I keep thinking I want to document The Foot Thing, from beginning to end. I certainly mention it plenty here and everywhere. I really can't bring myself to it. In fact, the days right after surgery are already misty (thank you, pain pills) and I'd like to keep them that way. I do have the urge to think about it in a timeline sense.
July 3, 2010- Jump around and jump real high at the Faith No More show, land on heel. Heel turns jet black and hurts like dying agony for a month and a half. It eventually faded, only to flare up during long stints on my feet, in bad shoes.
July 3, 2011 (right?) Attend a party, consume alcohol, go on a 3 mile walk to see fireworks in very cute and very terrible for my feet sandals. Slip. Brush it off for the rest of the evening, till I woke up at 4 am in a cold sweat, with the weight of the blanket crushing the life out of my foot, it seemed. Ate an oxycontin, went to the ER the next day. (turns out, in retrospect, this is when I ruptured it.)
July 3- September something. Misdiagnosis, pain, more pain, low air boot, higher air boot, x rays, physical therapy, cortisone shots...then epiphany in the form of an MRI. Surgery scheduled.
September something to Nov 9- Cramming as much fun and activity into my fall as I could possibly, while secretly stressing and dreading. Lots of pain, disregarding it. Screw pain, I have a life to live.
Nov 9- surgery to repair not only a ruptured achilles tendon, but an infected bursa, a heel spur so large it made my surgeon say "whoa!" out loud. It was supposed to be a routine 1 hour surgery that stretched to three hours. Into the wheelchair, and a bandage/splint. Began sleeping on the futon downstairs. Learned the meaning of "sponge bath".
Off the pain pills by Nov 12.
Nov 16- Hard cast and still in the chair/crutches.
5 weeks after November 9- a fall off my crutches that stretched the healing through February. Blew the incision open, exposing the tendon.
Days after the fall- out of the hard cast into a huge bandage, thus beginning the "wound care" phase of this journey. Out of the wheelchair full time, and hobbling a little. Wheelchair for long stints on my feet (long, at the time, meant longer than a trip to the bathroom.) Able to sleep back in my room upstairs, and take half-assed showers.
Christmas- walking very tentatively, in a boot, with lots of resting and a cane, still half in the chair.
January 4, tendon still right out there, exposed. Back into surgery. Skin graft time. Novacane shot right into my tendon, nearly pissed my hospital johnny, and back on the pain pills for the next week straight.
January 10- go back to work. Shaky, in the big boot and in a lot of pain, wishing I could use my crutches at work.
January 23- start physical therapy. Ecstatic about being able to drive a little, and walk into work looking relatively normal. Out of the boot. Walking like a careful drunk. Not quite limping, but sort of like I have a potato chip between my ass cheeks and trying not to break it. This is a result of not being able to bend my foot at all.
February 6- walk around the block. Regret it later. Still totally psyched.
February 7- walk around Red Bank, maybe 4-6 blocks total. REALLY regret it later.
February 8- Get a stern lesson from my therapist. Still atrophied, still in a lot of pain. My leg looks like the leg of an anemic five year old, with no color or muscle tone, still in spite of all my exercising. Throughout all this, I've been religiously doing my physical therapy, since I got out of the cast. Learn that it could be a year before I'm pain free. Trying not to be depressed about it.
Feb 8, 2012
I think I figured out why I'm so antsy around this time of night. I get bored of the internet. I lose focus to read. I don't have the attention span to play any heavy video games. I become fidgety. Just now, in that state of mind, I got up and went around the living room doing my usual tank animal care. Misting the spiders, spot checking the temps on all the tanks, watching Grim explore the outer reaches of her new huge tank. I got up and started focusing on a passion of mine, the pets. They took me right out of that buzzing futile spastic energy brain state, and made me happy for a few.
I sat right down here to write about it. I crave my hobbies, I think. I crave doing things with my hands. When I get in this mood, I want to paint my minis, do needlepoint, craft and create. I'm writing because it's a good thing to do with this energy.
I really want to set up my netbook, drag out all my paints, watch some trashy TV and paint my miniatures. Right now, and on into the night, till I'm squinting so bad my eyes water.
