platform raised off the ground about 8 inches. When he came down he snapped his ankles. So, jumping into 2 feet of water when the body expects 5 feet and falling 8 inches to the ground when the body expects 2 stories apparently does approximately the same thing to ankles.

Moral of the story, try to give your body accurate data about what its about to have to brace for and you might walk away from moronic decisions with in tact ankles.

7/02/07 – Repeat Offender

I am happy to report that I was able to make a PT appointment for 2pm tomorrow afternoon with the NovaCare Rehabilitation center in Fairfax. This is the very same place I went to for PT on my achilles. Because it is the same place and because that was just over a year ago, I am apparently still in their system. I know this because when I called and gave the receptionist Jim (an otherwise really nice guy I am sure) my name, I popped up on his screen before I got past the S-C-A-R-A and that prompted the following conversation:

Jim “Oh, so I see you’ve been here before.”

Me “Yes, about a year ago for an achilles injury.”

Jim, chuckling “Well, geez what’s wrong with you? We don’t really like repeat offenders.”

I supposes places like PT centers (and emergency rooms in Chestertown, MD), would rather not have you come back and give them your business, which I’m all for. I suppose this should pretty much be true of every doctor/hospital/ medical facility in the world. With the exception of obstetricians, I suppose their repeat business a good thing. Anyway, I’ve got my appointments set for the next few weeks and after that, if I have my way, I won’t ever be calling Jim again.

7/02/07 – Drop . . Your . . Sword

So this morning I headed back to the Dr for my follow up appointment. This time I arrived via coche de Bigwood and after a brief stay in the waiting room I was back in the exam room sitting on one of those crinkly paper sheets staring at the ankle anatomy picture on the wall wondering which of those tendons was causing me such grief.

I will spare you the mostly boring mundane details of exam and just cut right to the chase:

a. Surgery will not be necessary (rickety tickety tack)

b. I am cleared for PT (ready, now, immediately)

c. I can 86 the boot and the crutches (good b/c it was starting to be stinky)

d. I have a new much smaller brace that will fit in a shoe (as well as under pants so I can start dressing like a normal person again)

e. I can begin biking in the brace w/ a nice jog in my not too distant future (Wa Hoo)

And all of this is because he said that I (and this is a direct quote) “did everything perfect these past two weeks” Then he tossed me up on his shoulders and paraded me around the office heralding me as the most disciplined, committed, tough healer he’s ever known. A medical marvel if you will ^{kb ; )}. Ok so maybe that last part didn’t really happen but he really did tell me that I (again, this is a direct quote) “did everything perfect these past two weeks” I am pretty sure I can count on one finger how many times anyone has ever said that to me in regards to doing what I am told. I’m growing, look at me go. Yea really much of that credit belongs to you all but hey, let me bask for un momento por favor.

I told him that I had stayed off it as much as possible (again, no small thanks to you all) and he smiled and nodded. I told him that had done my towel curls and alphabet exercises a few times a day and he smiled bigger and said ‘it shows’. Then I said “and I have been doing ice buckets 2-3 times a day” and he shook his head chuckled and said “Of course you have.” And then he said “Uh yeah, is there anyone who will go with you when you bike to make sure it doesn’t turn into century ride? And someone who will jog with you to make sure you don’t decide a 10k is what I meant by easy jog?” Ahh to know me is to love me.

So this is a great day, full of great news and as always great comedy. . .as he was giving me the list of activities I am allowed to do he kept telling me that I should push to the pain. Ditch the crutches and begin walking in the brace but only to the pain. I can bike but only to the pain. I can begin jogging but just to the pain. My threshold for all activities is . . . to the pain. Now, I am already about to burst with giddiness because, well lets review I “did everything perfect these past two weeks.” Not to mention that biking is in my immediate (alright near) future so, I could barely contain myself from saying:

