One Year Later

A year ago this weekend, I got on the scale, and the number I saw almost made my eyes bug out of my head.

I'd had to greatly reduce my gym time because of my ongoing foot problems, and I hit a number I'd sworn I'd never let myself hit. I saw that number, and said, goddamn it, that's it.

I am doing something about my weight, and I'm getting this shit off for good. I am losing the eighty pounds it will take me to get back to where I was my junior year of high school, when I was swimming a kilometer a day, five days a week.

I am not eating obscene amounts of food anymore, I am drawing a line in the fucking sand, and saying this is the end of being dangerously overweight and horribly out of shape.

Of course, I didn't actually say anything about it at the time, because I've tried to draw these lines before. I've dieted and dieted and dieted and taken the occasional stab at exercise. It has always come back with a vengeance.

This time, it's different. This time exercise is the primary objective, with portion control following. I didn't go on a diet, I changed the way I live my life. And I'll be goddamned: It actually worked.

One calendar year later, nine months of working out until I practically fell over at the gym later (plus three months off for foot surgery and related follies), I have dropped 42 pounds. More than halfway to my eventual goal, and a very encouraging distance from where I started.

Two jeans sizes (and close to a third) smaller. Wearing shit I haven't worn in years. Weighing what I weighed my sophomore year of college, a ridiculous seven years ago.

If I sound like I'm proud of myself, I damn well am. I'll be honest, I did not know if I could do this. But when I started keeping an eye on calories and actually working out at the gym, instead of just going to the gym, it started coming off.

I can almost leg press my own body weight now. I'm doing bicep curls with 85 lbs, and chest-pressing 90 (after being almost killed by 40 lbs on each at the beginning). And the difference both the weight loss and the strength training I'm doing have made with my bad leg are huge.

When I first tried to switch from the recumbent bike to the elliptical in October, I could barely do 5 minutes without feeling like my leg was going to fall off. Now I can do 25 minutes AFTER doing a strenuous half hour on the bike.

I just feel so much better physically, it's hard to describe without using a corny and overly literal phrase like "a weight off my shoulders."

There's a whole section of my life that's been throw into ridiculous turmoil lately, but for this to finally, FINALLY, start to go right, it gives me so much more confidence that I can overcome the other nonsense that I've stressed so much less about the turmoil than I would have a year ago.

I will now give myself public motivation to finish the job: My goal, and it is a pretty big one, is to lose the remaining 38 pounds by Halloween. That puts me at losing about five pounds a month, which is roughly the speed I've been going.

It has to be done, and for once in my life, I can finally say with confidence: It will.

Budgetary Realizations

Two things I realize now, after going through my budget with a fine tooth comb to try and kick out a few extra pennies, that I probably should not have done:


1. Moved out of my old Russian-Mob-Owned shithole apartment in Venice. I might have wanted to strangle my neighbors on an hourly basis, but I'm paying almost half again more rent than I was, which is definitely in the category of Not Helpful when unemployed.

Also, the dipshit management company here is just as unresponsive to maintenance issues as the mobsters were, so why the fuck am I paying them all this money? I mean, other than to live in a neighborhood with fewer drive-bys.


2. Fucked up my ankle, requiring me to pay exorbitant COBRA rates instead of finding cheapo individual insurance because my ankle turns into a monstrously expensive preexisting condition if I get the individual coverage.


These two things alone are absolutely killing my unemployment budget. I've just looked at how much I've spent so far this month, and realized I can't leave the house again until approximately February.

Breaking Out An Old Meme

You're all now officially On Notice.

Back to Life, Back to Reality

Chicago was awesome. The game was ridiculous. Reuniafest was everything I'd hoped for and then some. I didn't get to see everyone I wanted to see since I was only in town for two and a half days, but I got to see a decent number of y'all, which was great.

I didn't want to come back, and I so do not want to go back to work tomorrow. Stupid reality.

Anyway, a few odds and ends from the weekend:

- Nate and I stayed with Mark, and that led to my favorite Inappropriate Joke of the weekend, which was that we were off having threesomes, but they were the worst threesomes ever because absolutely no one was getting what they wanted.

- [whining]I hate my foot. Hate hate hate hate hate. It hurt all weekend, I kept having to sit on barstools instead of actually standing to talk to people, I repeatedly had to leave early because it hurt, and I blew about $50 on cabs I probably wouldn't have blown if I could walk more than a few blocks without feeling like my leg was going to fall off. This horseshit better end soon.[/whining]

- Man, I've gotten spoiled living in California where you basically can't smoke anywhere indoors. My throat is still killing me from trying to shout over the music in several smoke-filled bars, and all my clothes smell like they spent the weekend at the bottom of an ashtray. You guys will love life when the ban goes into effect at the beginning of the year.

- So for those of you who heard me panicking about the potential writers' strike, here's a fairly good summary of why TV people in particular are panicking about this.

- On the flight back, as we were coming in for a landing, I got some sort of air bubble in my sinuses, leading to some of the most excruciating pain I've felt in several years. And I include everything involved in my foot ridiculousness in that. Fortunately, it managed to dissipate by the time we landed, but I'm still feeling residual pain. Ow.