Now that we've set the tanks up in the living room in a definitive more permanent manner, that's my cue to take back my drawing table upstairs. Irv dragged the ancient thing up there, to use as his "office" upstairs, but he's so needy and co dependent, he can't work alone up there, he has to be near the family. I suffer no such issues, I'm just a little apathetic (that, and I'm still not negotiating the staircase as well as I'd like). I'm taking this moment and this energy as the incentive to clear a space to work on my handiworks. I'm taking my drawing table space back, and moving my paints and minis up there, for permanently, so I don't have to drag everything out, eke out a space down here, and hope I am undisturbed for a small amount of time, only to bung everything back into boxes, and back under the couch till the next time.
Right now, I'll content myself with writing, and snake-gazing. Anyone who thinks that only fuzzy companion animals can help relieve stress, have never owned a sinuous, sensuous, supple, elegant and lovely python. My spiders, too. Watching their delicate gestures, web weaving, the gentle twitter of palps, their gravity defying acrobatics-but-slowly...maybe when I set up my space later, upstairs, I'll bring Spooky with me. They're good listeners, too.
I sat right down here to write about it. I crave my hobbies, I think. I crave doing things with my hands. When I get in this mood, I want to paint my minis, do needlepoint, craft and create. I'm writing because it's a good thing to do with this energy.
I really want to set up my netbook, drag out all my paints, watch some trashy TV and paint my miniatures. Right now, and on into the night, till I'm squinting so bad my eyes water.
Now that we've set the tanks up in the living room in a definitive more permanent manner, that's my cue to take back my drawing table upstairs. Irv dragged the ancient thing up there, to use as his "office" upstairs, but he's so needy and co dependent, he can't work alone up there, he has to be near the family. I suffer no such issues, I'm just a little apathetic (that, and I'm still not negotiating the staircase as well as I'd like). I'm taking this moment and this energy as the incentive to clear a space to work on my handiworks. I'm taking my drawing table space back, and moving my paints and minis up there, for permanently, so I don't have to drag everything out, eke out a space down here, and hope I am undisturbed for a small amount of time, only to bung everything back into boxes, and back under the couch till the next time.
Right now, I'll content myself with writing, and snake-gazing. Anyone who thinks that only fuzzy companion animals can help relieve stress, have never owned a sinuous, sensuous, supple, elegant and lovely python. My spiders, too. Watching their delicate gestures, web weaving, the gentle twitter of palps, their gravity defying acrobatics-but-slowly...maybe when I set up my space later, upstairs, I'll bring Spooky with me. They're good listeners, too.
Feb 6, 2012
First, listen to the song. Read the lyrics while you're listening. I mean it. The song's epic, but that's not why I'm writing about it.
Bother to do that, and you'll learn a lot about me. This is the song I listened to every single day, for three or four years straight. I needed it. I'd listen to it as I was putting on makeup to go out, or in my car on my way somewhere. Always top volume, always singing along. Those were very good years!
Maybe it's not "me" the way you know me, but it's the "me" I want to display. It's my armor. It's the aura I wish to project. It was the transition of "jeans and teeshirts" to "leather and chains". I mentioned something to Luiz the other day, without really thinking about it too hard. I gestured to a picture I keep on my desk of myself at 16, my little brother and my little cousin. I said "That's more like me now than when I was 18" Meaning, that was before I took on some mantle, before I started disguising myself. When I started dressing some "part" and cloaking myself in the trappings of...whatever it is I was going for... I felt well and truly great, going out the door, in public. I never feared new situations. I never hesitated to walk into a crowded room.
Since I've let that fall away, I'm becoming more paralyzed in the face of society. I hate new situations, I hate crowds, I always feel like everyone's staring at me, I feel constantly self conscious.
Taking some steps, in my life, now that I'm mobile again and this whole crippled-tendon thing is moving behind me. Taking steps to craft myself again, regain confidence, put things in my body that make me feel good (nutrients, cock, piercings) and on my body (good make up, good clothes, tattooes) to start back down the path of having very good days, every day.
