My left foot is in a stabilizer boot. It’s like a cast, only I can take it off to shower and sleep. I did this to myself. But, and I swear this now, this is the last time. This is the last time that I punish myself so hard, that I push and push and ignore the pain for so long that I end up at the verge of a high risk surgery, with my foot in a stabilizer boot. I will probably never be able to run again. Not like I did – not miles and miles of wonderful trails. Maybe not at all. And I may not ever be able to do my martial arts without pain again. I messed it up bad. But, I did it to myself. I think, finally, hopefully, I have learned.
I still despair a bit to think of it though. My poor foot – as though it doesn’t quite belong to me, as though it is something just a little bit other.
I just want to be able to walk normally again.
Since I don’t like to drag things out, I had my tooth pulled the first week I was in the boot. Combine the trauma, and you can combine the benefits of the various pain pills and anti-inflamatories and antibiotics and anti-anti’s that you have to take if you want to get better. It was a fairly easy tooth pulling. I’d opted for a bit of gas while it happened – just to ease the anxiety, though I noticed that while my brain was concocting poetry (apparently nitrous unleashes my cheesy inner creative – what rhymes with motorcycle?) my hands were white-knuckled and every muscle down my back, from my shoulders to my ankles (one of which was in the boot) was flexed. It would seem that my tolerance for gas is very similar to my tolerance for alcohol as I spent most of the procedure wishing for just a bit more… just a little bit… one shot… just one more really deep breath.
But I wasn’t in much pain the day after. And I didn’t swell up too much. And I’ve been resisting the urge to remove my own stitches for the last three days now, so I think it went well.
Funny thing, all that drama and anxiety about not being able to have the tooth implant that I’m eventually going to need – all that emotion spent worrying about my general toothlessness – all to waste. Between my tax return and a little bonus from work for a very very difficult month I have the funds necessary to pay for the implant. For this implant. If I end up needing one on the other side of my mouth as well – and that is likely – I’m going to have to dig that up from somewhere else. But I’ll mope along that pathos when I come to it. For now I have a plan and the means to get a new molar. And that feels pretty damn good.
Technically I should be drowning in fits of anxiety and stress related depression. Work-outs have been reduced to sessions on the recumbent bike. Climbing stairs is frustrating. And the drugs I’ve been on have both killed my appetite and my energy level. But I’m ok. I’m getting some of my shit together – like my taxes, and Believe It Or Not, my thesis. I have a new level of confidence at work. And even though I’m way behind and way over my head, I’m not scared. I’ll figure it out. I can figure it out. And if I need to, I’ll ask for help.
This has been one of the stranger lessons that I’m learning from this current set of challenges. Ask for help. People will give it. Willingly even. And they may even enjoy it. I do not abuse the asking. But I’m getting better at it. And the second lesson – sometimes I just have to let things fall/fail/be as they are. Poor dog, she is the prime recipient of this second lesson. I cannot walk her. I am all there is for her now, and I cannot walk her. So she goes unwalked. It was a little rough at first, but she seems to be willing to wait for me to heal. She hasn’t even torn up anything lately. It is almost like she knows that I’m not quite right.
And she thinks the boot is fascinating. Probably because it smells funny – a bit of hospital with some gym sock and office carpet cleaner on the side.
I thought that while I was on my trip in Italy that I finally forgave myself – that I finally let go of all the negative bits that I’d been nursing for so long and just accepted who I am. The boot is proof that I was not quite finished. I am definitely done now though. Definitely. I have learned. Also? High pain tolerance is not a good thing. Not when it allows you to tear tendons and rupture ligaments all willy nilly. Not good.
I think things are finally starting to stabilize in my little world. This is a funny statement since I’ve had two fight/riots in my front yard in the last month (I even had to call the cops on one – they sent the ghetto bird with the bright lights and several canine units to break it up) and since I can’t even make eye contact with my neighbor without getting a serious case of the icks (I get flashbacks of his performance whenever I see his lights on – and not in a good way). But I can deal with that if that is all I have to deal with – if my inner turmoil is less turmoil-ish.
Finally, I now officially have two crushes. Two. That is absolutely amazing to me and makes me a little bit pleased. It is normal. It is a sign that I’m not quite dead yet – and that means something as I’ve spent a great deal of time lately thinking that I was on the verge of… well whatever. On the verge. But things are going to be ok. They’ll seldom be great. They’ll never be easy. But ok is workable. I can manage with ok.
And if my foot actually heals, I’ll upgrade to good. And that would be really great.
SecondHand Saint 