Friday, May 17, 2013

It Gets Better....NOT!

Before all my gay and lesbian readers freak out, let me assure them that DOES get better. I love being lesbian, it gets easier all the time, being an old dyke is pretty damn fun, and the world it is a'changing. So don't have a cow.

No, I'm talking about life with my foot. Which, although healing, is not healing quickly. In fact, the ankle is the slimmest it's been since high school. Which may be due to atrophy. Just sayin'.

Brief recap:

End of January: Looking at guitars and ukuleles instead of where I was going, I trip up CLEARLY MARKED step and break my fourth metatarsal. That's some stupid bone in my foot. They put me in a velcro and plastic boot that goes from knee to toe.

A few weeks later: Some doctor at urgency care decides my foot, which still hurts like a mother,  is not broken after all and takes me out of boot. Fine with me. Also takes x-rays and I am assured that nothing is broken. (I keep reminding myself that 50% of all doctors graduated in the bottom half of their class.)

Two weeks after that: I'm sent to see a podiatrist although I have no idea why since according to some random radiologist (a bottom 50%er, I'm sure) my foot is not broken. Said podiatrist looks at the same dang x-ray (Kaiser has all that stuff on a computer) and shows me where my foot IS broken.  He puts me in a little boot thingie. More industrial strength velcro, more plastic.

A few weeks later (are you keeping track? I'm lost...but I fell in the end of January and it is now the end of May): The bone is well! Yay! I'm thinking a few weeks of physical therapy and I'm out the door, ready to enjoy summer with a new improved foot. Instead, after the most excruciating x-rays possible, that not only hurt my foot but torque my back into spasm, I'm in a cast. Soft tissue damage apparently takes a long time to heal, and I did soft tissue damage when I fell. I also have a cane.

Two weeks after that:  I need a new cast because the old one is biting into my toe with every step. I also realize I have no follow-up appointment so I make one.

Today (another two weeks, if you're trying to keep track): Follow-up appointment. I'm thinking maybe I can be out of the cast. Instead, he gives me two choices. I can have an MRI (of which I am terrified....don't ask, but it involves having to be removed from an MRI in emergency mode) and possibly surgery, plus EVEN MORE months in a cast. Or I can just spend more months in a cast (number to be determined). However, I have to keep as much weight as possible off my foot because there may be torn tendons/ligaments/whatever in my heel. So, in addition to the cane, the cast (I went with the ever popular red cast with purple barber pole effect again), and instructions to stay off my foot as much as possible, I now have CRUTCHES.  And he says I need to come see him once a month. Not one time, next month. No, once a month for maybe forever. And I need to get a new cast every two weeks or so.

Getting a new cast involves a saw. It tickles. But I also have a damaged nerve in that foot and leg from a surgery that went awry and nicked a nerve. So it also hurts like hell. Prompting me to want to kick the man who is squatting in front of me, with my foot between his legs. And I have to resist this temptation every two weeks. I may eventually just let him have it.

Oh, some other options batted around: Being completely off my foot for several weeks. As in no weight bearing. Did I mention surgery? A knee scooter? And now my friend Renee, who solves problems for people with all sorts of issues, thinks maybe I need a wheelchair for around the house because how the hell can I get a drink of water and bring it to my office if I'm on friggin' crutches?

By the way, did I mention we're in the process of scaling down from 2400 sq. ft. to 600 sq. ft. and I'm on CRUTCHES?

BTW, I am also paranoid and have accused Jenny, two of my children, and most of my friends of arranging to keep me from driving by having Kaiser put me in cast. Which, as far as I can tell in my current mood of evil, is the most likely cause of all this.

Thank god/dess for friends. That's all I can say. I have no more use for fiberglass. EVER.

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