Just over two weeks out, and a lot has changed since last Wednesday. I saw the doc first thing Thursday morning, and he (at first) didn’t even realize that there was any reason for me to be in other than that my cast was coming off; he thought it was my normal appointment. Apparently everything looked good? Once I mentioned that I was in because of the discoloration and issues I was having with the hot toes and funky colored phalanges, he looked at how long it had been since surgery and recanted a few statements; I was no longer allowed to move the foot/ankle like he had originally said (need to wait one more week) and I am not yet allowed to put some weight on the foot (again, need to wait until next weekend). However, both things happening this coming week are significantly sooner than I thought they would be.
The cast came off, and I’m in a walking boot – because everything looks so good, he skipped the splint and went right to the boot.
This boot is significantly larger than the other one I had been wearing before surgery. It goes up a lot higher on my leg, and is a lot more sturdy. I definitely feel like I’ll have an easier time with this one than the other one. I have to sleep with this on for a while, so it’s awkward and frustrating, but what can you do. It’s better than nothing, I guess. Better than going backwards. Better than the infection I thought I had.
The discoloration and warmth in my toes is due to the fact that I have swelling in my ankle, and when I stand up, the blood pools in my toes, and due to the extra fluid from the swelling, has a more difficult time working its way back up my leg. It makes sense. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself (seriously, not being sarcastic at all).
My ankle has been bothering me more frequently lately than originally anticipated, and I have been relying on the meds more than I thought I would still be. I’ve been trying to use Aleve more than the painkillers, but between the increased pain (because of the cast coming off) and the muscle spasms that have begun to happen more frequently, the pain is still pretty bad. I hate taking the painkillers and the meds for the spasms because they knock me on my ass – within 20 minutes of taking the painkillers (with food or without) my short-term memory is shot and I can’t form much of a cohesive sentence. It lasts for a good 2 hours or so. I’m currently scheduled to return to work on Wednesday (working from home for another 6-8 weeks), but I don’t know that I will be able to. I sure as hell can’t work on pain meds. My original plan was to start back April 22, giving me another full week, but it’s not that easy – I’m at the mercy of the short-term disability company, and so far, they want me back on Wednesday. I’ll be speaking with them either Monday or Tuesday to plead my case, but I’ll be getting the doctor’s “return-to-work” date before that. I need my doc to approve when I can return before I am allowed to start working again, and I need it in writing. We shall see.
Friday everything pretty much came to a head. I realized that it has been a full two months since I left the house of my own accord – since I drove last – since I worked in the office. I feel like I have absolutely zero independence. I rely on my husband for everything – preparing my food, making sure I don’t fall while bathing, taking care of munchkin. And I lost it. I cried for a good hour, just trying to get my frustrations out. I knew this would happen, because I’m incredibly independent; I always have been. I’m ready to be able to walk again, to drive again, to leave the house and grab a gallon of milk if we need one. I want to drop munchkin off at daycare, I want to get back to my normal, everyday routine. I miss it. I miss not needing to wake my husband up in the middle of the night if munchkin needs something or if I need to pee – shouldn’t I be able to do that on my own? But I can’t get to my crutches without falling out of bed. So I need him to get them for me, so I don’t hurt myself again. As thankful as I am to have the help, I feel guilty – there’s so much more that he needs to do because of my injury, because of my joints not working correctly. I need to get over this feeling of guilt. I have been apologizing too much.
When I was very pregnant with my son, my mother kept telling me one thing over and over again, and I think that it pretty much (in a roundabout way) applies here too, so here it is (paraphrased): every day/hour/moment that passes in my recovery is another day/hour/moment closer to being back where I want to be. It’s one less moment I have to get through, it’s one less moment I need to worry about. Once it’s done, it’s done.
Two weeks and two days down. At this point, I don’t know how much time is left until I’m back in the old routine, but at this point, in the long run, it’s two weeks and two days less than the total. I’m headed in the right direction. I can do this. I have to do this. I’ll get through it.