Prince Humperdinck: First things first, to the death.
Westley: No. To the pain.
Prince Humperdinck: I don't think I'm quite familiar with that phrase.
Westley: I'll explain and I'll use small words so that you'll be sure to understand, you warthog faced buffoon.
Prince Humperdinck: That may be the first time in my life a man has dared insult me.
Westley: It won't be the last. To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists. Next your nose.
Prince Humperdinck: And then my tongue I suppose, I killed you too quickly the last time. A mistake I don't mean to duplicate tonight.
Westley: I wasn't finished. The next thing you will lose will be your left eye followed by your right.
Prince Humperdinck: And then my ears, I understand let's get on with it.
Westley: WRONG. Your ears you keep and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, "Dear God! What is that thing," will echo in your perfect ears. That is what to the pain means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever.
Prince Humperdinck: I think your bluffing.
Westley: It's possible, Pig, I might be bluffing. It's conceivable, you miserable, vomitous mass, that I'm only lying here because I lack the strength to stand. But, then again... perhaps I have the strength after all.
[slowly rises and points sword directly at the prince]
Westley: DROP... YOUR... SWORD!

I didn’t rush the miracle man, I was still (at least mostly and certainly still for me) and I got my miracle. So who wants to go on a bike ride?

Today’s miracle is brought to you by the letter F for friends (my friends, the best ones in the world) and the numbers 46:10.

7/01/07 – Commercial Break

We interrupt your regularly scheduled blogging to bring you your non orthopedic post of the week. On Sunday the US Men’s National Team played Mexico in the CONCACAF finals. I watched the game on TeleFutura because this is the United States and in the United States we do not televise soccer games even at 3pm on a Sunday in the middle of the summer when there are absolutely no other sporting events are going on. Fortunately, TeleFutura (along with the rest of the world’s population) does not consider poker a sport and instead gleefully televises every single instance of soccer being played anywhere in the world. I am pretty sure they’d televise my DIII co-ed team before broadcasting a poker game.

Anyway, I digress. The interesting thing about watching a soccer game on a Spanish language channel (aside from it all sounding like blah, blaH, blAH, BLAH, PELOTA GOOOOOOAAAAAL) is that the United States when spoken in Spanish is Los Estados Unidos but when written/displayed on the scoreboard it is EE.UU. This makes no sense to me and no one I asked seemed to have any idea. So, when your friends who live in Spain, speak Spanish for work, grew up in South America come up empty you ask Google. And sure enough Google knew. . .

Question: Why is the abbreviation for Estados Unidos written EE. UU. instead of simply E.U.?

Answer: The double E and double U indicate that the letter represents a plural.

So there you GOOOOOOOO.

Oh the EE.UU. beat Mexico on Sunday in a come from behind victory to win the CONCACAF tournament. Four days later they got their hats handed to them by Argentina who figured out that the EE.UU. doesn’t actually mark anyone.

6/30/07 – Make Yourself Useful

Anna and Jody are moving this week-end. It has been on my calendar for weeks because as an able bodied friend it is my duty (and of course great pleasure ; ) to help them pack boxes, life heavy things, stand around staring at the back of a U-haul and debate whether or not the giant futon is going to fit. You know, just generally be part of the trickle of people filing in and out of their house like ants scurrying off with a slice of watermelon one tiny bit at a time. Jody was actually kind enough to break the week-end move into 3 shifts: Saturday morning, Saturday afternoon, and Sunday morning. Each shift came with a list of activities, success criteria if you will, and a reward: morning = bagles, afternoon = beer.

I fully intended to be part of all 3 shifts because I am huge fan of both bagels and beer (though not as a combo) and well because I am their friend and that is what able friends do. Until said friend leaps into shallow water and renders herself unable and relatively useless especially in endeavors that require things like lifting, carrying, and heaving heavy things. To be fair, really even endeavors that require walking and I’m pretty much not your girl. But I wanted to help in some way.

So, I called Anna and said ‘Is there any way, in my current state, that I can be of use in the moving process.’ She called back after consulting with Jody and said ‘yeah you can guard the truck while we’re making trips up and down to his apartment.’ Brilliant, Righty and I can be Security. We’ll guard the bounty, scaring off any would be thieves and meter maids with our very imposing and terrifying presence. Yay, we can be useful.

