Yeah... That's Not Gonna Work For Me

  

Beware of medical residents. This is what I have learned.  I met with my podiatrist today for the first time to try to figure out what is going on south of my right ankle.  I mean really, it's been 5 weeks.  Three of them mostly on crutches.  Four of them without me driving.  Well, not quite without me driving.  This Wednesday I got stir crazy enough I drove myself to work out of pure spite.  "Take that foot!"  What I discovered from that excursion was that

a) my job is still not very exciting,
b) the extreme jealousy of having to cover for a coworker that is out of office to buy a puppy, and
c) that you must NOT ogle runners longingly while driving or you will nearly drift over the center line.  But I digress....

So I met with my podiatrist and his resident today.  Naturally, I had typed up a 500 word document detailing, in chronological order, everything that has happened in the foot zone over the last few weeks, my medical history, training, etc.  I am a list maker (my rehearsal dinner involved a spreadsheet handed out to the entire bridal party itemized down to 15 minute increments for the whole day), but I also wanted to be sure that they had all the info and I had all my questions ready to go, as we might only get about 5-10 minutes together (thank you modern medicine).  After going over my x-rays, doing a physical exam, reading my paper, he flipped over to my questions.

1.  How long to heal?
2.  How do I get back into running?

He laughed and said that he was surprised #2 wasn't first.  Ha ha.  I guess they get a lot of Type A well organized hyper-anxious injured triathletes in their office.  But then he said the "S" word.  No, not the four letter one I taught my kids when they were two years old..... SURGERY.  My immediate reaction was to say "Nope.  That doesn't work we're not doing that".  Vigorous head shaking.  His concern was there is zippidy-doo-dah on my x-rays to indicate a stress fracture, and that I must therefore have a Lisfranc injury - or rupture of the ligament over where the second metatarsal meets the heel bones.  At this point I think he sensed my hostility and retreated to go over options with his boss.

Enter the boss doctor, who also looked over my x-rays and pointed out the vast nothingness indicating a fracture.  He poked my foot in all the places that the resident had drawn on it with a pen (yes really) to show where it hurt.  He told me that due to my excellent narrative (thank you 500 words!) he had enough evidence to request an MRI and ask the insurance company to pay for it.  Whoot.  He also said that his gut feeling is that I likely have a really bad bone bruise or a stress reaction in that area.  (No surgery.  Much better).  But that we need the MRI to know for sure.  Every question I asked after that was answered with "We won't know until after the MRI".  So.

He DID clear me to swim and to drive until then, however.  Yay!  So my plan is to party like it is spring break and I'm a 22 year old with daddy's credit card until its time for the MRI.  And by that, I mean drive to work, swim, take my kids trick or treating and try to catch up with friends some in case I'm stuck in my house for months after surgery.

I started right away with a swim workout at the YMCA this afternoon while little guy had his lesson.  I was psyched when the woman in the lane next to me popped up and turned into my friend and physical therapist, Laura.  Yay!  Laura's always given me great advice, like "You'll be ok" (before first triathlon), "Eat something NOW" (after first triathlon) and "You know your goggles are upside down" (today).  She even gave me a swim workout and some pointers on my stroke.  I was so empowered I even strapped on one of those silly belts and tried pool running for a while.  Then I came home and bought myself a waterproof MP3 player because I have the attention span of a squirrel on meth when it comes to water workouts.  Thinking books on tape might help keep me in the pool long enough for actual progress......

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Other strangeness going on this week has been a small flurry of press attention from my earlier post "We All Hate Mommy".  A friend of mine works at a local newspaper and asked if she could reprint it.  I said sure, and two days later my son and I were on the front page of the paper.  I had friends texting me the picture, and a random woman I work with stopped me at the copier to tell me she read my article.  Pause.  And now she knows what I think about it.  Another awkward pause.  And that she agreed.  Oh thank goodness.  Anyway the whole experience was a little odd.  I usually assume that no one reads what I write, and that certainly I am safe from those in my real life (or at least professional life doing so).  Having a voice is actually pretty darn cool.  Plus my son was super excited to be on the front page.  Daddy even got him an ice cream treat to celebrate.

That's us right under his right hand. 

The other noteworthy happening this week is this awesome kiddo being the youngest runner ever to complete a half marathon.  That, and every running blog/site/commentor everywhere putting up her picture and inviting the population at large to judge her parents for letting her do so.  Forcing her to.  Stunting her growth by doing so.  And so on and so forth.  I'd just like to say knock it off!!!  For one, no one knows their kid better than her parents, so don't suggest you know this little girl better.  Everyone's experience is different.  Furthermore, do your homework first - her parents are triathletes, she grew up running, they cleared it with her doctor first, and they ran ever mile of the race with her asking her all along if she wanted a break or to stop.  Sounds pretty responsible to me.  So congratulations to Keelan Glass and her parents for doing something pretty darn cool.

My daughter did her first 5k when she was four.  It was our local turkey trot.  She just hopped out of her stroller and ran the whole thing laughing and yelling "Gobble Gobble!" the whole way.  She's my best running buddy.  Sometimes she runs a mile, sometimes two, sometimes about 5 seconds and then starts whining.  So we walk.  Or stop to look at bugs.  I have no idea where she got her athleticism (not from me or her dad for sure) but I'm grateful for it - she has something she loves. Something that literally helps her little high energy body sleep at night.  She thinks Keelan is the bee's knees and wants to run like that when she is six.  (Being five and a half, that's an era away).  Run on, bad-ass kiddos....

My daughter's first 5K - she was four

Lucky Fin - Easing In and Easing Off

Friday I returned to a place I'd not been in over a month - the gym.  Never sign up for an expensive year-long membership - you WILL break something and be unable to use said membership.  It's a law of nature.  But the little guy had his swim class on Friday, so off we went as a family.