For about the past year-year and a half, I've been in a funk. I'm aware of it. I've been aware of it, and I'm taking initiative to turn it around, now.
This song makes me feel invincible, invisible, impossible, and empowered. It's who I was, and who I always wanted to be, and who I still am. I'm adding it to my "leaving the house" playlist. It fills me with life beyond just life. I feel the seeds of my divine will grow and sprout when I listen to this song. The power that lies dormant at my center expands, and fills me, radiating outward, and hopefully past my skin.
Some part of me falls asleep, once in awhile, and I don't notice it till it wakes up again. I'm having one of those phases, where it's waking up and getting antsy again. The creative productive forceful part of me. The driver of the Chariot. This is what plays in her car stereo.
Nov 20, 2011
At the Manowar show, last night, something weird happened. During the intense show, the wellspring of energy and emotions, the rocking the fuck out, I had a moment of profound, shocking sadness. One of my old heart's wounds tore wide open momentarily, and I was overcome with sadness about Tom. It's been 10 years, and he's still on my mind, though in a softer fuzzy "remembering the good times" kind of way. He shows up occasionally in dreams, but that's mostly about it. I'm no Leah.
Anyway, during the song Battle Hymns, I had instant recall to the first time I saw Manowar, in 1996, and how he was there, strong and soft at my back. That thought led to the inevitable "and never again" which has always been the theme of my mourning him, I guess. He had such wide and varied interest in the world, I often see things that he'd love and feel pangs, that he's not around to enjoy it. Certain songs, stunning blue autumn days, bits of technology, documentaries, new books, new gaming stuff, certain foods, particularly witty humor. Weird random shit like that.
I burst into tears. During Battle Hymns. Not even polite moist eye mistiness, but stormy silent sobs. No one saw me, of course, but it took me a few minutes to regain myself. I was fine soon after, and I don't know what triggered it. It's out of character, and I chalk it up to the catharsis of a good show, after months of stress, pain and bullshit, as well as the Tom related things, like the band and the time of year. I think about him more in the late fall, which always, to me, punctuated our best moments.
Anyway, during the song Battle Hymns, I had instant recall to the first time I saw Manowar, in 1996, and how he was there, strong and soft at my back. That thought led to the inevitable "and never again" which has always been the theme of my mourning him, I guess. He had such wide and varied interest in the world, I often see things that he'd love and feel pangs, that he's not around to enjoy it. Certain songs, stunning blue autumn days, bits of technology, documentaries, new books, new gaming stuff, certain foods, particularly witty humor. Weird random shit like that.
I burst into tears. During Battle Hymns. Not even polite moist eye mistiness, but stormy silent sobs. No one saw me, of course, but it took me a few minutes to regain myself. I was fine soon after, and I don't know what triggered it. It's out of character, and I chalk it up to the catharsis of a good show, after months of stress, pain and bullshit, as well as the Tom related things, like the band and the time of year. I think about him more in the late fall, which always, to me, punctuated our best moments.
Oct 16, 2011
I just had the sweetest moment. Irv is in the kitchen "popping the drumsticks" which is what we call the process of severing the huge tendons in a chicken drumsticks, so that they're tender bites of chicken, and resemble lollipops when cooked. Anyway, he's in there doing that, and I wanted to keep him company, because I love keeping him company in the kitchen. Sometimes, I just sit there taking in the sounds and vibe. It's relaxing, I feel loving and loved, in those moments. The smell of chicken was a little too overwhelming though. Since pregnancy, the smell of raw chicken has always tap danced across my gag reflex. That, and watching him sever tendon after tendon was giving me empathetic chills. Anyway, I begged off, and returned to my chair the living room. Soon after, I became mesmerized with the gentle whackthump of the knife hitting the cutting board, and the soft reggae. I sat back in my chair just sort of floating my psyche into the kitchen, and I gained the same sense of peace and solidarity that I would if I were sitting right there with him.
