The Sinking Mattress of Pain

"So what is this?" you might ask...  This, my friends, is how I spent the vast majority of my day today.  Laid up on the couch with the remote control, a 500 count bottle of Ibuprofen (Yes, I realize that it is not securely locked in the Fort Knox medicine tackle box, but seeing as I how I have no foster children at the moment, I thought I would leave it out in the open within arms' reach.  I am such a rebel that way.  Take that, CPS!), a heating pad, and an ice pack...

I've known for a couple of years now that I really do need to get a new mattress.  I've had the same queen-sized, double pillow top for about 15 years now!  And being single, no amount of mattress flipping is going to help get rid of the Grand Canyon-like crater in the middle of my bed from which there is no escape.  I can't tell you the last time I got a comfortable night's sleep.  Actually, I take that back.  It was last month when my sister and I spent the night at my grandparents' house, and I slept on an air mattress!  Best night's sleep I've had in a year!!! 

I'll admit that the thought crosses my mind every night around 2:00am when my back is in knots and I can't get comfortable that I really do need to take the money and get a new mattress.  But every morning when I get up and start moving around, the kinks in my back magically disappear, and I completely forget about The Sinking Mattress of Pain.  That is, I completely forgot about it until last week when the little kinks in my back somehow progressed into Giant Knots of Burning Fire that have only gotten progressively worse as time goes on.

I knew I was in trouble when I got to work one morning and the tele-recruiters were doing laps around me.  You see this picture of the overweight elderly woman on a walker?  That's not me!  That would be a fairly accurate depiction of the women who were passing me on the way into the office.  So yeah...  It's pretty bad.

I left work this morning after one hour of torture.  I couldn't even bring myself to go tell my boss in person that I was leaving.  I emailed him.  I didn't think that I could tell him that I threw my back out in bed and that my butt was going numb with a straight face.  Ordinarily, I would probably mess with him and make him as uncomfortable as humanly possible just because I'm a little snot that way.  (Fortunately, everyone at the office gets my sense of humor so surprisingly, I haven't been fired for it.  ;-)  Today though, I was hurting too much to think quickly on my feet.  Heck!  I hurt too much to be on my feet at all!  So I emailed him and ran crawled out the back door.

I made it home, and then did what any other self-respecting woman would do in my situation.  I called my Mommy.  (Yes, I realize that I do that a lot.  In fact, I do that so much that I have now created a blog label entitled "I Called My Mommy" for easy accessibility.  ;-)  I had good reason though!  This is a first for me.  I've never thrown my back out before.  My mom, on the other hand, does it all the time.  I just thought I'd go straight to the expert to see what works best to make it stop hurting!  I very much appreciate her advice, because it seems to be helping a bit.  I do not, however, appreciate her laughing at my sister and me because she is moving faster than we are right now.  Christy is about 98 weeks pregnant with twins, and I (as Ka-Diva put it earlier today) have a "broken" back. 

I made the mistake of mentioning that I can see how a cane would be useful at times like these to my mom, but politely declined when she offered me one of hers for the weekend.  To me, a cane is like a fanny pack.  Yes, they can be incredibly useful, and I often secretly wish I had one, but those are just two of those things that you let your mother be the proud owner of.  There is no amount of "bedazzling" that could make either of those things "young or hip."  I might be getting old enough to throw my back out in my sleep, but I refuse to admit that I'm old enough to use a cane or a fanny pack. 

So as I lay here like an invalid, alternating ice packs and heating pads, and single-handedly keeping the makers of Ibuprofen in business, I can only hope that I'll be able to move enough to go to the furniture store and replace my Sinking Mattress of Pain soon.  As it is, I've decided to take up residence in the nursery on the twin-size bed.  Watch me get a placement call too!  Those calls always do seem to come at the worst possible times.  "Sure!  Bring me a 9-month-old!  But you don't expect me to be able to carry him, right?"  ;-)

Gimp-Girl-i-Versary!!!

Yes, my friends...  Today is the one year anniversary of the day that I oh-so-gracefully pulled all of the tendons/ligaments in my ankle and broke my fibula in half by accidentally ice skating on invisible ice!  Fun times, let me tell you!!!