A Sense of Accomplishment

I've lost 27 pounds since mid-February, despite a three-month break from the gym for two casts and a surgery. That's good, but it's not what I'm proud of.

What I'm proud of is that finally, nine months into 2007, I've finally finished reading 2006 issues of Newsweek, Sports Illustrated, and Entertainment Weekly.

If I keep going at this rate, I might actually catch up with the present sometime in 2008.

Exercise The Demons

Part of why things have trailed off a touch on this blog is because of the absolutely absurd amount of gym time I've been putting in lately.

5 days a week, killing myself at the gym, waiting for the tiny little reward on Sundays when I see that, if I'm lucky and have been trying to watch what I eat, all that fighting has lost...one pound!

This all started in February, after several weeks of sedentary moping, when I looked at the scale and saw a number I swore I'd never see.

I'm a quarter of the way to where I want to be from where I was, which, thinking about it, is actually pretty decent. But the slow, slow pace is just maddening.

I'm hitting something similar with my foot (which I go to Physical Therapy for the other two days a week), where it's miles better than it was, but the pain and continued PT are making me nuts.

I want to be in shape and running around, not fighting for ever tenth of an inch of plantarflexion and just about dying on the recumbent bike.

Stupid body. Why must you make me pay for my prior indiscretions?

Fiscal Responsibility Sucks Ass

God DAMN it.

I stopped by Best Buy tonight to continue my ongoing research into rigging a GPS into my car by actually looking at one in person. I wasn't planning on buying anything (for reasons I will elaborate on later in the post), but then I saw two things:

1. Martin Starr, who played Haverchuck on Freaks and Geeks, among many other hilarious roles

2. Holding a Wii.

I have wanted a Wii for several months now. I'd resolved to buy one at Best Buy, as I have about $100 worth of gift cards, bringing the price down to just under $200 (including tax and a second Wiimote). And really, what else does Best Buy sell that am I not going to find cheaper online?

Unfortunately, Best Buy is always sold out of Wiis when I go, and they generally sell out any shipment they get within a couple of hours. Seeing Starr holding a Wii was the first time I'd actually seen one in a customer's hands. I had to know if there were more.

So dispensing with my "do not approach people whose work you enjoy" policy, I went up to him and said, "excuse me, where did you get that Wii?" And he pointed out the stack around the corner. I thanked him and fled.

Oh, that stack taunted me, I tell you. But alas, there were two problems with buying a Wii an hour ago, both of which Joel reminded me of when I called and begged him to talk some sense into me:

Problem the first: I just got stuck with a big old pile of medical bills for my foot surgery, plus my physical therapy bill is swiftly approaching $500, and it appears it will not stop there. $25 a visit adds up distressingly fast.

Problem the second: I am leaning towards moving downstairs over Labor Day Weekend, and I'm estimating the one-time expenses for that (cleaning fee, moving supplies, movers because everyone I know is out of town that weekend, etc.) at about $600.

So basically, I am broke as a joke, and even the modest sum a Wii commands with gift cards factored in is currently out of my reach. Still, I was damn tempted.

It took every ounce of restraint I have to walk away from that pile of Wiis. It is a decision I am sure I will regret in a couple months when my finances loosen up and I still can't find a damn Wii in a Best Buy.

Progress Report

So I'm finally back out of the boot, which is good. Walking around in regular shoes for the first time in a couple of months is a bit weird.

What's really weird is that my physical therapist wants me to wear sneakers. I've worn nothing but hiking boots for the last several years, so trying to wear sneakers, I feel like my ankles are constantly in danger of turning over.

My foot is healing at an okay pace, although I still have a pretty decent limp. The best piece of news is that I've finally gotten cleared to start hitting the gym again.

The bad news is, now I have no excuse not to go to the gym.

Oh well. At least I can start hacking away at the giant stack of magazines that started piling back up again while I wasn't going.

Hobblin'

The cast is off! Sadly, I still can't itch the scar because I'm still gauzed up, but at least the stitches are out (that, by the way, hurt like a motherfucker) and I can wash three weeks worth of crap off my leg.

It's still pretty goddamn sore, and I can see a gigantic bruise peeking out from under my bandages at the site of the incision.

The good news is that for the most part, it doesn't hurt when I'm not putting pressure on it, which is a distinct improvement from its pre-surgical state. The doc also said it's making good progress.

Walking, if you can call it that, is still a fairly slow, painful process because of how badly my leg has atrophied, though it's quite a bit better than it was when the cast first came off yesterday.

I start back with Physical Therapy on Friday, and then I go 3 nights a week for the next month and a half or so. It's going to be a colossal inconvenience, but I'm ready. I want this nonsense done with.

I'm not counting any chickens, but it's looking a lot more promising than it was.

The Itch

A cast itches, there's no two ways about it. It's absolutely maddening when it's in an area I can't reach, but usually if I ignore it, it goes away pretty quickly.

The one thing that's making me batshit crazy right now is the place where my stitches are itches. And it won't stop.

