9 1/2 weeks post-op I took my first standing shower! This has nothing to do with Kim Basinger and Mickey Rourke. ewwwwww he has not aged well.
Nine Week Post-op Follow-up (try saying that 10 times fast)- Wednesday, September 14, 2011
My nine week follow-up appt with the OS went very well. Very well indeed. My bones are completely healed. Hooray! And regarding my ROM (range of motion) which is locked in (no pun intended, or is it?) at 7 degrees past neutral (and that’s really really pushing it), Dr. Siegler’s expectations for me were to at least be at neutral. Ahead of the game, and I didn’t even know it! Or did I.
We discussed my next surgery, and she reviewed the risks with me: Death, my foot could ‘splay’ (with a fan-like hand motion) when the screw comes out, and infection. I shared with her the painful story of Michael Scribner, an acquaintance of mine yet a very dear friend of my dear friend, Colleen, who only six weeks ago died on a hospital bed prior to a fairly simple shoulder surgery. I shared some of the story with her and asked for assurance that I was going to be monitored. She told me, yes, that I would be monitored. RIP Michael.
While I am now able to walk (relatively speaking), the OS told me to cut it out otherwise I could break the screw. I’ve received so many mixed messages on this potentially breaking screw that it’s difficult for me to know what’s real. I will err on the side of caution and refrain from walking practice. I am SO ready! I feel like I could just take off. This baby bird is ready to fly the nest.
Looks like my scars are doing well too. This is all very good news. I was given permission to immerse my foot in water. No more once a week, two-chairs, 1 bag, duct tape, extra towels to sop up water on the floor, sitting inside the shower with my leg propped outside the shower, showers. I get to take a real shower standing tall n’all, at least until my next surgery on October 11. At that point, I’m back to Betty Boot, no weight bearing, and sit-down showers – oy oy oy.
So, why then, did I put this shower off until Saturday, September 17? If I was so excited about taking a real shower, why was I lollygagging? Dillydallying. Procrastinating. Lagging. Loitering. Lingering.
I’ll tell ya why. Gosh darn it. Fear. I was afraid of the shower. Well, actually, it was of the dark story in my head about the shower that brought on the fear. Why does my head do that?! It went something like this: I’m standing there in the shower, and it’s a delight. I’m singing, “I believe I can flyyyyy…I believe I can touch the skyyyyy….” and then in my mindlessness, I quickly turn to rinse my hair, my almost good (right) foot slips, I catch myself for one instant grabbing onto the shower door only to let it slip out of my hands (we never did fix the runner on that thing). Down I go, bones crumbling as I hit the bathtub.
Yes, my story may not be realistic, after all, I have no recollection of ever before slipping in the shower. I WOmanned up and took the plunge. There’s some unidentifiable purposed metal bar in the shower. I held onto it for dear life. This made single-handedly washing my hair difficult, but I cared not. I managed to shave the left leg just fine but couldn’t really figure out how to do the right one with balancing all my weight on the healing ankle. This might be hard to picture, and you might not even want to conjure up this image, but I managed by 1) holding onto the metal bar thing, 2) leaning my body into the wall for support, 3) lathering up before I lifted my right (almost good) foot off the floor, 4), lathering up again, because the shower water washed away the first lather since I was angled into the water, 5) grabbing the razor, 6) dropping the razor, 7) picking up the razor without looking down for worry of my vertigo knocking me on the ground, 8) re-lathering since the picking-up-the-razor- action angled my leg into the shower spray and washed away the lather, and 9) very very quickly shaving the right leg while attempting to balance on the left.
My left leg is nice and smooth, yet the right one looks something of a splotchy mess. Picture Steve Carell’s wax scene in the 40-year old virgin. Okay, my legs don’t look as bad as his chest did. Add to the shower time fun, my right (almost good) leg began shaking. Was it nerves? Fatigue? What? It was like all the bones and muscles and fascia (this is my new fancy PT term) had been replaced with jello. Yellow jello. At one point I stared at it and was trying to ‘will’ it to steadiness. And then, there’s the vertigo which, at that point, had been with me for 8 days. I’m okay as long as I don’t turn my head left, right, up, or down, and as long as I’m not lying down. So, there I was in the shower unable to turn my head or else I kaleidoscope spin out of control, holding onto whatever I could find as I feared for my limbs, and trying to negotiate my new freedom, which wasn’t feeling so free.