Wheelchair-bound for over a month, I had several embarrassing incidents which naturally resulted in me feeling the need to write about them on the World Wide Web for the entire world to see.  Most embarrassing would have to have been the Naked Gimp SOS Call that I had to send out after having lost access to my clothing after a shower.  Again.  Fun times!!!  :-)

By the end of February, I was given the green light to hobble around a little in my fracture boot.  My Mom, who had been living with the Booger Bear and me while I was wheelchair bound, decided it was time for her to move back home and sleep in her own bed for a change.  Unfortunately, the Magical House-Cleaning Genie who had moved in around the same time that my Mom did decided to move out at the same time as well!  I just didn't understand.  Where did that genie go?!?

By the end of April, I was still having trouble with my "lenkle" (as I like to call my injured leg/ankle).  The ortho decided that I needed to try physical therapy, so he sent me to a rather large German woman name "Olga" who proceeded to torture me for several weeks in a row.  More fun times!

After five months of Gimpihood, I found myself noticing things that I would ordinarily not give a second glance.  I developed an eye for quality mobility assistance devices (meaning, I was eyeing little old ladies fancy walkers and was actually jealous).  I made note of my findings and shared them back in May as I posted my "Observations of the Gimpy One" post.

By June, I had gained most of the mobility back in my ankle, and was able to walk without a limp (for the most part) for the first time in six months.  The pain was pretty much gone unless I did a lot of walking or stairs.  This was about the time that I realized that I had also gained the super-magical power of weather prediction!  I kid you not.  One year later and I will tell you right now that based on the radiating pain in my leg today, my metropolitan area will be experiencing a drastic weather change in the next day or two.  My "lenkle" does not lie.  It hasn't failed me yet!

Yes, the anniversary of that fateful day was fresh on my mind this morning as I went outside to leave for work and came upon the Ominous Metal Grate of Doom.  I stepped boldly, fearlessly, defiantly, and with purpose directly onto the object of my despair over the past year.  "I'll show that metal grate!  Yes-sir-ee!"  (Shoot!  Who am trying to kid?  I got down on my hands and knees and crawled over it like a baby after standing there for a full ten minutes in complete and total hyperventilating panic attack mode.  It sounded good anyway. :-) 

Sure, I might have been ten minutes late for work, but no one seemed to mind my tardiness as they were expecting me to call in sick today anyway.  I was tempted.  Believe me, I was tempted!  But I decided to brave up and face my fear of falling on the Ominous Metal Grate of Doom head-on (in other words, I am saving my "sick days" for days when the temperature falls below freezing and I have no intention of stepping foot outside of my house. :-)

I hope you enjoy reading (or re-reading) posts from the Great Gimpy One as much as I've enjoyed writing them over the past year.  I most likely will be reading them again this weekend myself, as I've just heard that my "lenkle" prediction was correct and a cold front is on its way.  :-)

Gimp Girl on the Mend

I've been fracture boot-free for the past three months, and I'm STILL having problems with this stinking leg!  I ended up going back to the broken leg doc this morning.  He took more x-rays, and came up with the following brilliant analysis:

The doc thinks the reason I’m still having problems with my leg is that there’s a nerve that runs right along the break site.  My leg is healing, but there’s kind of a “hook” where the bone is calcifying.  He thinks when I move in certain ways, that pointy “hook” interferes with the nerve, causing the stabbing sensation that pretty much brings me to my knees. He wants me to give it ANOTHER six months before we talk about doing surgery though because he said that it is healing, just slowly.  He’s hopeful that as it heals more, it will start feeling better.  (You're hopeful, Doc?!?  What about me?!?  I'm the hopeful one!!!)  If not, he would “just” remove that section of bone where the break is. He said that the fibula is the bone that they take away from to do bone grafts because it’s non-weight bearing so by taking away the jagged portion where the break is, it would just be like I’d had bone removed for a bone graft.

His words of wisdom… “The bone and ankle are stable, so you can try to do whatever you want, but if it hurts, don’t do it.”  Thanks, Doc! You’re so smart!  I was like, "Wow, Dr. P.! Your wisdom is astonishing! That $300,000 paid for med school was well spent!"

