August 5, 2015
Have you ever just felt like you’re one giant attractor for all of the world’s pigeon poop? I have, oh have I, but generally just sweep that visual under the porch rug. But I have to admit, these past seven months have been nothing short of some very bad juju.
It’s as though I have been wielding a sword in one hand, fiercely fighting against dilemmas most people don’t experience in one lifetime, throughout my adult life. Lately though, my shiny lady sword has become nothing more than a very dull butter knife.
One year ago I was fit. I didn’t quite resemble the water buffalo I feel like today. (Long term steroid use can and will have you looking like the mirror image of the Michelin man.) I had worked my ass off at the gym for the previous two years and felt good about myself. Granted, the Achilles tendonitis was lurking boldly from the shadows and the joint pains in most of my body was intensifying daily, but I kept up my exercise routine none the less. I was determined to look and feel good, and all the hard work paid off. Then the sciatica kicked in and I still hauled my rear end into the Zumba classes, moving around like I had a broomstick up my butt, but kept on dancing. Danced until I had the epidural spinal injection last September. (Just learned this past June I NEVER had sciatica. I have Sacroiliitis, an arthritic condition in the pelvis that mimics sciatica. And feels as if a mule has kicked you in the hoo-haw.)
So now after 4 1/2 months following the incredibly difficult, painful and disabling Achilles rupture repair surgery, I feel like those honing pigeons have a target directly above my head. The pain has been incredibly strong all along, I haven’t healed the way I THOUGHT I would- in my opinion- and I have repeatedly told my doctor all this information on every visit since surgery…..eight or so visits.
The physical therapy was SUPPOSED to be a key in getting me back to appearing like an able bodied woman who can ambulate around. Now, the constant pains I am experiencing are leaning more towards me needing an ambulance to ambulate my ass to the nearest ER. When PT was a total dud Monday morning, and my therapist suggested I might have a blood clot, I just rolled my eyes as I have done hundreds of times over the past 36 years, saying: “Why not?” I’m accustomed to hearing things you don’t normally hear- or of incidents that are not typical, that go terribly wrong: “You had twins, only one survived” (then learning they were monoamniotic twins); “Your going to deliver your baby right now” (in the doctor’s office); “Your baby is a mongoloid” (32 years ago and the doctor had no other appropriate terminology apparently): “Your daughter has Cerebral Palsy and suffered brain damage” (from the twin pregnancy that went horribly wrong and learning this right after my other child was born with Down syndrome); “You have Multiple Sclerosis“; “Your mother has stage 4 ovarian cancer“; “You have Rheumatoid Arthritis”; “No, not RA, but another form of arthritis that is just as bad-ass”; “You have a lesion on the deep white front matter of your brain”.… and a whole lot more!
So as I was writhing in pain on the table while at PT when the therapist gently placed his hand on my calf, he began telling me that if it’s not a blood clot, there is something amiss because I have too much pain for this long after the slicing of my leg and tendon repair. Tomorrow I go in for an ultrasound and will hopefully, HOPEFULLY, learn something. So as of now, I have my quick wit, still have a bit of sarcasm to go hand in hand with the hurdles that keep being lobbed at me (and for this fact, I am unable to jump out of the way for said HURDLE because let’s face it….. I can’t move swiftly or even move my foot correctly, let alone hop, skip or jump). I continue to find the humor with everything and am seriously considering using an umbrella to fend off all that pigeon poop.