six weeks

 Today marks six weeks since my surgery. That's 42 days in which I've been largely in my house (except for three doctor appointments and one trip to Michigan for a birthday party). And listen, in this time, I could have gathered up two of every animal in creation, loaded them into my ark, endured a lengthy flood, helped them all disembark, and still had time to go out for lunch and a mani/pedi. These weeks have been LONG. 

Technically, today marks the end of the non-weight-bearing portion of the program, but I don't have another appointment until next week, when presumably I will find out exactly how she wants me to do this. Stay tuned for that. I'm sure it will be thrilling, just like watching a baby take his first steps. But probably with a lot more tears and stressed vocalizations.

In the meantime, please enjoy these pictures. We've got a very important message from Liam about the best buildings on campus, Henry fresh from a junior high dance, and since I haven't taken any recent pictures of Max, here he is with puppy Pluto in honor of Pluto's sixth birthday, which we celebrated Tuesday.

 

in which I venture out

That's Chris saying a few words. 

My aunt Chris had a milestone birthday (60!) and is retiring, at least temporarily, so she threw herself a big ol' party in Michigan, and it served as my return to the world as well. The doctor cleared me for the drive (3.5 hours each way), so Mike and I set out on Saturday for an overnight trip, with sort of mixed results.

The good: The party was fun, if loud enough to preclude any in-depth conversation. The food was tasty, and I had a great time seeing my family for the first time in quite a while and watching everyone dancing and having a great time. And Sunday morning, Mike and I got to enjoy a delicious breakfast with my parents before we headed back home. I text with my mom regularly, but I hadn't seen my folks since a brief driveway visit in early December, and I missed them, so I was glad to catch up.

The lights really messed me up; they made
everything look out of focus and weird. Not a fan. 

With my mommy, uncle Brian, and cousin Dylan.

Cousins Dylan and Cole

The rest: I stupidly picked a hotel based on the brand and location, and didn't bother reading individual reviews, and when we arrived, we discovered that it's a hotel in the last gasp before a major renovation, so our room left a little to be desired. Not the most glorious or comfortable accommodations we've had, by far. I requested an accessible room, and sure enough, there were grab bars in the bathroom, but the toilet was LOW. Like it would not have been out of place in an elementary school. I inquired at the front desk whether they maybe had a public handicapped restroom with a higher toilet, but alas, the toilet in the public handicapped bathroom was just as low. "We have a lot of old people, and they're smaller," I was told. Ummmm ok. So I guess tall old people and people in wheelchairs and people with bad knees and people with bad feet are just out of luck at this particular establishment? Hopefully they address this in the remodel! 

Anyway, I'm so glad to have dipped a toe (such as it were) into being a functional human again, and I came home sore from my exertions and with a renewed appreciation for just how hard it is to have even a minor handicap in a world that isn't designed to accommodate you. It's frustrating and unnecessary. I personally will be fine, because at least in theory I'll be even more mobile next time I go somewhere, but man oh man some thoughtful design is needed pretty much everywhere.

he's off again

 The house is a whole lot quieter today because Liam headed back to campus yesterday. He caught a ride with Laura and Emma, so we didn't even have to do anything but say goodbye. He had a good break and caught up on lots of sleep and recovered from a lingering (non-covid) illness, so he's in good shape to head back and start his second semester. Max was at work, so I had to settle for a picture of just two of the boys since I never got around to taking one when they were all here together. As you might imagine, the dogs have been moping around all day with their favorite gone. Secretly, I think Max and Henry might be doing a little moping of their own as well.

first hurdle

 I had my first postsurgical visit yesterday morning, and everything went surprisingly well! Getting out of the house and into the van happened with a minimum of fuss, and Liam was nice enough to be my driver for the morning. At the doctor's office, they took off the splint and I got my first real look at the results: a raised, stitched-up line of skin about three inches long on the inside of my ankle. I look a little pieced together, but the doctor says there's no sign of infection, and everything is healing really well. My stitches aren't quite ready to come out yet (she said it can take up to a month with this type of stitches), so I'm staying in a splint for the next two weeks. Which is good news because it means that most likely I will be able to avoid getting a cast entirely. (Not gonna lie, I was giving serious thought to what color cast I would choose, and now I'm stuck with beige elastic bandages, but oh well.) Even better news is that I'm cleared to start doing things, as long as I maintain non-weightbearing status on my left foot. The elevation requirements have eased up a little bit too. All this means that I'm good to go to my aunt Chris's birthday/retirement party in Michigan later this month, which makes me very happy.