So I guess this means that my leg is healing, just very, very slowly...  He said it was a bad break, and that it could take up to a year for it to heal completely.  (What happened to the fracture being "inconsequential" like you had initially said, huh?)  I wish I had been able to get copies of today's x-rays though.  You can definitely see why I'm having some trouble.  At least he reassured me that I didn't re-injure it when I was playing with the kids in the pool a couple of weeks ago.  I moved in a way that nearly brought me to my knees it hurt so bad.  Turns out it was most likely just my "hook" and nerve.

Weather Girl

Recently, I have become the go-to Weather Girl at the office.  While I have no official training in meteorology, my co-workers and I strongly believe that I have a much more reliable and accurate forecasting system in place than the area's trained professionals.  I'm not sure if there is a technical term for it, but I call it...

"My Leg Hurts"

Yep!  Ever since I broke my leg, it hurts like a mother whenever it is about to rain!  Now, when we have cloudy skies, the girls at work inevitably ask me whether or not they should go roll up the windows in their cars rather than consult The Weather Channel. 

I used to feel so good that everyone seemed so concerned about how I was healing.  "How's your leg, Tammy?"  "Your leg doesn't hurt too bad today, does it Tammy?"  It wasn't until recently that I discovered that their apparent concern for my well-being was merely a ploy to determine whether or not it was going to rain.

I think the true extent of my "abilities" became clear a few weeks ago when a group of co-workers and I decided to walk a couple of blocks to go to lunch.  My leg had been bothering me that day, but I chose to ignore it, tough it up, and walk to the restaurant with the girls.  When we got outside and saw the ominous-looking clouds in the distance, I made an off-handed comment about how I really hoped we didn't get caught in the rain.  I even made a joke about how my leg was hurting more than usual.  We all laughed.

That is to say, we all laughed...  Until we stood up to leave the restaurant to walk back to work and discovered the torrential downpour that was occurring outside.  As the six of us huddled helplessly under the cover of the patio wondering how the heck we were going to get back to the office with only one umbrella between us, I (of course) just had to open my smart mouth and say, "I told you my leg hurt."  ;-)

After weighing our options, the consensus was that the least embarrassing solution was for me to call Katie and see if she would come get us.  Unfortunately she (and the couple of other so-called "friends" that we tried to call ;-) wouldn't answer her phone.  We finally admitted defeat, gave in, and Cheryl called our boss.  He was waiting for our call, and offered to come pick us up.  :-)

By the time Cheryl hung up the phone, the rain had let up to a light shower, so Carole (the keeper of the lone umbrella), and Cheryl and I (the two morons who decided that we weren't made of sugar and therefore wouldn't melt) decided to go ahead and walk back.  Cheryl called our boss once more and told him not to worry about driving over.  Carole was going to get her car and drive back to pick up the other three who stayed behind at the restaurant.

The three of us set out on our rainy adventure back to work...  Cheryl and I in all of our stupidity, and Carole holding her lightning rod high above her head...  (For the life of me, I've never been able to understand why the inventor of the umbrella thought it was a good idea to hold a metal pole over our head during a thunderstorm!  As far as I'm concerned, that's just asking for trouble!)  We made it back to the office, and Carole hopped in her car to head out to rescue the island castaways. 

Cheryl and I (in all of our drowned-rat glory) sauntered up the stairs...  and promptly ran into our boss who actually had the nerve to laugh at us!  The little snot (and I say that with all of the love and respect in the world :-) even had the nerve to say (with a mischievous grin), "I thought about saying something when you guys left for lunch, but then I thought 'Nooooo...'  I'm just gonna sit by the phone, wait for their call, and then make fun of them when they finally do."  Mmm-hmmm...  Nice. 

