Good News Day

 I saw the orthopedic surgeon today for him to check progress of my ankle/leg. Let me preface this by saying he’s a really nice guy but going to see him always makes me nervous. No weight-bearing on my right foot is a difficult thing to accomplish. I have not put one foot in front of the other on solid ground for five weeks. Still, when I transfer from wheeled chair to bed or toilet or whatever, there are moments when I inadvertently step on that foot—not close enough, about to fall, etc. And of course there was a colossal fall in Tomball. Each time I think I’ve ruined whatever healing was taking place.

The first time I saw Dr. Cook we came home and I went up the front steps to the porch—didn’t have a ramp or a wheelchair at that point. I tried to step lightly on my bad foot, kind of a skip, but my brother would admonish, “You’re weight bearing, you’re weight bearing.” He said even one instance could make things worse.

So I went with fear and trepidation to the next appointment, sure that Dr. Cook would say I’d ruined it and he’d have to go in surgically and put rods, etc. in. Of course instead he said “It’s not any worse,” and told me to continue what I was doing. Today I was a bit more confident, but I could bat down an occasional thought of “Pride goeth before a fall.”

It turned out pride and those occasional mis-steps didn’t matter. I am growing new bone—I saw it on x-ray. Dr. Cook was encouraged and said it’s time to challenge the leg. I wanted to shout, “If it’s doing okay, can’t we just leave it alone?” But I am to start walking, with a physical therapist, three times a week. And I go back in two weeks.

Then there was the matter of the boot. We saw people in boots that were different from mine and asked about them. The doctor explained that they carried the Cadillac in the office, but my boot “would do.” Jordan wasn’t having any of that. He explained that Medicare had already bought me a boot and would not buy another. Jordan inquired about the price if we bought it outright--$200—and here I sit tonight in a new boot. It is lighter and easier on my foot, so I guess it was money well spent.

Megan went home last Saturday and Sunday she tripped and hurt her foot. Diagnosis today: hairline fracture of a bone in the foot. She is in a boot for six weeks, on crutches and no weight-bearing for two weeks. I told her she really didn’t have to go to extremes to show her sympathy. I’m truly sorry this happened and worried about her—how will she raise her two boys, cook for her family, and go to work? I’m sure it will work out.

I wrote to old friends yesterday telling them what happened, and they promptly replied today with intentions to call at a convenient time and to come inspect me and my new quarters. I assured them I’m all right and in good hands, but I’d love to see them. So sad it takes a broken leg to get them to visit.

Life is good, and I am blessed.

 

I saw the orthopedic surgeon today for him to check progress of my ankle/leg. Let me preface this by saying he’s a really nice guy but going to see him always makes me nervous. No weight-bearing on my right foot is a difficult thing to accomplish. I have not put one foot in front of the other on solid ground for five weeks. Still, when I transfer from wheeled chair to bed or toilet or whatever, there are moments when I inadvertently step on that foot—not close enough, about to fall, etc. And of course there was a colossal fall in Tomball. Each time I think I’ve ruined whatever healing was taking place.

The first time I saw Dr. Cook we came home and I went up the front steps to the porch—didn’t have a ramp or a wheelchair at that point. I tried to step lightly on my bad foot, kind of a skip, but my brother would admonish, “You’re weight bearing, you’re weight bearing.” He said even one instance could make things worse.

So I went with fear and trepidation to the next appointment, sure that Dr. Cook would say I’d ruined it and he’d have to go in surgically and put rods, etc. in. Of course instead he said “It’s not any worse,” and told me to continue what I was doing. Today I was a bit more confident, but I could bat down an occasional thought of “Pride goeth before a fall.”

It turned out pride and those occasional mis-steps didn’t matter. I am growing new bone—I saw it on x-ray. Dr. Cook was encouraged and said it’s time to challenge the leg. I wanted to shout, “If it’s doing okay, can’t we just leave it alone?” But I am to start walking, with a physical therapist, three times a week. And I go back in two weeks.

Then there was the matter of the boot. We saw people in boots that were different from mine and asked about them. The doctor explained that they carried the Cadillac in the office, but my boot “would do.” Jordan wasn’t having any of that. He explained that Medicare had already bought me a boot and would not buy another. Jordan inquired about the price if we bought it outright--$200—and here I sit tonight in a new boot. It is lighter and easier on my foot, so I guess it was money well spent.

Megan went home last Saturday and Sunday she tripped and hurt her foot. Diagnosis today: hairline fracture of a bone in the foot. She is in a boot for six weeks, on crutches and no weight-bearing for two weeks. I told her she really didn’t have to go to extremes to show her sympathy. I’m truly sorry this happened and worried about her—how will she raise her two boys, cook for her family, and go to work? I’m sure it will work out.

I wrote to old friends yesterday telling them what happened, and they promptly replied today with intentions to call at a convenient time and to come inspect me and my new quarters. I assured them I’m all right and in good hands, but I’d love to see them. So sad it takes a broken leg to get them to visit.

Life is good, and I am blessed.

 

 

 

 

News from the home front

 If you heard a loud whoosh about 2:30 this afternoon, that was me letting out a long sigh of relief. I went to the trauma  reconstructive surgeon who said my ankle was beyond repair. There’s dead bone in there. No surgery. He will take the conservative approach and wait for it to heal which means keeping me off my foot for some time to come. I gather I may end up with a misshapen ankle or a limp or something less than ideal but my dancing days and days of vanity are long over and that doesn’t matter. I am relieved big time.

How did my ankle get in this shape without treatment? Probably the fact that I walked on it for two weeks, then walked on it in a boot for two more. My neuropathy became a big part of the discussion--it prevents me from feeling pain in my feet, and therefore pain doesn’t do its job of warning. Probably why today the foot doesn’t hurt.

We are looking into electric wheelchairs and knee scooters and the like. I suspect I’ll need the wheelchair and my walker occasionally if not always the rest of my life. That’s okay too.

This doctor comes highly recommended, and we—Jordan, my brother, and I—all liked him immensely. He’s calm, slightly funny, gives you a feeling that he’s very capable. Explained things fully and carefully. I go back in two weeks for new x-rays. Meantime the burden is on me to protect the ankle, not put weight on it, etc. At this point I could do further damage.

My brother watched me go from car to steps to wheelchair and was quite critical of the fact that I was weight-bearing even though I barely did a hop on the bad foot. There was no way around that little strip, although we’re working on ramps, etc. Meantime John further put the fear of the Lord in me. Actually I feel God has been good to me tonight—I talked to him this morning and said it was my turn for some good news. He listened.

The alternative is major surgery which I wouldn’t have wanted at any age but I sure don’t want at my age.  Plates and screws won’t do it—plates slip. He said they’d probably put a rod up through my heel. No thanks.

So on to bigger things. I guess I’ve lost my excuse for not getting serious about a new project. I have one loose end to wrap up and then I must begin to think ahead. At least the work that I love is something I can do while staying off my feet.

Jordan is staying tonight because we were fairly convinced I would be facing surgery and be a quivering mass of Jello. So now she says, “What are we going to do the rest of the evening.” She’s cooking bacon and eggs, and it smells delicious. Excuse me while I head for the kitchen, having told you all more than you ever wanted to know about ankles and surgeons.