So, it's official, plans are in place. We're going camping on Thursday, through Sunday. It's funny, because camping is the done thing, usually twice during the fall. It's funny, because I can't make concrete plans, or mention it too much, or beg, or be decisive, because it drives Irv against a wall, and he becomes reactionary. So, there's this dance that we do, every year. About a month before, I say "camping" a lot. I bring it up in casual conversation. I reminisce, I find recipes, and say things like "I can't wait to try this, when we're camping", or "today is totally camping weather". Then, I bring up how bad I want to go. That makes it a bit less nebulous. Then I say "It's September (or October) can we firm up a weekend?". Then, I start to tell people "no, I don't want to make plans for that weekend, I want to keep it open for camping maybe" Then, maybe a week, or four days in advance, Irv goes "let's go camping this weekend". Any other process makes him feel pushed into it, and there's negativity. If we do go, and he feels pushed, then fights are more likely to break out over petty stuff. It's also, I think, because he's extra difficult during October. All these years, and it's still a sore month. He's way better than when we got married, but we're still careful. As long as I know how to help him through these few rough weeks, than we do well.
Anyway, we're going. Now I get to have fun and make menus, and plan. Luiz opted to go, which was a surprise He typically enjoys his alone time when we're out of the house, and till this morning, I thought he kinda hated camping. Last year, he had a hard time reconciling "vacation" with "still gotta do some kinda work" and strained at the idea of camping chores. We all look forward to the camp life, the little things, like cooking outdoors, and heating up water to wash dishes, chop wood, carry water. Luiz, last year, was having a tough time getting in line with that. He envisioned camping as a week long reading fest, he brought volumes of books, and sat around all day reading. Which is fun, and a large part of it, but there's things that we all do, together. I suppose it was partially our fault, too, because when Irv and I camp, after long years of learning a system, we work together like a well oiled machine. Alden is now part of it, and we expected Luiz just to pick up and learn. He's looking forward to it this time, and he said outright "I go without ego, I want to be a part of the family and help out as much as possible." It'll be a lot of fun. It's my therapy.
Since I'm in the boot, Irv was like "we're going to keep everything super easy, and just quick food for dinners" I was like "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME" Cooking while camping is as much a part of the experience as the fire, or sleeping on the ground. I need to cook at least a little. I've got plans for making beef stew, with dark beer, and barley, and serving it in bread bowls. That's my one new recipe for the weekend. Then burgers, grilled chicken or steak, Italian roast beef, and a few delicious breakfasts.
Anyway, we're going. Now I get to have fun and make menus, and plan. Luiz opted to go, which was a surprise He typically enjoys his alone time when we're out of the house, and till this morning, I thought he kinda hated camping. Last year, he had a hard time reconciling "vacation" with "still gotta do some kinda work" and strained at the idea of camping chores. We all look forward to the camp life, the little things, like cooking outdoors, and heating up water to wash dishes, chop wood, carry water. Luiz, last year, was having a tough time getting in line with that. He envisioned camping as a week long reading fest, he brought volumes of books, and sat around all day reading. Which is fun, and a large part of it, but there's things that we all do, together. I suppose it was partially our fault, too, because when Irv and I camp, after long years of learning a system, we work together like a well oiled machine. Alden is now part of it, and we expected Luiz just to pick up and learn. He's looking forward to it this time, and he said outright "I go without ego, I want to be a part of the family and help out as much as possible." It'll be a lot of fun. It's my therapy.
Since I'm in the boot, Irv was like "we're going to keep everything super easy, and just quick food for dinners" I was like "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME" Cooking while camping is as much a part of the experience as the fire, or sleeping on the ground. I need to cook at least a little. I've got plans for making beef stew, with dark beer, and barley, and serving it in bread bowls. That's my one new recipe for the weekend. Then burgers, grilled chicken or steak, Italian roast beef, and a few delicious breakfasts.
Oct 15, 2011
It's a nice Saturday. The kind with no plans, tonight. I'm very sleepy from lack of sleep last night and an early morning at bowling. Alden learned some magical things, this morning, and his score was way more consistent. It was pleasant, even if I was dozing off by the third game. Now I'm listening to Peter Murphy, waiting for Alden and Gianna to come home. They're out walking around town, hand in hand, like a real boyfriend and girlfriend. It's a joy, for me, as a mother. He's got a lot of issues, but he has a girl that's devoted to him, and he to her, and it's wonderful.