We didn't realize just how infamous our little field trip had become until about a week later.  Cheryl was talking to a co-worker from an entirely different department when she casually mentioned getting stuck in the rain the week before.  Our co-worker loudly exclaimed, "Oh my gosh!!!  That was you guys?!?  That story is legendary!  Everybody's talking about it!"  I think if Cheryl had a good throwing object handy I might have found myself on the receiving end of a projectile to the head.  "Tammy!" she yelled...  "You see what happens when you post stuff on Facebook?!?"  (Just wait until she reads my blog! :-)

After our lunchtime adventure in the rain, and my seemingly uncanny premonition that it would happen, the girls were a bit intrigued the following week when I said, "You know...  My leg's hurting today.  I think it's gonna rain."  They weren't quite ready to fully-embrace my new magical power just yet, but when the floodgates opened that night, they were all believers.  :-)

While I've only had a few opportunities to prove my newfound ability (It is nearing summer in Texas, you know...  Not much rain around here anymore.), so far I have proven to be correct every time I venture out to predict that day's chance of precipitation.  I now answer questions about the status of my recovery with, "Go roll up your windows." or "It's not gonna rain."

(*** Note - Names have not been changed to protect the innocent.  If I'm going down...  We're all going down! ***)

Observations of the Gimpy One

When I was wheelchair-bound after screwing up my leg/ankle earlier this year, I really started paying more attention to the accommodations that businesses made for handicapped people and other small things that would have really helped me out during the first four months of the year.  I had already had some trouble at home (leading up to the whole "Naked Gimp SOS Call"), but after getting out and attempting to get around town, I had a few interesting observations.

Observation of the Gimpy One #1:

          After one of my many appointments with the ortho, my mom and I decided to stop for lunch at the Olive Garden.  Apparently, there is a room designated specifically for the old and gimpy, as we were led to a dining area with about 20 elderly people, all with walkers and varying mobile-assisting devices.  I realized that I was pretty bad off as I sat in my wheelchair, green with envy, as the little old ladies got up to leave with their super-cool walkers! 

          One lady had one with a seat, a basket for her purse, hand brakes, and even a cup holder!  I wanted one of those puppies so bad!!!  I was seriously tempted to ask her where she got it.  I didn't realize that I was staring longingly at it until my mom started laughing at me.  But seriously, at that point I had been wheelchair-bound for two months!  Those walkers would have been a huge step up for this Gimp Girl!  And it had a cup holder!  How freaking cool is that?!?  One lady even had a bedazzled cane!  Those old people were stylin'!!!

Observation of the Gimpy One #2:

         After I had graduated from the wheelchair into the fracture boot and crutches, I did my best to be indepenent and drive myself around town.  Katie and I decided to run over to one of the children's resale shops in the area that happened to be in a shopping center with several other businesses.  We pulled up and noticed that there were several reserved parking spots right in front of the store.  "Great!" I thought.  "I can park in there and won't have to hobble too far."

          Nope.  The reserved parking was for JENNY CRAIG customers!  Not handicapped parking or reserved for expectant mothers or mothers with small children...  The parking directly in front of the children's resale shop was reserved for fat ladies using Jenny Craig!  Call me crazy, but I think of all the people going to that particular shopping center, the Jenny Craig ladies need to be walking the thirty extra steps.  (I can say this because I am a fat lady who would ordinarily need to be walking those extra steps, but when you've got a broken leg and pulled ligaments in your ankle, you've got a pretty good excuse to want the good parking spot.) 

Final Observation of the Gimpy One:

          Just last week, the elevator at my office building was out of service for the entire week.  Thankfully, I can pretty much manage going up and down stairs now, although it takes a while to go down seeing as how I have to lead with my right foot on every step.  The situation had me thinking though...  What would have happened if I was still wheelchair bound?!?  Would they have set me up in an office downstairs?  Would they have given me the week off with pay because they couldn't accommodate me in all of my gimpyhood?  Would someone have to carry me up and down the stairs?  That would seriously suck for them!  What if the elevator had gone out after I was already upstairs?  Would I have to sleep here?!?  What if there was a fire?  Would I have to bump down the stairs on my rear end like we used to do as little kids???  (I say "little kids," but I seem to remember doing that in our first apartment in college too.  I'm surprised we didn't put a hole in the wall at the bottom of the stairs!)  It just amazed me at the amount of questions that an out of order elevator brought on.  I'd just never really thought about it before I was fully-dependent on the thing.