I could reach it to scratch it if I found a long enough item to scratch with, but I'm supposed to get the cast off and the stitches out tomorrow, so I can't risk a) ripping stitches or b) getting anything infected.

So I have about 13 more hours to sit here, trying to ignore the massive itch on my foot, and hoping this at least goes away long enough for me to get some sleep.

Grounded

I was a real goody two shoes when I was growing up, so I've never actually been grounded. Lately, I feel like I've been getting a taste of what I missed out on.

It's been about six weeks since the first cast went on, and I've barely left the house. I do still have TV privileges unlike a grounded teenager, but I don't have much else.

Even when I could sort of walk after the first cast but before the surgery, the longest I've been out is for a few hours.

I bought a tank of gas before the first cast. Even picking up and dropping off my mom at LAX, it's still half full.

I've got another week in the cast and then a couple days of trying to decrease the atrophy enough to come back to work.

All I want is to get out of the apartment to do more than wash all my bedding or get the mail.

Why does it feel like it'll be a fucking eternity before I can do that?

Heat Rises

I love my apartment, but being here all the time points out to me with a flashing neon sign its one very glaring flaw: It's fucking hotter than hell in here.

I live on the second floor of my building. There's very little shade, the airflow is poor, heat rises from downstairs, and when the marine layer burns off, the sun just flat-out bakes my apartment.

Consequently, even though most of my windows are open and I have 2 fans going and it's 62 degrees outside right now, it's still over 75 degrees in here. It was over 80 this afternoon.

When I run my window unit a/c, which I try to do minimally, it creaks and sadly fights to keep the place under 75.

There's an apartment that might be coming open downstairs, a little more money but it's already remodeled and it has a small patio.

I'd been considering moving down because of the foot, but right now I'm thinking I might melt before the foot gets better if I don't move.

26

I joked after what happened last year on my birthday that for my 26th birthday I was going to spend the entire day hiding inside, not doing anything.

Turns out I wasn't kidding. Luckily, I've made it through the day so far without hurting anything new, so I'm hoping this is a good sign of things to come.

Sliced and Diced

Surgery went well, the most painful part of it being getting up at 5am to be at the surgery center at quarter to six. Mercifully, since they just sedated me instead of using full anesthesia, I was out of the surgery center by 9am.

The doctor found that the accessory navicular bone that he was taking out was badly tangled up in my posterior tibial tendon, a complication that he said he'd never seen in 30+ years of being a foot surgeon.

It kind of sucks, because it means the three weeks in a cast I spent hoping it would heal on its own were even more futile than I initially thought.

However, the screwy situation didn't show up on either MRI, so I suppose there's nothing the Doc could have done different, and you always want to avoid surgery if you can.

However, the good news is that such an oddity a) provides an explanation for why it hurt so much for so long and b) makes me more hopeful that this will, in fact, be a permanent fix.

That permanent fix, my friends, is all I really wanted for my birthday.

Miscellaneous Etc.

A few odds and ends before I disappear into Foot Surgery Land tomorrow:

- Disgusting double-entendre of the day.

- CBS resurrected Jericho, which makes me happy because I enjoyed how insanely ridiculous that show was. I was not enough of a fan to send unsolicited tons of peanuts to CBS, but still, it's nice to know the show will live to create even more egregious plot holes.

- Mom's here to help me out with the first couple post-surgical days when I'll be doped to the gills, which will be helpful. However, mom snores REALLY loud. I'd forgotten about that.

- I have to be at the surgery center tomorrow at 5:45am, so I'm getting up at 5. Between mom snoring and Chaplin yowling, I don't think they're even going to have to give me a sedative to get me back to sleep.

Scheduling

So the surgery is taking place Thursday, June 7th, or 364 days after I first hurt this bad boy, or one day before my birthday.

The good news is that I will be on some very excellent drugs for my birthday. Nothing I wanted more this year than to be high as a kite! Well, perhaps that this would have gotten better months ago like it should have, but I digress.

Mom, who I'd managed to hold off from coming so far, has taken over dad's traditional role of Helpful but Overreacting Parent, and is coming out for the surgery.

It will likely take me until she gets here to get this place clean enough to prevent her from having a heart attack at the sight of it on arrival. And she'll still say "God, this place is filthy!" no matter how long I spend cleaning it.

You Knew This Was Coming

It's official: I need surgery. Sometime next week, not sure when yet. Whee!

It's pretty insane how much my left leg atrophied over three weeks. It really looks like it's from a different person, particularly when compared to my right leg which has been carting my fat ass around all this time.

I'd post pictures but a) the pictures don't really capture the difference and b) my leg still looks pretty hideous given that it was imprisoned for weeks.

The small solace is that I can at least hobble in the boot until the surgery. The pegleg will sit to the side, since I'll need it for another 3 weeks after the surgery. But for now: Hobbling.

The leg hurts like a motherfucker (I'm sure all the muscular atrophy isn't helping matters there), and I'm still supposed to keep it elevated pretty much all the time, but at least I can take out the trash now.

Yay?

Errata

A few small pieces of flotsam and jetsam, Krazy-glued together into one for your convenience.