Well it turns out that the apartment complex has a cargo bay, so no threat of tickets. And it turns out that Jody and Anna have a lot of friends who also like bagels and beer, so the truck was really never unattended. And it seems that Anna is extraordinarily kind to me and brought out a chair and elevation prop for Righty and me, which was very nice but really chipped away at the appearance of any sort of toughness. There was one time, about 3 min in duration where I was left down there all by myself. And as I sat in my chair looking very unimposing and unsecurity guard like with Righty propped up on an old cabinet and my crutch by my side, I thought about what would happen if someone really came through and wanted to run off with some of their loot, perhaps with something like Jody’s box of wigs and beads (carefully labeled as such with post-it notes). Before I could finalize my stealthy plan of attack they all returned.

However, the day ended with absolutely no attempted looting. Coincidence, I think not.

6/29/07 - Tricia

I just got a call from Tricia, my orthopedist’s receptionist. She was calling to remind me that Righty and I have appointment on Monday. I was like, um Tricia thank you for the call but it is pretty much the most unnecessary thing you’re going to do all day, perhaps in your entire lifetime. I will be in your office in precisely 68 hours and 10 min. and I will think of nothing else until then. In fact it has been resting on the tip of my brain since I made the appointment 12 days and 22.5 hours ago. Instead I said “Thanks Tricia, see you then.”

6/29/07 - D.A.R.E.

I am undeclaring myself a drug free zone and although I hope Paris continues to fight the good fight I am going to return the world of mild sedation. I’m going to save the magical total body numbing 8hr Tylenol’s for bed time and stick to your garden variety ibuprofen during the day. I feel a bit defeated that I am resuming my drug habit but I’m 100% off the Percocet so that’s progress. Those D.A.R.E. mom’s would be so proud of me.

6/28/07 – My BFF, Paris Hilton

Here is how humor kills pain, an excerpt from an IM conversation with Liz:

liz8alley2: what up yo

scaryisgreat: righty and i are fighting

liz8alley2: why

blah, blah, blah insert explanation of 8hr Tylenol drug delusions as explained in 'Duped' post.

scaryisgreat: so today i am a drug free zone

liz8alley2: so is apparently Paris Hilton

scaryisgreat: great news

liz8alley2: thought you should know what you have in common with the heiress

6/28/07 – Duped

Yesterday was a good day. Righty and I were rolling right along on the reduced swelling train, testing out some new found range of motion and feeling like maybe we were brave enough to let a few little rays of hope shine in. We had a brief field trip to the farmer’s market and the running shoe store, we had a delightful visit from Laurel and Duke (holla BC girls I got to meet him and he’s pumpkin ; ), we even got invited to Jays for some post game celebrating. All of this with really minimal pain, relatively speaking. I went to bed thinking that maybe we’d crossed a healing threshold. Maybe Righty was mending and there was crutch free walking and even driving in our near future. These were the wonderful dreams I was dreaming right up until about 2am when Righty woke me up screaming as if Kathy Bates and her sledge hammer were poised at the foot of the bed.

You see Kelly had kindly given me a bottle 8hr Tylenol pills. She said they worked wonders when she tore her ACL. I had taken them in the morning with breakfast and then another does just a tad shy of 8 hrs later. Then about 6hr later I went to bed. Well it turns out, Kelly was right, they do work wonders. They do such a good job masking pain that you actually think that you’re not having any. They do such a good job making the pain disappear that you are lulled into believing, worse hoping that things are on an upswing and that you’re approaching a mending milestone. They also make you push Righty a little to hard because you can't hear the screaming.

Now, I know its not Tylenol’s fault, they’re just doing their job and kudos, they do it really well. But I don’t like not knowing what’s going on with my body. So today I am declaring myself a drug free zone. That's right, cold turkey. Righty and I are going detox.

So far, I want to kill myself.

6/27/07 - Mama Needs a New Pair of Shoes

You know what’s funny? Crutching into a running store with a giant black immobilizer boot on your right leg and asking the sales clerk, “Do you have the Saucony Hurricane in size 6.5?” The girl looked at me with a hint of skepticism but mostly with pity as if maybe I wasn’t quite all there and it had somehow escaped my notice that I was on crutches and in a giant black immobilizer boot.

I assured her that they were for future running engagements and that I wouldn’t be attempting to jog home in them. At that she smiled with relief and bounced to the back of the store emerging in seconds with a pair of size 6.5 Saucony Hurricanes. I know they’ll be collecting a bit of dust in the short term but just having them makes me happy.