It's interesting the things you notice when you find yourself in an unfamiliar situation.  Before the fall, I never would have ogled old ladies' walkers or freaked out because the elevator was out of order.  Now though, I have an entirely new perspective on things.  From now on, I will stand united with future "gimpsters," fighting for their rights and helping them out as much as I possibly can.  While I might not be volunteering to piggyback them up and down the stairs in the event of an elevator malfunction, I will at least offer to find someone who will.  :-)

I Have Been Tortured

Yes, TORTURED.  By a rather large German woman named Olga.

(Okay...  So her name wasn't exactly "Olga," and I have no clue as to her heritage, but it sounded good and felt appropriate.  I suppose if I'm being completely honest, I might as well admit that "Olga's" 4' 11", 90-pound, blond-haired, blue-eyed assistant did quite a bit of the torturing herself.  I just thought I'd get a little more "street cred" by admitting only to "Olga.")

When I walked into the ortho's office for my second physical therapy appointment, I knew that I was getting a new therapist for the day.  I boldly sauntered limped with gusto into the building, proud of the fact that I was actually a little bit early this time.  My excitement was short-lived, however, when I caught a glimpse of what I feared was my future...

Yes, I realize this is a scene from General Hospital, but it is a remarkable depiction of what I saw when I looked towards the gym from the reception area.  ... a grown man, defeated, with a mean-looking amazon woman who I didn't recognize standing over him...  Only my guy was whimpering in agony, and the woman who I feared was "Olga" weighed about 100 pounds more than Big Alice!  I nearly turned right around and walked out of the building.

I braved up and signed in though.  I sat down, warily eyeing the scary woman the entire time, and prayed that one of the other three PT's in the gym was actually "Olga."  I nearly shouted, "THANK YOU, LORD!" when a super-tiny, sweet-looking little girl walked up to me and said, "Tammy?"  Little did I know, this blond-haired, blue-eyed, 4' 11", 90-pound child was only "Olga's" assistant, and that she was kind of like "Olga's" (pardon my French) prison bitch, forced to do her dirty work.

As we neared the table where the 300-pound scary woman was torturing that poor, poor man, she paused long enough to look up and introduce herself.  "Hello.  I am 'Olga.'  You are next."  (Oh, joy!  I almost started to cry.) 

Small Child looked at me with apologetic eyes, and got me set up on the bike.  I did the slow 10 minutes at almost no resistance because she was trying to work my ankle without screwing up my leg.  It wasn't too bad...  a little sore, but okay.  Then Small Child worked me through my regular daily exercises.  I'm fairly used to those.  A couple of them hurt like heck though, so by the end, the entire bottom half of my leg and ankle felt like they were on fire.  I figured that was it.  I was through.  I was sorely mistaken.

That's when Small Child threw me to the wolves and handed me over to Satan.  "Olga" put me on this medieval torture device and had me doing modified squats and calf raises that made my leg feel as though that broken bone was going to break free of the skin.  Then she personally tortured me with some weird latex band thing that she used to pull my ankle into all sorts of weird positions that I, personally, don't think it should ever be in to begin with!  "Olga" walked away exclaiming, "I'll be back."  Oh, holy crapfire!  Where can I hide?!?  MAKE THE BAD WOMAN STOP!

Fortunately, she just came back with ice.  :-)

I am now in the process of recovering from what was supposed to be part of my recovery, and attempting to psych myself up for next week's session with Satan.  Pray for me!

Where's the Genie?!?

Only one more week, and I should be fracture boot-free!!! However, now that I've been able to do more and more on my own, and my mom has moved back home, I've come to the realization that I've become slightly spoiled.

When I first decided to do foster care, I went into it as a single, working mom. I adjusted really well, and was totally used to doing everything completely on my own. I never knew anything different! After I fell and broke my leg, my mom moved in to help take care of me and the Booger Bear. ...and I got spoiled.

I realized that last night when I opened the cabinet to get a sippy cup, and there weren't any in there! "But there are always clean sippy cups! How did this happen?!?" :-( I hand-washed a cup, opened the fridge to pour J some juice... AND THERE WAS NO MORE JUICE!!! WTF?!? Then, this morning after I had changed J's diaper and went to throw it in the Diaper Genie... "WHERE THE HECK DID THAT DAMN GENIE GO?!?" It was completely overflowing!!!