1. Doc's taking off the cast tomorrow, so I find out if (*cough cough* when *cough cough cough*) I need surgery. At least I'll finally be able to scratch this itch on the outside of my leg that's been driving me nuts for days.

2. I really have got to figure out why my apartment heats up faster than my damn oven. I'm trying some heat control window film (if I can figure out how to get it on there) on the giant front window to see if that helps, but if it's getting to be 80 inside when it's not even 70 outside? I'm fucked when it's 100 outside.

3. That guitar at the end of the episode that aired tonight? I have been lusting over that exact guitar for six years. I almost bought one when it was cheaper, but then I had to replace my car's entire exhaust system, and away went my guitar fund. When they took that sucker out of the box, I was green with envy. When it was played by a talented guitarist, I was even more jealous, because it sounds fucking amazing. The prop department has put me On Notice that if it goes missing, they're coming after me. Probably prudent of them.

A Little Stir Crazy

Having spoken to precisely two people in person in the last week and a half, including my neighbor who came up to tell me that anytime I ran water in my apartment her kitchen was flooding, it was nice to have Miss Cleo come by tonight.

However, I've been so starved for human contact, I fear I may have become this guy:

Rhetorical Pleasantry Elicits 45-Minute Response

KANSAS CITY, MO-"When he put his hand on my shoulder, I knew it would be a while," recalled Harding, who could not escape from the monologue.

I'm strongly considering declaring "for the sake of my sanity" a legitimate reason to leave the house.

Castening: Day 2

Yesterday, I was bored.

Today, I'm restless.

Tommorrow, I think I'm going to hit full-on Marge on a plane "LetmeoutLetmeoutLetmeoutLetmeout!" mode.

This is going to be a looooong summer.

Foot Follies: The Castening

It is done.



And the pegleg has arrived:



Yeah, I know it looks goofy as hell, but it works, and that's all I give a shit about.

More pictures at my flickr page, which will be getting updated quite a bit since I now have a whooooooooooole lot of time on my hands and pretty much no place to go for at least the next 3 weeks.

Whee!

Foot Fiasco Followup

I was a bit busy to post about this in the last week or so, partly because I went to various doctors about five times on top of everything else that's been going on.

So now, I've finally come to a decision: They're sticking me in a cast and on crutches for three weeks to let the irritation calm down, and then reevaluating exactly what surgery I will need, if any.

Best case scenario, resting this will finally get it to calm down enough to not get re-irritated, and will do so without needing to have surgery.

I'm not terribly optimistic that will happen, but I'm willing to give it a try. And if it doesn't work, it at least gives a much more targeted area for them to cut, which I suppose is a good thing, though I'll be frustrated about wasting three weeks.

I am getting the pegleg thing, I'm having them ship it so I'll be able to try it out next weekend before I actually have to depend on it. Hilarious pictures TK.

I'm still trying to figure out if I can (or more accurately, should) try to make my scheduled trip to Chicago in a couple weeks for Laz's wedding.

Not having to have surgery yet takes away one of my big problems, but the idea of trying to crutch around all weekend is unpleasant, particularly in airports, though I suppose I could ride the little cart with the flashing light.

Also, my doctors have told me I need to not go in to work while the cast is non-weightbearing, and I'm going to guess that going to Chicago probably falls under the same heading of "prohibited activites."

Anyway, suggestions of things I can do without leaving my house are welcome. I'm well stocked on DVD's and I'm gonna bump my Netflix subscription up to the 3-at-a-time plan, and I'm gonna do some studying for the Apple Certified Helpdesk Specialist exam.

However, particularly if I need surgery after the three weeks, I'm gonna need a few more suggestions as well, because I'm basically stuck at home until this thing passes. Whee!

Cowboy Up

This is getting more ridiculous on a daily basis.

So I went to Dr. Hot Shit, who I'd been trying to get in with for a while (and who I got some strings pulled to get into), in order to get a third and final opinion on my foot.

Of course, he thinks something else is wrong with it than the first two guys seemed to be in general agreement that it was.

The good news is, he seems to have good reason. He took some new X-rays and basically was able to place the exact spot on my foot that has the most excruciating pain simply by looking at them and seeing something that's been overlooked.

The better news is that if it is what he thinks it is (aggravation of the accessory navicular bone, for those who give a fuck), the fix is a lot less elaborate.

It still means surgery and a month on crutches, but only another month of rehab after, instead of another month in a walking cast and two more months of rehab for what the other guys think it is.

The weird part was, in order to help test his theory, he wanted to tape my foot to address his suspicion, then take some stress off my aggravated tendon (which is aggravated by my calf muscle on the bad leg being slightly too short).

He asked me to wear inch-and-a-half heels, and when I laughed "Do I look like someone who even owns shoes like that?" in his face at this suggestion, he asked me if I had cowboy boots.

And I thought, "Oh yeah, I guess those do have about inch-and-a-half heels." And then I felt slightly dumb.

So I spent all of today taped up, wearing cowboy boots, and oddly substantially more comfortable than I should have been, given that I was wearing my single most uncomfortable pair of shoes.