6/26/07 - Day 10

So a few days ago I was talking with a friend of mine who recently recovered from his own personal variety of ankle annihilation and he said ‘have you hit day 10 yet?’ I looked at him quizzically and said, “nope.” But then I had to count how many days it had been, which was 6. When do you stop counting in days and move to weeks? Is there some rule like with babies, they’re 18 months but not 24 months b/c then they’re 2 yrs old.

Anyway back to the days-o-healing count. So I told him that I was at day 6 and he asked how the swelling was and I said that it hadn’t really gone down much but wasn’t getting worse. And then he leaned over a bit and said in a super secret pinky swear sort of way “wait until day 10. All your swelling will just disappear.” I sort of looked at him like, yea ok thanks for sharing but I doubt all this swelling is just going to vanish b/c its day 10. Undeterred by my look of unbridled skepticism, he said “No really. My doctor told me that on day 10 I would see a massive decrease in the swelling and he was right.” He went on to say that almost all of the swelling was gone by day 10 and never returned and that the pain didn’t really subside but his range of motion rapidly increased – b/c all that puffed up flesh was out of the way I presume.

So, guess what today is? It is Day 10. And guess what else, he wasn’t kidding. Had I actually spoken the sentiments conveyed by my facial expression I would be sidling up to a big plate of ‘my own words’ right now. He was inexplicably correct. I mean my ankle is almost back to normal size. Its still a little deformed looking but it no longer looks like I have a softball for a joint. Its like someone stole into my room last night and deflated my ankle. Pure magic. I wish I had taken pictures so I could show you the Before and After. Just imagine Before and After pictures of what’s her face on that TrimSpa crud. That’s pretty much what its like only way better b/c it happened magically and not via some chemically toxic weight loss drug.

Oh and also, he was right about the pain not subsiding with the same magical speed as the swelling. Range of motion has improved. All in all this was a rock star day. Hip, hip, hooray for day 10.

6/25/07 - News Flash

This just in, I can see my Achilles tendon. After countless hours in the ice bucket the swelling has subsided just enough to bring my Achilles into view. I can safely say my ankle is on the verge of no longer being eligible for description as cankle. This is a great day. If I could jump for joy I would. In lieu of jumping I am going to celebrate by continuing to sit here with it elevated.

6/24/07 - Benefits of Humidity

So, you know what makes sticking your leg into a foot of ice water not make you wail like an infant? 98 degrees and 200% humidity, generously offered up by today’s weather. It turns out if I sit outside, directly in beams of sunlight while ice bucketing my leg, it doesn’t hurt so much. I am not sure how good it is for my lower extremity to be freezing while my upper body is sweating but hey it makes those 15 minute fly by, well comparatively speaking that is.

6/24/07 - Commercial Break

In case you’re growing weary of reading about my right leg here’s something completely non orthopedic for you: the word ‘quarantine comes from the Latin word for 40, which was the number of days (in the 14^th century) that the Venice ports required ships to stay anchored off shore to prevent the spread of the Black Death plague.

6/23/07 - Anniversary

Today Righty and I are celebrating our 1 week anniversary. We’ll be celebrating with 2 sessions in the ice bucket, an attempt at spelling the entire alphabet with my toes, and a 400 billion milligram ibuprophen cake. Also we will celebrate by not riding in any ambulances or scaring the crap out of any of our friends.

6/22/07 - Be Still

I just received a text message from Squishy. It was brief and said ‘read Psalm 46:10’ I love that I have a friend who text messages me bible verses.

Psalm 46:10 “Be still and know that I am God” I suppose it was only a matter of time before God tapped into the text messaging craze. I hear You and I am trying. I am bad at stillness but You know this, clearly.

6/22/07 - Open Wound Insert Salt

I just got the Muddy Buddy e-newsletter. I am going to go stick my head in the oven now. Jokes people jokes. But damn it we were going to win this year. Oh right the blessing part, thank you God for the sunshine and zero % humidity today.