I don't understand. Things were going SO WELL! Seriously! My ceiling fan blades even got a dusting when my mom was with me! The dishes were done, the trash was taken out, the bathrooms were clean, the catbox was clean, the windows were cleaned for crying out loud! There was this magical house-cleaning genie who moved in around the same time that my mom came to help me with the baby, but I think she moved out when my mom left. :-(

I am sad now, and I've decided that I rather liked having a two-parent household. I guess that means I'm going to have to break down and start actively looking for a husband. Only somehow, I don't think a husband could take the place of my magical house-cleaning genie. :-)

"SNOW!!! BRRRR!!! COLD!!!"

February 11th, 2010... The day that it snowed 12.5 inches in Dallas/Fort Worth... More than any time, ever, in the history of however long they've been keeping record of it.

I was just starting Week 5 of Gimp Girl Confinement, so my mom was still living with me and the Booger. She came in that morning and said, "Have you looked outside?" I had forgotten that there was a chance of snow, so I asked her if it was snowing. She laughed and said, "Uh... Yeah!" I couldn't believe my eyes when I looked out there! Normally, when you get snow in Texas, you can still see the grass in between snow patches. Our "snowmen" are usually rather dirty and tend to be a mixture of snow, dirt, and dead grass. So when I looked outside and saw what looked to already be about 3-4 inches of snow and snowflakes the size of my hand still coming down, I was giddy!

I told the Booger Bear to go look outside and he ran to the window. "SNOW!!! BRRR!!! COLD!!!" He then asked if he could go "out?" We waited until my boss officially told me not to bother going into work. I had told him that I would go, but that someone would need to come and get me. I pretty much knew that no one was going to want to get out in that, push me in my wheelchair through several inches of snow, load the wheelchair, and do it again to bring me home, but I offered to go in anyway. I'm all nice and responsible and a total team player that way. ;-) When I got the "all-clear" from work, we bundled up J and my mom took him outside.

He was NOT a fan.

He made it one step outside the front door and REFUSED to let my mom put him down. He kept saying that he was "wet." So we decided to let him play on the patio, away from the 3 inch snowflakes, and brought the snow to him! He had a blast making a pint-sized snowman, swinging with Nana, eating the "ice," and just looking out at the snow coming down.

My sister and the twins had some fun that day too. Christy stayed home from work and she supervised and helped the twins build a beautiful snowman!

She was very proud of herself and revelled in being the "cool mom" until my brother-in-law got home and had to one-up her...

You really can't beat the coolness of a snowmountain. Show-off. ;-P

The next morning, my boss called and told me that they were going to open at noon, but not to come in if it was going to be a problem. I laughed. I was pretty sure it was going to be a problem. Do you see my wheelchair ramp in this picture?

Neither did I. Needless to say, I didn't go to work that day. My mom, however, did don a lovely pair of "snowshoes" (aka. plastic shopping bags) and brought the "snowshovel" (aka. my Swiffer Sweeper) out in an attempt to at least clear off the ramp. The Booger was a little concerned that Nana had completely lost her mind. He kept pointing at her feet, saying "Uh-ohhhh!" I'm not sure if his concern was because she had plastic bags on her feet, or because the plastic bags didn't match. :D He was also rather jealous because she was using cleaning supplies. I've mentioned before that J is a wee bit OCD.

By Saturday, we still hadn't been able to venture out. My sister and brother-in-law, however, made it to us, and greeted my mother with, "Did you know a tree fell on your car?!?" The weight from the foot of snow completely uprooted trees all over the Metroplex, and one of them happened to be right in my very own parking lot. Thankfully, the tree didn't fall ON her car... It fell NEXT TO her car... But this isn't what you want to see when you go to your car after two days of being housebound.

You've got to love Texas weather though. Over a foot of snow in 24 hours one day, almost melted the next! It was definitely an interesting few days!

Help! My Underwear Have Fallen, and I Can't Get Dressed!!!

Yes... Those exact words rang out from my fingertips in a desperate text message to my mother the other day. After taking a shower, I psyched myself up to get dressed, only to discover that my underwear had fallen off of the back of my wheelchair into the hallway and were completely inaccessible to me (the Naked Gimp). I covered myself the best I could for modesty's (well, my mother's) sake and endured her not-so-muffled snickering as she came in to save me.