If a year ago you had told me that I'd be looking forward to swimming with a broken bone, I would have told you you are insane.  Heck, even on a good day swimming is not my favorite thing.  They say a truism about triathlon is that you will dread your swim workouts more than you like them for your first year of training.  I am no exception.

Swimming is supposed to be the best form of cardio you can do with a fractured metatarsal.  I've read websites that say "it is impossible to further injure a stress fracture in the foot while swimming".  Yeah, I think, but what about kicking a lane line?  Slipping and falling on the pool deck?  Biting it in the locker room?  I'm pretty sure those would re-injure.  So with the Jedi's help in the family locker room I very slowly and carefully changed into my suit, very slowly and carefully crutched through the giant puddle in the shower area and across the pool deck and eased into my lane.  Set up my boot and crutches at the end of my lane as a giant flag to other swimmers - broken fish in this one!  Go share with someone else!!!

Lucky fin....

As I was swimming, I thought of Nemo (yes my mind only thinks in Disney).  Nemo: "I have a bad fin!"  Gil: "Never stopped me...."  Gil = Paratriathlete!  Snort with laughter underwater.  Thank god I think I'm funny.....  After 25 minutes I was suitably tired (I used a pull buoy for at least half).  I then carefully pulled myself out and crawled across the pool deck to where my towel and boot were.  I'm sure I looked very graceful and elegant doing it.  Whatever.  That, plus the 45 minutes of playing in the 4 foot pool with my kiddos, is by far the most logistical hoops I have ever jumped through for a sub-30 minute workout.  But worth it, right??

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Halloween is in full swing around here.  When I was a kid, there was one day for Halloween.  October 31st.  You got dressed up, went trick-or-treating, and were all set.  Done.  These days, it is a season.  A season that starts at least a month in advance with the endless negotiation of what costumes which kids want, how to make them, lots of inner ranting and raving about the pros and cons of making them instead of buying them, and then the careful planning of the zillions of events and parties that comprise the kid's social calendars.  I think this year we count six different costume-warranting events.  Oy.

Last night was the first of the events - a Great Pumpkinfest in the evening at a local kids science museum.  We go every year.  Tons of lighted pumpkins, hayrides, activities, etc.  The day went kind of like this:

• Soccer practice for both kids from 8:30 to 11.
• Kids ask me to make a last-minute Black Cat costume for self.  Fine.  Mentally wishing that Jedi had taken me seriously when I said I wanted a black Catwoman suit (which I still do.  I could rock that look....)
• Jedi grumps that he is too busy for a costume and refuses to talk about it.  Goes off to grocery store
• Both kids are sick, so I give both Benadryl and try to get them to nap.  Only successful with my son.
• Girl child endless tortures me about my costume and oversees every aspect until I get it just right.  Made to her every specification.
• Girl child then announces she does not want to wear the homemade pumpkin costume that Grandma and I sewed for her.  She wants to be a clown.  After a few "are-you-sure?"s and a check in with Grandma that she won't be offended, I go to her room and pull a bunch of random brightly colored clothes.
• Repeated attempts to get girl child to focus and put on the clothes.  Hair in pigtails, paint up the face.  Again, with tons of direction and negotiation from the little one.
• Meanwhile, son is woken up from his nap and he is PISSED.  Sobbing.  He now hates his bat costume (which he previously loved) and doesn't want to go.
• Slap on my makeup, bundle unhappy kids into the car along with the non-costume-wearing husband.
• Get 3 miles from home and realize I forgot my crutches.  Continue as planned.  I have plenty of painkillers in my purse (note how I never forget those??)

Don't they look thrilled?

Once we got there, the policeman granted us handicapped parking (I love this man so much), and the kids did have mostly a good time.  There was a bounce house (always a score), crafts, an animal show, a fire juggler, and lots of cool carved pumpkins to walk around and look at.  The lines for the hayride and train ride were hours long, and my little girl spiked a fever about an hour after we got there and wilted.  Truly alarming to see a child that is usually unable to stand still or be quiet for more than 5 seconds lying on the ground saying she is too tired to move.  So we cut the evening short.  Oh, and I walked up and down endless flights of stairs and about a mile or more with no crutches, so I felt like I my leg was made of hamburger from the knee down.  At one point I fell in the pine needles and was unable to get up for at least a full minute despite my daughter's help. It was dark - my husband didn't notice. Good times.

On the way home, Jedi tells me I shouldn't force family time.  Ease off.  I think REALLY?  If I didn't plan things, we wouldn't do anything!!  I put events up on our family calendar in the kitchen - he asks me five and six times what we are doing X date, and then inevitably schedules a cake order for that day anyway.  Case in point, we were up early this morning finished an order for a 9 am delivery.  To be fair, its is probably bc I schedule so many no human man could ever keep up.  But still.

So you know what?  I've giving up.  (For now.  I know how long my sweeping resolutions usually last).  I am so tired of trying to make everyone in my family happy.  I hope that doing fun Halloween stuff will somehow imprint on their little brains and make them grow up feeling loved, but I'm just not sure.  They probably won't remember anything anyway.  It's too much work for a few pictures in which they refuse to smile or look at the camera anyway.  I want to put the Jedi in charge of all family festivities and see what happens.  Including the daughter's birthday.  I might find out that it's just fine and they like it just as much as all the stuff I work so hard to get them to, to craft, to set up, to plan for, to photograph.  Mommy is tagging out.  Right after I fix my son's bat costume so it's more comfortable....

Gorgeous family portrait.  Guess how many hoops I jumped through for this one???