The prognosis for the future is two more weeks in the splint, then possibly going to a walking boot at my next appointment. As of tomorrow, I'm three weeks out from surgery, so two more weeks in the splint plus a week and half in the boot not bearing any weight will bring me to the six-week mark, which is when I slowly start bearing weight on that foot and start physical therapy. I'll still be in the boot until about 12 weeks, but I'll be working on getting more and more independent AND I'll be able to take a shower without it being a major production. It's the little things, people. By 16 weeks, in theory, I should be back to normal activities.

And in the meantime, I have finished something not so little: The Mighty Bowser, the lego set Mike and the boys got me for my birthday. This one was pretty involved, so it's taken a good while to build. It's so neat! The boys all admire him very much.

2023

Friends, it's a whole new year. Welcome to the future.

I have been inside this house for 17 days now after having surgery to repair the posterior tibial tendon on my left foot. That's 17 days of crawling up and down the stairs (only once each way per day, thankyouverymuch), foot encased in a bulky splint. It's 17 days of keeping my toes elevated above my nose, of using various mobility aids, of depending on Mike and the boys to help me with everything. I haven't been this helpless since I was a literal infant. To say that this feeling is uncomfortable for me is a vast understatement. 

From my power lift recliner, I've watched the days pass by, at first in a pain- and medication-induced fog but lately in sharper focus — my birthday, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year's Eve, and now New Year's Day. In two more days, I'll venture out of the house for the first time, with Liam's help, to see my doctor for a follow-up visit and to get a cast. I'm 48, and I've never had a cast before. It was a good run. I'll spend roughly six weeks in the cast, followed by six more weeks in a walking boot, followed by weeks of physical therapy and months of continued recovery.

Which brings me to my theme for this year: recovery.

Usually when I think of the new year, like we're all conditioned to, I think about what I want to accomplish. I think of trips I want to take and improvements I want to make around the house. I think of rooms I'd like to paint and plants I'd like (Mike) to grow and things we can do with the boys. This year I should also be thinking of visiting Liam at school, and of starting the college visit process with Max. But all of that is up in the air because I don't know when I'll walk again, or how well, or what my stamina will look like, or just generally what I'll be physically capable of doing. 

I am a person who functions best with something to look forward to, and right now, nothing is concrete. So for this year, I'm going to try my best to focus simply on recovery. I might have to adjust what that means to me throughout the year. Right now, it means sitting with my foot up and letting other people take care of all the things that have been my responsibility for years. It means letting go, at least temporarily, of my expectations of myself, and letting other people have the control. I hope that in a couple of months, recovery will mean taking my first baby steps without the boot, then going for a walk most days, then riding my bike again. I hope it will mean getting a new bike. I still hope there will be some travel this year. I still hope there will be projects around the house, even if they don't materialize until fall or even winter.

And my plans for recovery this year have to have another, even more nebulous side. I want to recover my time. I've been trying with limited success for months to cut back on the extra work I take on. This year, I want to find the balance between making enough money and still having the time and energy to do things that bring me happiness. I want to recover writing as a thing I love rather than only producing words when someone else pays me to. I want to remind myself why I love taking pictures, watching birds, building Legos, and sitting outside by the fire. I want more time with Mike, with the boys, with my parents and my siblings and my nieces and nephews and all the other important people in my life. Always more time. 

So there you have it: as close to a resolution as I'll get. Here we go.