I need to state this again assuming I’ve already done so. There’s something grossly unjust about having vertigo in my current situation. Already, I’m not very steady, and while the impromptu dizzy spells add to the risk and adventure of it all, I need things to get easier not more challenging. Universe! C’mon! Wassupwid dat?
I quickly overcame my woes and enjoyed an afternoon with my neighbors Cooper and Irene at Cooper’s book launch for The Waterhauler: A Desert Story. It was great fun, and Cooper’s book is fabulous and chock full of engaging and curious characters. I even joined them afterward at a pub called the Patriot and Poet. I drank nonalcoholic beer. Surely, adding alcohol to the crutches and vertigo combo is not a wise idea.
Saturday was the first night Scott and I spent apart since this Trimalleolar incident. His brother was in San Francisco, and he wanted to hang with him. Stella and I roughed it alone together. Somehow I was totally okay with my new independence and being by myself at night yet shaken over the notion of a shower.
Stella and I watched The Verdict last night.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
I rode my recumbent exercise bike for an hour – 15+ miles. I think, unconsciously, I wanted to get very sweaty which would then force me into the shower again, which would force shower habit and shower tolerance. I was super brave, because Scott wasn’t even around to help. I did it. Quickly, but I did it. I suppose it was easier. At least my right leg was steady this time around. I tried to sing. I have a new jingle for my Well Earth Well Me book. I wanted to hear how it sounded in the shower. Y’know, with the good acoustics n’all. I was unable to multitask to that degree. My vertical position commanded all but a small portion of my concentration. A shining light in this Trimalleolar situation is the monumental leap in mindfulness that has been encouraged upon me.
A realization: Trimalleolar Fracture Day was July 3, 2011. That was the 40th anniversary of Jim Morrison’s death. I know this, because Marie and I were in Paris on that very day in 1991, and we thought it would be ‘cool’ to see Jim Morrison’s tombstone on the 20th anniversary of this death. He is buried at Pere Lachaise Cemetery. Loooong story short…flashing back…
We arrive there and are caught in a crowd of tens of thousands. People from all over Europe congregated to celebrate Jim Morrison. Marie was getting claustrophobic, and little did I know at the time, but she was also getting the flu or food poisoning or something. A riot starts. Bottles, rocks, stones, anything that can be thrown was thrown. I grabbed her and we darted between and behind parked cars barely escaping the French police, their riot shields, and tear gas. With slightly red and teary eyes and a few nicks and cuts, we managed to find our way back to the train station only to discover that the paper housing the locker combination (the locker that was holding our backpacks) in Marie’s pocket was illegible due to the sweat caused by Marie’s fever. With only minutes before our reserved sleeper car was to pull away with the rest of the train, we found help, grabbed our bags, and away we went never having seen Jim Morrison’s tomb. Marie was very ill when we arrived in Biarritz. This is the place I met my ex-husband, which is a totally different story for a different time.
Next blog will host various photos of my scars! Buckle your seatbelt, it’s going to be a bumpy ride!
To see all the posts in the trimalleolar series, click away! Things DO get better!
Post #1 Me and My Trimalleolar: A Life-Changing Tripulation
Post #2 Me and My Trimalleolar: Transcending the Funk
Post #3 Me and My Trimalleolar: Tiny Bubbles of Progress
Post #4 Me and My Trimalleolar: A Healing Ankle
Post #5 Me and My Trimalleolar: Talus All About It
Post #6 Me and My Trimalleolar: A Week of Firsts
Post #7 Me and My Trimalleolar: Cast of Characters
This is Post #8 Me and My Trimalleolar: 9 1/2 weeks…
Post #9 Me and My Trimalleolar: The Screw, Some Scars, and a Busted Uvula
Post #10 Me and M Trimalleolar: Walk a Mile in My Screws
Post #11 Me and My Trimalleolar: 11 Months and Moving Right Along
Post #12: Me and My Trimalleolar Go to Mexico…with my husband and our pooch