So, possibly further details to come. I'm going back to Dr. Hot Shit tomorrow for a follow-up, and then to my original guy to say, "So, nice miss there, buck-o!" on Thursday.

Maybe I'll even have a goddamn answer to what the fuck is going on. Wouldn't that be nice?

It Begins Again

My boss's episode shoots one night tomorrow night (yes, Saturday. Don't get me started.), then starts shooting for real on thursday, so I'm going to be back in the black hole of 16 hour days for a while.

I should have a more concrete update on the Foot Fiasco of '07 sometime late next week, which I will share with you since I'm sure you're all dying to know.

Otherwise, just assume I'm working until I pass out, because that's likely what I'm doing.

We've Managed to Bargain Them Down To...A Booting

So my orthopedist stuck me in a boot for a couple weeks starting last Thursday to try and stabilize my collapsing arch.

The boot is a little hilarious because it has a pump which can allegedly be used to pump up the cast to give more support. It's about as effective as the pumps in my Reeboks in fifth grade, which is to say: Not effective at ALL.

Anyway, it seemed to be working over the weekend. My boss was out of town Thursday, and I just went to the gym (recumbent bike, which puts just about zero pressure on the ankle, plus arm-based lifting) and then slept all day Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

But Monday, when I went back to a real work schedule, the façade came down. My job involves a lot of running around, and when you've got one of these fuckers on, it's like dragging an anchor around.

The good news was that it seemed to be doing its job and making the parts of my foot that had been hurting hurt a lot less.

The bad news was, it's so heavy and immobilizing it's a) killing the rest of my lower left leg and b) making me absolutely exhausted.

I've already made two dumb mistakes at the end of the day this week because I was so tired I couldn't focus on anything but getting home and getting my leg out of Foot Jail.

Luckily I've finally got a second and third opinion set up in the next week, so at least I'll have some idea of what can finally be done to rid myself of this horseshit on a more permanent basis. And really, rid all you of it too, since I'm sure you're sick of hearing about it.

Doesn't mean I'm going to stop bitching about it though. I don't think this blog would still exist if I didn't have medical maladies to whine about.

Contraption Update

Remember that contraption to replace crutches I was talking about? I was showing the web page to people around the office, asking if they'd ever heard of anyone who'd used it.

Turns out not only had my friend Pam heard of it, she knew the guy who invented it (back in the day when it was called the CanadaLeg), and had tried it out and assured me it worked surprisingly well.

I'm now talking to the guy, trying to figure out if I can get my insurance to cover the cost. I'm totally taking pictures if I get one.

Just Call Me Jack Sparrow

I really want to find out if this awesome contraption is actually a viable alternative to crutches. Because if it is, I'm totally getting one if I have to have surgery.

If I do, I'm totally reusing it at Halloween and being a pirate. Arrr!

D'oh

My physical therapist threw in the towel today. I'm not making any progress with anything other than the exercises I'm doing at home, so he doesn't see much point in me continuing to come in.

I can sort of understand, since I can do quite a bit of stuff on my own, and I suppose it's best not to waste money and insurance-covered PT visits when they're not going to do much beyond what I could do on my own.

The problem is, it basically means surgery is now pretty no longer a question of if but what and how. Still waiting on getting a second opinion for that.

The Arms Race

So in anticipation of probably at least needing some sort of surgery and having to cart my ass around on crutches for a period of time longer than five minutes, I've started lifting weights.

The last time I was on crutches, I was on them for about three days of actually using them properly, and my arms just about fell off.

The fact that I'm very overweight also really hit me hard I was on crutches. Every time I took a step with crutches, it was basically like doing a 200+ lb bench press. I had just about zero muscle tone in my arms, and it became quite literally painfully obvious.

This time, however, I've got a little warning. I can at least focus my workouts so that my arms only feel like they're going to fall off at a point where they don't have to carry my body weight.

Since realistically any surgery is not going to happen until the third week of May, I've got about eight weeks to get my arms, shoulders, and chest as strong as possible, and it's a race against time for me to try and get ready.

My start hasn't been great. I can really only do about 30 lbs. on several of the machines, and no more than 50 on anything.

I did 50 on one machine this morning (I have no idea what it's called, but you lift straight up over your head and it works the back and the muscles under your upper arm), and I couldn't lift my arms above shoulder level until late this afternoon.

I'm going to try and meet with a trainer at my gym next week to get some advice on what muscle groups I need to target. Hopefully I can gain enough strength so that the transition to crutches isn't too horrible.

However, if I don't post for a few days, it probably means I've overdone it and I can't lift my hands to the keyboard. If that happens, I'll try to type out SEND HELP with my nose.

The Revenge of Mr. Cranky Ankle

I had a longstanding follow-up appointment with my orthopedist today. I walked back and he was talking to my physical therapist (whose office is across the hall).

After I finished giving the PT a light berating for Tuesday's fiasco, the orthopedist came in, and started investigating why my foot's not getting better.

His conclusion: Two of the major tendons that hold my foot together (the anterior and posterior tibial tendons) are starting to fail. He thinks that I need to get surgery to prevent the tendons, anterior tendon in particular, from snapping.