6/22/07 - It Could Always Be Worse

http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/06/22/six.flags.accident/index.html

A friend of mine just sent me that article so apparently, it can always be worse. I am not sure why pointing this sort of stuff out is considered a valid condolence technique. But is and it is employed far and wide by friends and family trying to comfort and console. But it isn’t really very comforting to know that some 13 yr old just got her ankles torn off. But maybe it isn’t about comfort. Maybe its about perspective. Maybe its about being reminded that in the grand scheme of things my life is pretty great. And I can get on board with that in general. But I have to say, knowing that this poor kid is looking at a lifetime without feet does not really make me feel much better about the fact that I can’t bathe without sitting on a stool. I feel badly for her but no more or less so than I would if I weren’t crutching around my living room and calling that exercise. Does this make me a bad person? Don’t get me wrong, there was an instant when I read that story (or when I hear all the other stories of awfulness in this world) when I was washed over with a giant wave of relief. But the relief is temporary. Because I just don’t think joy is sustainable if its really just the absence of pain.

I don’t think we should spend our lives muting our own pain, dissatisfaction, disappointment, and loss by focusing on those far worse off. I think that does our blessings a disservice, like they’re only blessings in contract to someone else’s lack of them. I think we need to be aware of our blessings and our gifts so that we can fully experience them and be grateful for them and protective of them. But I don’t consider myself blessed only b/c I know there are people are out there starving and dying and being abused. I just consider myself blessed. I just also consider myself broken right now and no amount of someone else’s trauma is going to make me feel better about that. All of that said, when I started writing I was thinking “blah blah blah, it could always be worse” the very next thought was “yeah it could have been, you could have jumped into that water head first”

So don’t get me wrong, I know things could always be worse. Way worse. So I think I will continue to be really pissed off about being broken but I will make sure that every time I curse this busted up leg of mine I will find something to bless. Not comfort but perspective.

6/22/07 - The Whirlpool

In college if you sustained any injury to any part of your lower body, really anything from the waist down, you were assured that an ice bath was in your future. The trainers liked to call it ‘the whirlpool’ which makes it sound at worst benign and at best heavenly after a hard practice in the Williamsburg heat. They’re liars. It is pretty much the opposite of benign and heavenly. I suppose they’re not total liars, it was in fact a whirlpool. It was a large metal tub about 5 feet in length, 3 feet in width, and 4 feet deep. At one end was a wee little outboard motor. It looked like maybe it was a motor to Barbie and Ken’s vacation boat. But, as advertised, it whirled.

The problem was what it whirled, ice water. I don’t mean ice water as in cold water. I mean ice and water. The trainers would fill the tub a quarter full with ice cubes and a quarter full with cold water. The other half of the tub was filled with your body. On good days you got the “whirlpool” all to yourself but most days you had to share it with some other athlete damaged from the waist down. You might think it would be nice to have someone with you in the tub-o-misery but it wasn’t. It really wasn’t big enough for two bodies so all your damaged frozen parts were bent into even more uncomfortable positions. And its not like you were going to chat. The instant you toes touched the surface of the water your jaw clenched shut, your lungs expelled every last atom of O2, and your brain slipped into a childlike coma only able to generate moans and thoughts like ‘mama, mama’.

It actually took superhuman strength to lower yourself into the “whirlpool” b/c it went against every single solitary survival instinct you’d ever had in your whole life. The first few times I had to do it I kept looking over at the trainer with desperate pleading eyes, thinking “Really? Really, you think this is a good idea? Have you felt this water? Its super cold, like arctic cold, like ice burg cold, like I am going to die of hypothermia cold. Where are the penguins?” But alas, they had no sympathy. Some b/c they were evil and sadistic and some b/c they knew what you had a hard time wrapping your popsicled brain around, that this really would heal you.

The “lucky ones” only had to submerge to the upper calf, those were the ankle/Achilles/calf cramp folks. If you were a knee injury you were in up to mid thigh. Which sucked but you got to stop just short of that place on your body, you know where it is, that makes your head explode if you put it in cold water. If you were a quad, a hip, or a groin, you were toast b/c you had to submerge to your belly button. I am pretty sure those folks spent several years in therapy trying to recover from the experience.