My anxiety was for naught, last night. Just to alleviate it, Irv hied me away to Joe Canal's, for a beer run. We got there in time for a tapping of a keg of Pumking, which was fortuitous. We also picked up a great 2007 vintage of Monster Ale, a barleywine, a few other random brews. The thing that made my week was a bottle of Founder's CBS in spite of the rarity and controversy surrounding this heavenly nectar. Not only did we get it, but we got five bucks off... We've developed what I hope is a good rapport with the beer manager at JC's, and through talking with him and asking good questions, he's learned that we're definitely "beer people", and managed to snag a bottle for us. To non beer folks, this means nothing. To beer folks, this is roughly the equivalent to all the good gift giving holidays, your first orgasm, and your birthday, all rolled into one.
The game went well last night. Luiz found a happy place in his leadership style, the combat was excellent, there were many player-made twists, and what I call "golden moments" The kind of humor and historical gaming moments that are spoken about for years to come. Lots of laughter, too, which is my favorite. If everyone's laughing/chatting while simultaneously fixated and engaged in the story, than that's success, in my book.
Chris seemed adversarial to quote Ian, at first. Once things got rolling he settled down. Shelby is great with people, and she went far, through role playing, to make things good. It's not Chris, but sometimes he arrives flustered. He brings his demon named Leah into the game, and it takes awhile to banish that. The demon comes back towards the end of the night. I joked that the demon is our real boss mob. I say the demon's name is Leah, because it's all the ugly things accumulated in his head, that she put there, or he collects from her throughout the day and surrounding gaming. She's a good person, but she has a lot of issues to work out. Instead of actively working on herself, she's actively trying to control his life. He struggles with it. Gaming here is a weird sore place. I hope that over time, as we get into a groove with this, it'll fade. Luiz is definitely coming into his own, as a DM. It's lovely to watch.
The only thing that might make this day better is a nice nap. The sun is shining, there's an exquisite chilly breeze, perfect nappy weather. Maybe when the kids come home, I'll mosey upstairs with my book, and see about napping.
My anxiety was for naught, last night. Just to alleviate it, Irv hied me away to Joe Canal's, for a beer run. We got there in time for a tapping of a keg of Pumking, which was fortuitous. We also picked up a great 2007 vintage of Monster Ale, a barleywine, a few other random brews. The thing that made my week was a bottle of Founder's CBS in spite of the rarity and controversy surrounding this heavenly nectar. Not only did we get it, but we got five bucks off... We've developed what I hope is a good rapport with the beer manager at JC's, and through talking with him and asking good questions, he's learned that we're definitely "beer people", and managed to snag a bottle for us. To non beer folks, this means nothing. To beer folks, this is roughly the equivalent to all the good gift giving holidays, your first orgasm, and your birthday, all rolled into one.
The game went well last night. Luiz found a happy place in his leadership style, the combat was excellent, there were many player-made twists, and what I call "golden moments" The kind of humor and historical gaming moments that are spoken about for years to come. Lots of laughter, too, which is my favorite. If everyone's laughing/chatting while simultaneously fixated and engaged in the story, than that's success, in my book.
Chris seemed adversarial to quote Ian, at first. Once things got rolling he settled down. Shelby is great with people, and she went far, through role playing, to make things good. It's not Chris, but sometimes he arrives flustered. He brings his demon named Leah into the game, and it takes awhile to banish that. The demon comes back towards the end of the night. I joked that the demon is our real boss mob. I say the demon's name is Leah, because it's all the ugly things accumulated in his head, that she put there, or he collects from her throughout the day and surrounding gaming. She's a good person, but she has a lot of issues to work out. Instead of actively working on herself, she's actively trying to control his life. He struggles with it. Gaming here is a weird sore place. I hope that over time, as we get into a groove with this, it'll fade. Luiz is definitely coming into his own, as a DM. It's lovely to watch.
The only thing that might make this day better is a nice nap. The sun is shining, there's an exquisite chilly breeze, perfect nappy weather. Maybe when the kids come home, I'll mosey upstairs with my book, and see about napping.
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