And not just simple laproscpic surgery, no no. But "let's disassemble and reassemble half your left leg" surgery that would leave me on crutches for 4-6 weeks.

Resetting at least one of the two affected tendons, lengthening the calf muscle (which he thinks is putting more strain on the tendons), and doing a couple other things that went over my head. 4-6 weeks, no weight on the foot at all.

I have a job where a substantial portion of my day is spent schlepping stuff from Point A to B, and occasionally to C. I live on the second floor of a building with no elevator. 4-6 weeks on crutches is going to be a special little corner of hell for me.

The orthopedist at least is willing to try re-targeting my physical therapy and really ramping it up for a couple weeks to see if it at least makes a difference.

He also, whether he likes it or not, will have to wait for both the show's season to wrap filming (my boss is directing the finale, and ain't no fucking way I'm dealing with that on crutches) and for me to get a second opinion, since I'm clearly not going through with anything this drastic without getting a second goddamn opinion.

I'll know more in a couple weeks after doing the intensive PT and seeing how it works, but it's not looking good. I've written off today to wallowing, but hopefully starting next week, the re-targeted PT will actually start paying off.

Cross your fingers for me.

Road To Hell Good Intentions Yadda Yadda

So Tuesday was a miserably shittastic day for me, because my physical therapist decided one of my legs was shorter than the other.

I'd gone in for my weekly physical therapy, and while I've been making some progress with Mister Cranky Ankle, it's been excruciatingly slow.

So he did some rather unscientific tests and became convinced that my good leg is about a quarter inch shorter than my bad leg, and that this was what was impeding my progress.

This despite the fact that the orthopedist had checked this when I initially had come in, and had found that my legs were the same length. Nine months ago.

Anyway, the physical therapist made some adjustments to the custom fit orthotics I had to get made after the first injury, and sent me on my way.

Problem was, the adjustments he made turned my legs against me in a rather violent fashion.

The heel lift on the good foot threw my entire right leg out of alignment, and put me in some rather excruciating knee pain for the better part of the day.

The small piece of foam he'd added to the arch of the bad foot started bruising the bottom of my foot (a problem I'd previously had in poorly fit orthotics) and that killed as well.

So after all these efforts to make me feel better, what happened? I ended up hobbling around the office and generally looking and feeling like my 89 year old grandmother.

When I got home last night, I took out all the crap he'd put in. Today, I was walking relatively normally and in substantially less pain than yesterday. Still more than I'd like, but I'll certainly take "irritating as fuck" over "excruciating and making me consider stealing a cane from the prop department."

I'm gonna give him a nice punch in the face (or at least the bicep) when I go in for my appointment next week.

It's The Circle of Life

As you may have noticed, blogging has died down a bit recently. It's not because I have nothing to say, it's just because I have nothing interesting to say.

The weeks are all the same: Mr. Cranky Ankle gets better, then gets worse. I go to work. I come home. I watch television on my Gigantic Damn TV. I get cranky about doing PT at 7am because it means I have to get up at 6. Lather, rinse, repeat.

On the weekends, I watch more television and movies because Mr. Cranky Ankle seems to have something against me leaving the house and participating in life, because every time I try, I end up taking several painful steps backwards in my efforts towards recovery.

I could bore you all to tears with repeated dissections of my various recurring activities, or possibly a diatribe or two about my near-constant lack of sleep because of either the ankle, the cat, or some combination of the two (like when Chaplin slept on my bad ankle and I didn't wake up until he'd clearly been there for a couple hours).

Instead, I'll simply post this one whining rant, and you can reload it over and over again, and it'll be just like having me there.

Technology. Ain't it grand?

MRI of DOOOOM Says...

Bone Bruise!

This is basically an intermediate scenario of the two I thought I'd be dealing with. Not as nearly as bad as pain without an obvious cause, but not as good as pain that can immediately be fixed with arthroscopic surgery.

Unfortunately, the main treatment for a bone bruise is time, and the recovery period is really nebulous: "Days to months" is the time frame I've seen quoted repeatedly online.

The orthopedist mentioned that if I'm still in a lot of pain in a couple of weeks, he'd consider giving me a cortisone injection. However, the bruise is close enough to a major tendon that reacts poorly to cortisone that he'd have to put me in a cast to prevent the cortisone from leaking into the vicinity of the tendon.

I don't care how much it hurts, I am NOT going to be doing that.

Instead, I have to try and rest it as much as possible (real easy when my job involves running around like a crazy person a good deal of the time) and continue taking the handfuls of Advil I've been eating for the last week.

The orthopedist also sentenced me to another month in Physical Therapy in order to try and accelerate the healing process.

Oh goody, more getting up at 6am! I didn't enjoy it nearly enough the first time.

At least I know what I'm dealing with now. I'm frustrated as hell that there's no timeline for when this should actually start feeling better, but I'll take knowing what the problem is as a consolation prize.

DOOOOOOM!

The MRI of DOOOOOOOOM! will be taking place tomorrow morning at 8am.