So, this morning I decided that it was time I got aggressive about healing. Don’t worry I didn’t try to go for a run. I emptied my trashcan, lined it with a plastic bag, and filled it ¼ full of ice and a ¼ full of water. Then I stared at it for a few minutes. I tried really hard to convince myself that it wasn’t nearly as painful as I remembered it, that I was only going to have to go mid calf and only for 20 minutes. Not true, it was just as painful as I remembered it and I couldn’t actually keep it in there for the full 20 minutes, I lasted 15 minutes. I was apparently much tougher when I was 19. It took about 5 minutes for my foot to thaw so I counted that as part of the ice time. Now I will spend the next several hours seeing if I can convince myself to try it again. Because you see, it really is very effective it is just also very traumatizing. I am still trying to get air back into my lungs.

6/22/07 - Smoke? I don't smell anything

Ok so I have discovered thing number 431 that I can't do b/c of Righty, change the battery in the smoke detector in my living room. This is b/c changing it would require climbing a ladder. So in 2 min intervals the downstairs is filled with an ear piercing BEEP. This has got to be penance for some previous sin or maybe it is to remind me that things can always get worse. Well here’s what I have to say about that . . .BEEP.

6/21/07 - Points to Ponder

So, what does it tell you about yourself when you crutch down to your office refrigerator with an empty zip lock bag to make yourself an ice pack only to discover that the one you made for yourself a month ago is still sitting in the freezer?

6/21/07 - Virginia is for Runners

So you know how when you end a relationship everywhere you look you see couples. Like the instant that your relationship crashed into bits the entire rest of the population somehow became the world’s happiest couple. Everywhere you look people are holding hands, walking arm in arm, using the pause at traffic lights as an excuse to smooch, and you know if you could hear them they’d be saying things like schmoopy and snugglekins. And it transcends age. Now that you’re single even the 13 yr old pimply kids and the wrinkly old grandpas have someone to call their very own. I don’t know how this happens, it just seems to be a universal invariant. When you lose something all you see is that everyone else seems to have found it.

I can now say, with complete authority, that this phenomenon extends beyond being newly single to being newly broken. Everywhere I turn people are running. I mean seriously everywhere, at all times of day, all shapes and sizes. It was 900 degrees here on Monday with 300% humidity and the whole of the population of Arlington was out running. As of Saturday at 6pm we were a nation of fatties but I bust up my ankle and shazaam everyone’s magically transformed into Forest Gump. I suppose I should be comforted to some extent that my incapacitation seems to have resulted into an all consuming fitness trend. I mean even the 13yr old pimply kid was out for a jog with his new girlfriend this morning.

6/20/07 - Friendly Encouragement

Telephone conversation I just had:

Me: I’m so broken, whaaaa. I can’t walk or drive, boo hoo. I’m going to miss the Muddy Buddy WHAAA. I mean can’t sit here all day and do nothing, whiiiiine. And it just hurts so badly, sob sob.

Friend: I know its hard and it hurts.

Me: yea, sniffle.

Friend: I have been where you are before and it is a struggle but I am going to give you some of the best advice I’ve ever received when I was beat up and broken. It saved me and I want to share it with you. It goes something like, Suck It Up.

6/20/07 - Field Trip to Work

I had to spend a few hours in the office today so I hitched a ride and left my couch for what felt like the first time in months. Once there I mostly just hid in my office so as to avoid having to explain over and over and over again that, yes I am in fact totally banged up as the result of a kick ball game. This was reasonably effective but some people just won’t be deterred by a mostly closed door. Any hint of drama, like crutches perched against a file cabinet, and they appear like paparazzi. I began toying with the idea of making up a new story for each new person but I didn’t have the heart or the energy. A friend of mine recommended putting together a PowerPoint presentation and posting it on my door.

As I was leaving I got caught in the hallway by a co-worker. Its not comfortable to be propped up on crutches, which makes me wonder why in all of human history we haven’t invented a better tool for leg injuries. I mean absolutely no medical advancements in this regard since like the dawn of time, well at least since Tiny Tim. Anyway, I am standing there – and by standing I mean leaning heavily on my underarms - with a somewhat over exaggerated grimace on my face hoping to convey my intense need to get going, when Melissa came by. She’s one of my most favorite co-workers. And if you know me, you know that is saying a lot. Anyway, I see Melissa, I think salvation, I am right. She chases off anonymous co-worker, who was on Chapter One of a story about the time his son broke his arm on the monkey bars. What that has to do with me (a stranger) smashing an ankle playing kick ball I will (thank you Melissa) never know.