This was only the first of many unusual, awkward, and embarrassing moments that I've endured since I ever-so-gracefully fell on the ice, screwed up my leg, and became temporarily wheelchair-bound. Over the past nine days, I have managed to do quite a few things that I never thought I'd have to fess up to. Although I have to admit, dropping my underwear and having to send out a plea for help via test message was probably the most mortifying. At least my mom was here, and I didn't have to send out a broadcast message to all of my friends and family. Now that would have been awkward! So what have I managed to do to embarrass myself?

Just last night, I ran over my own toe with my own wheelchair! For real. Fortunately (I think) it was on my good foot, but come on! Who does that?!? After my cursing the bleeding stopped, I couldn't help but laugh. I mean, seriously! How often does a person get to say that they ran over their own foot with their own body? I'm a moron.

I have somehow managed to become entangled in the wheels of my wheelchair more times than I care to admit. I've been wearing lots of pajama bottoms this week. I've had a rather limited choice of attire seeing as how I've got a big old half-cast covering the bottom half of my leg, and the only bottoms that easily cover it are the wide-legged pajama bottoms. Super comfy, but dangerous! I've lost count of the number of times my pajama legs have gotten all tangled up in the front wheel of my wheelchair. I've actually had a couple of nervous moments when I thought I might have to take off the pants in order to escape! So far, it's only happened within the confines of my home. I am, however, slightly nervous about returning to work tomorrow.

I've also learned over the past week that my apartment is not exactly wheelchair-friendly. I've also learned that, while I'm really good at getting myself into certain locations, I'm not quite as adept at getting out of them. I've somehow managed to get wedged between doors, trapped under the kitchen cabinets, and stuck in the alcove in my bathroom. I'm determined not to ask for help if there is any conceivable way that I can get myself out of the predicament, so I balance on my good leg and try manuevering the front wheels or doing whatever else I have to do in order to get out of whatever mess I've managed to get myself into.

You know... Now that I think about it, I think my wheelchair might have it out for me. I mean, I know I've put on some weight, but come on!

If my wheelchair's attempts to humiliate me haven't been bad enough, my own stubbornness to remain as independent as possible has certainly had its own share of blows to my ego as well. Things as simple as getting dressed in the morning or getting up from the toilet have become entirely new. How, exactly, do you put on underwear and pants when you can't bend your leg? Well, I'll tell you. It's called "The Lasso Technique." (Ahhh... the mental pictures... I'll let you figure it out.) I do believe I'll join the rodeo when all of this is said and done. How do you stand up from a low toilet when you can only use one leg? It's not pretty. And I'm fairly certain I'm going to end up needing knee replacement surgery in my "good" leg after this one heals. "How did you injure your knee, Tammy?" "Going to the potty, Doctor."

And then we have my little emotional meltdowns. I haven't had too many, but there have been a few, and the things that come out of my mouth when I'm having them make me question my sanity. "Why can't I change his poopy diaper?!? I want to change the poopy diaper!!!" "I want to go to work!!!" "I hate not being able to do my own laundry!!!" "I just want to go upstairs and see if the catbox needs to be cleaned out!!!" Yep... I've lost my mind. I realize I'm not used to having any help around the house, but this is ridiculous. I should be enjoying every second of this! Instead, I'm in tears because my mom is changing all of the poopy diapers and taking out my trash. I think I may need my head examined as well as my leg!

I'm sure there will be many more akward and embarrassing moments in the coming weeks. And I'm sure I'll be forced to write about them. Might as well entertain the masses at my expense, right? :-) In the meantime... Have a great week!

I Need a Break Already!!!

I know... I know... I start the New Year promising that I will blog more, and here it has been two whole weeks and NOTHING. In my defense, I think I have a pretty good excuse.