Apparently my insurance company is too cheap to cover an open MRI, so I get the good old Giant Tube of Craptacularness. Always fun for the borderline claustrophobe.

In the end, all I want is a damn answer as to why my ankle hurts like a motherfucker. Preferably a fixable answer, but I'll settle for an answer.

Please cross your fingers that I am not, technically, DOOOOOOOOOMED.

Cranky/Pants

Still no MRI of DOOOOOOOM yet, apparently the delightful folks at Blue Cross thought I could do with a weekend of sitting in my apartment and watching Rear Window.

I had to take the trash out today, and when taking the trash out and getting the mail leaves you whimpering in pain, you know something's fairly seriously wrong.

Also, I went to put on a pair of jeans I bought recently today and experienced everyone's favorite delightfully distressing "they won't zip!" moment.

Actually, not even just that. It was more, "They won't zip and simply having them buttoned is crushing my kidneys!"

This despite being purchased at the same time as another pair of pants of the same style and size, which I wore Friday with absolutely no problem.

I double-checked the size on the tag sewn into the pants, and it claims they're my size. I had a lot of Chinese food last night, but I don't think I had that much.

Damn you Old Navy, and Damn you to Hell, Mr. Cranky Ankle!

DOOOOOOOOOOOOM

Well, the need for the MRI of DOOOOOOOOOM is official.

Went to the doctor this morning, and there are basically two main possibilities about why my ankle has severely regressed in the last four days:

POSSIBILITY "BAD." The ankle is inflamed because pieces of bone have broken off from the location of my avulsion fracture and are irritating the tissue. If this is the case, I have to have arthroscopic surgery to remove the pieces. However, once the pieces are removed, the swelling should go down and I should be fine.

POSSIBILITY "WORSE." The ankle is inflamed for no particular reason, I have to do several more months of rehab, and there's a strong possibility this will turn into an unpredictable and chronic issue with no cure other than repeated stints rehabbing whenever it flares up.

I didn't think I'd ever be in a position where I had to say this, but man, I really hope I need surgery.

And Now, Deep Thoughts

- There is nothing that will wake a cat owner faster from a dead sleep at 4am than the sound of a cat, even halfway across the house, about to puke.

- When it's this cold in LA (37 degrees when I left the house yesterday), does that mean hell's officially frozen over?

- Working on a TV show where every single MRI we show goes bad (to the point where TWoP has nicknamed it "The MRI of DOOOOOOOOOOOM") makes you more than a little reluctant to schedule medical appointments, even necessary ones, that might result in having to get an MRI.

Governator Update

In tomorrow morning's LA Times there's an update that finally, among many other things, discloses some of the circumstances surrounding the Governator's skiing accident:

A friend who spoke to Schwarzenegger after the accident said the governor was "aggravated" about what happened, describing the accident as a "slow fall" on an icy surface.

Schwarzenegger's press office would not release any details about the accident. But Adi Erber, a ski instructor who was with him at the time, said Schwarzenegger was standing still before the accident, preparing for the final 200 yards of the run.

The governor's ski pole became caught in one of his skis, causing him to trip and fall, Erber said, describing it as a "freak accident."

He said the governor was in pain and that a rescue team took him down the hill on a toboggan.

I said it before as a hypothetical, and I'll say it again now: I've taken that ride in the toboggan, and it's no fun for either party.

Still no word on what run he managed to mangle himself on, but from what it sounds like, he could have done that on any run and still come out feeling just as dumb.

Well, probably even dumber if he did it on some easy slope. But still, I can say from experience that injuring your leg doing something simple in the midst of an extreme sporting experience is, indeed, pretty damn aggravating.

Meet The Limpers

Meet George (70 years old). He managed to ski several runs despite a) a pinched nerve that causes chronic back and leg pain and b) falling once on his own, and c) getting plowed into by a snowboarder.

Because of b) and c), he was sore enough that he was not able to ski today. He, however, has good excuses.

Meet Ellen (25 years old), George's daughter. She skiied two runs yesterday and then came down because a six-month-old ankle injury was bothering her, and upon taking of her ski boot, had her ankle swell to approximately the size of a grapefruit.

She is still limping slightly, and will spend the remainder of her two-week ski vacation...not skiing. She is duly ashamed of being completely outpaced by her father, who, shall she remind you, is seventy goddamn years old.

---

Coming out of the third person for a moment, I would really not recommend giving yourself an avulsion fracture to anyone.

The orthopedist warned me it'd be at least six months before it was back to normal. Six months and two weeks apparently is not long enough. Bah.

On Notice

The following people, corporate entities, and inanimate objects are hereby on notice:

1. Time Warner Cable. Four hours of pure fiasco, and I still don't have cable. "It needs to come in from outside" apparently didn't convey clearly enough the need for drilling, and thus for a signed note from the building manager.

The manager, of course, was elsewhere, so the guys (who were an hour late to begin with and didn't call to say they were running beind) left.

2. The garage door at my old building. As I was coming into the garage with my last armload of stuff, someone started to try and come in. The door got about a foot off the ground and then crashed with a very loud metallic THUNK.