Melissa asks me if I am doing ok. Offers to help me down to my car, takes my bag, and as we crutch off down the hall she says “you know, you’re the only person I know who is strong enough to carry their own body weight”. I don’t really know what this means but it makes me very afraid for all of the people Melissa knows.

6/19/07 - Trip to the Ortho

So yesterday my girlfriend Nichole and her daughter Mollie picked me up to take me to the doctor’s office. This is the first time that I have been driven to the doctor’s office since I was in High School. Ironically that ride was also the result of a sports related injury (yes we are considering Kick Ball a sport from here on out) though it involved my parents schlepping me to the doctor’s office, which at the time was still their job. Having a non parent drive me somewhere b/c I was incapable of driving myself was somewhat disheartening. Then I got my head out of my bum and was just grateful that I have such awesome friends and that I wasn’t paying for a cab ride to Tyson’s.

Today Nichole came to get me to take me to dinner. It had been a little over 24 hrs since I had seen her. My giant boot and I crutched out to meet her and as I got in the car she said (after laughing about the fact that she had gotten totally lost and driven by my house 2 times before seeing me on the porch) ‘you look better already’. I shot her a raised eyebrow dubious glance as I bounced down into the seat. She insisted and said ‘yesterday you couldn’t put any weight on the leg and look, today you balanced on it’. She was right. I had balanced on it for about 4.8 nanoseconds. The time it takes to close the passenger side back door and rotate to grab the passenger side front door. Because I am trying really hard not to be grumplestiltskin every second of the day, I smiled at her and said ‘yeah its progress’. Really what ran through my head was:

“Fezzik: You just shook your head... doesn't that make you happy?
Westley: My brains, his steel, and your strength against sixty men, and you think a little head jiggle is supposed to make me happy?”

That of course is the great thing about The Princess Bride, it has a quote for everything. In the end, the head jiggle was enough. Westley recovers (well enough to fake it at least, which I will do too), defeats Humperdink, and rides off into the sunset – replace kissing the Princess with suiting up for the Muddy Buddy and you have my happy ending. Short of that, I have my Fezzik’s who will point out and celebrate the head shakes, the momentary balances, the baby steps. Its going to take time, I know this. I hate this but I know this. But after all, “You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.”

6/16/07 - The Ambulance Ride

The best thing I can say about being strapped to a gurney, stuck with an IV (that I swear was the size of a slurpee straw), and hooked up to a billion machines that make sounds implying imminent cardiac arrest is that I probably otherwise wouldn't learn things like 'stab wounds bleed 20 times more than gunshot wounds, unless its a bullet to the head and then whoa blood fest' Oh and also, Rico wouldn't have been able to operate an ambulance siren. So all in all a completely forgettable experience that I highly recommend avoiding - especially if you're someone I love or even somewhat care about.

The Dangers of Kick Ball

I was at 12 annual, a reunion with my college friends that involves (among other things) a big kick ball game - William & Mary (me and my old teammates) vs. The World (spouses, friends, basically anyone not from W&M who happens to be in attendance). Despite all of the W&M group being division 1 soccer players (la dee da) we lose kick ball every year and usually by double digits. We play down near the water - we're on a tributary off the Chesapeake bay. If the ball goes into the water (which is behind home plate) the inning is over, all runners come in, no points. Very bad for the team that is losing by 11 points in the 3rd inning (Team W&M). So picture this, Team W&M at bat, men on base and the ball goes rolling towards the water, slowly taking our hopes of a high scoring inning with it as it approaches waters edge. I go chasing after it, leaping heroically to save the day, jumping into the river and crashing down busting up my right ankle. I went straight into shock, passed out and had to be dragged unconscious out of the river. i managed to scare the living day lights out of my friends and the stupid ball went in the water anyway. If you are at all interested in how that right ankle, lovingly dubbed Righty, is faring then stay tuned.