Isn't that pretty?!? That would be my leg. Fun!!! :-)

The past few months have been really hard in the foster care, home life, personal health, job world. I've had pneumonia and bronchitis almost CONSTANTLY since October, and even spent Sunday the 3rd in the ER because I couldn't breathe. By Thursday the 6th, I was at my wits' end. I've been EXHAUSTED from all of the stress of being sick and dealing with everything that had been going on at home. I had an appointment scheduled with my PCP to try to figure out why I couldn't seem to get over whatever has been going on with my lungs. And to be totally honest, I was really hoping they'd put me in the hospital just so I could get some rest.

... Be careful what you wish for...

The morning of my appointment (which also happened to be the coldest day of the year so far... 14 degrees, I believe), I headed outside with the Booger Bear in one arm and his diaper bag and my purse in the other. I looked around to make sure there weren't any wet spots or puddles that had turned into ice overnight, and the ground was completely dry. ... Or so it appeared... As I stepped onto a metal grate that covers a drainage ditch about 12 feet away from my door, I felt my right leg start to slip on a lovely sheet of invisible ice. "Mommy instinct" kicked in and I twisted on my left leg in order to keep from falling on Booger. Unfortunately, as I was falling to the ground, I heard (and unfortunately felt) my leg snap.

I knew it was broken, but as I sat there on the ground, I kept wishing it away. "It'll be fine. I'll just sit here a few seconds and the pain will go away." Fortunately, BB was fine and THANK GOD he didn't try to run away! He just stood there looking at me like, "Why are you sitting on the ground?" There was absolutely no one around, so I SOMEHOW managed to force myself to stand up and walk stagger back into the apartment. I dropped to the floor and crawled over to prop myself up on the couch and try to figure out what to do.

I had dropped my phone on the floor by the front door, and the Booger went and got it for me. He handed it to me and said, "Nana?" He was SO GOOD. He could have gotten into all sorts of trouble while we were waiting for help to arrive, but instead, he got some books from his bookshelf and shared his books with me until my mom got there.

I ended up calling my doctor's office since I was going there anyway, and just told them to add a probably broken leg and/or ankle to the mix. No sense paying for another ER co-pay when my doctor's office has radiology onsite, right? We somehow got BB and me loaded into the car, took Booger to daycare, and headed over to the doctor. Fortunately, they had a wheelchair. :-)

By that time, I wasn't sure what all I had hurt. I was pretty certain my leg was broken because it kept popping in and out of place and kind of crunching. When it was out of place, my toes would go numb and turn purple. But my ankle was really hurting a lot too, so I couldn't completely pinpoint the pain. Believe it or not, they actually did the exam for my breathing problems first. Then sent me for x-rays where I heard the tech exclaim, "Oh! THAT'S not good!" I ended up doing a breathing treatment while they called the orthopedic and set up an appointment for me and then put on a huge splint. PATHETIC!!!

At the ortho the next morning, we found out what I actually did. Apparently, when I twisted, I pulled the ligaments holding my ankle together which also happen to be connected to the smaller bone in my leg. The pressure from the twisting snapped the bone. The doctor said that the break is "inconsequential" and that it should heal itself in a few weeks. Pardon me, sir, but it doesn't FEEL that "inconsequential" to me! It kind of hurts like hell! And the "snap, crackle, popping" noises are freaking me out. The ankle on the other hand, is a doozy. Leave it to Tammy to come up with something weird. He said that in his twenty years of doing this, he has only seen an injury like mine maybe three other times. :-)

So far, the ankle appears to be staying intact, so he wants to wait for a couple of weeks before deciding whether or not to do surgery. If we do that, he'd be putting a bar in to hold my ankle together while it heals. Then we'd have to do a second surgery to remove the bar. As it is, I am to remain completely non-weight-bearing for 8-10 weeks. Easier said than done for a single mother of a 15-month-old!

Thank God for my mom!!! She's living with me for the next however long it will take, and is taking care of the Booger, me, and my house. She also watches my soon-to-be 5-year-old neice and nephew during the day! We've also had a lot of people offer help, and we'll definitely be taking them up on it.
So, I've been out of work for a week so far. Not exactly the "break" that I was hoping for, but I am at least getting some much-needed rest. :-)

(Now that I'm not in quite as much pain, I'll be blogging a lot. I have all sorts of good stories from this little incident! :-) I hope everyone else is doing well out there, and that you heed my little warning when I say, seriously, "Be careful what you wish for!"