I'm writing this up via the Swiss Army Phone while sitting in my car, waiting for the super to come over. The length of time it's taken for him to come over, let alone open the gate, is making him very close to being On Notice.

3. My back and my ankle. Listen kids, you stop fighting with me and I'll buy you some serious painkillers.

Dear Dipshits

To the fine folks of the company billing me for the services of the doctor in Durango who pronounced my ankle sprained:

Your hold system is broken. The first time I called in, I was on hold for over an hour after being told there were 2 callers in front of me.

Please have the courtesy to at least have some bad hold music, and not "Please hold to speak to the next patient representative" over and over and over again every 30 seconds. After an hour, this would make anyone homicidal.

Also, if you're not allowed to pay a particular doctor by anything other than check, that ought to be written SOMEWHERE on the bill.

Perhaps if either of these two things had not been a problem, I wouldn't have gotten so exasperated when the person I reached upon finally giving up and calling back told me I couldn't pay with a credit card.

The Shapiro Health Minute

My dad had surgery Saturday, and he's doing better. The surgery was a success, although he's going to have a pretty substantial recovery period since they weren't able to do it laproscopically.

He was still pretty loopy when I talked to him this afternoon, but he sounded good. He wasn't asking for martinis yet, though. When he does, I'll stop worrying.

My foot is still being obnoxious, but I'm at least walking instead of limping most of the time. I still have another damn month of physical therapy, but at least I can see some progress now.

I had to get orthotics because my feet are apparently so flat that I could easily retwist my ankle just thinking about walking.

I can feel my back and knees realigning to their proper positions, which is helpful. However, because my ankle was mostly healed while using my old insoles, it's taken a few steps back since I switched to the orthotics.

And so ends the Shapiro Health Minute. Stay tuned for our next edition, Ellen goes to Atlanta to visit her dad, and they spend the weekend watching baseball on TV while doped to the gills.

I Have Frozen Peas On My Ankle

Perhaps I should have brought an extra beer with me, to kill the pain of walking back from the fireworks to my friend's apartment.

Of course, perhaps I shouldn't have walked to the fireworks in the first place.

Tomorrow's going to be fun!

Things You Do Not Want To Hear From Your Doctor

A couple fun scenes from my visit to the orthopedist this morning:

As I limp my way into the exam room from the waiting room:

Doctor: (surprised) You're limping!
Me: Yeah, I sprained my ankle. I thought you'd heard.

Later, during the exam:

Doctor: I'm not pleased with how slowly this is progressing.
Me: Well, neither am I, but...uh, aren't you supposed to help with that?

Bottom line: If it's not substantially better in 2 weeks, I have to have an MRI. He wanted to do one today, but my assurances that despite how slowly it's getting better, it is, in fact, improving, managed to allay it for 2 weeks.

However, the subtext of his concern is is that if it gets to the point where I need an MRI, I probably have some serious tendon damage.

Yaaaaaay!

Injury Update Update

Back from the foot and ankle specialist.

The good news: The crutches are gone for good (huzzah!), and it's not broken.

The bad news: I have to wear an air cast for at least a couple weeks, and I get to go to 7am physical therapy for at least 4.

The coulda-been-worse news: At first it looked like it was going to be three times a week for the PT, but because of scheduling conflicts, it'll only be twice a week. I'll take it.

Injury Update

I went to my regular doctor, who said that given my progress since the injury, I should be back to 100% in a few weeks.

She recommended a foot and ankle specialist for my severe case of parental paranoia, so I'm going there to reassure them tomorrow morning.

However, in the meantime, I have been upgraded from crutching around to limping pitifully. I'm going for just limping noticeably when I go back to work Monday, then just limping until it's better.

Well, unless the foot and ankle specialist finds a hairline fracture tomorrow and makes me get back on crutches (or, god forbid, makes me get a plaster cast).

Then I think I might just have to start tripping people with my crutches for sport.

An Inauspicous Start To 25

Well, that sucked.

I severely sprained my ankle rafting. Acutally, the sad part is it wasn't wasn't even rafting: I twisted it about 270 degrees on a rock when we were scouting the big rapid.

Luckily, I didn't break anything, and the sprain is on my left (i.e. non-driving) foot. But I'll be on crutches for at least a week, and since the rest of my trip was hiking...well, I'll be back in LA saturday.

I mean, it was frustrating as hell, but it certainly could have been a hell of a lot worse. I'm just glad the damn thing's not broken.

And I don't have to be back at work for another week, so I can just chill with my foot in a bucket of ice instead of having to hop around the Fox Lot, so that's a small saving grace.

Anyway, I wish I could record audio on my Swiss Army Phone, because I could sing you my mom's family's traditional birthday song.

Here are the lyrics. Bear in mind they're Irish with a very dark sense of humor. This should be sung roughly like a funeral dirge:

Happy Birthday
Oh Happy Birthday
Misery and despair
People dying everywhere
Happy Birthday.

Okay, it's much funnier sung. But it was certainly going through my mind sitting in the Durango ER tonight, waiting for my X-rays.

I hope to hell this isn't a sign of the year to come. If it is, I should just find myself a cave now and not come out until I turn 26.