I naturally experienced a number of incremental steps (pun … somewhat intended!) since late July—and they weren’t all moving forward. There was week three of PT when, according to my surgeon’s prescription, I was now able to put 100% weight on my left foot (after 50% the first week and 75% the second – BTW, how the heck is one supposed to know when they’ve reached 50 and 75%?!). I asked the physical therapist if that meant 100% while still wearing the boot, certain shoes, any shoes, or barefoot (preferring the latter, of course!). Not sure, he called the surgeon’s office to ask, leaving a message on his voicemail. By the time I got back home the PT was calling me with the word he had received from the surgeon’s PA: “You’re good to go!” I was a little dumbfounded. “REALLY?!” “Weight bearing is weight bearing; it doesn’t really matter what’s around your feet, the main thing is that your foot is now vertically bearing all your weight.” Alrighty then! He didn’t have to tell me twice. I couldn’t get that boot off fast enough!

I gingerly took a couple of barefooted steps down my hardwood hallway. It felt a little weird … and a lot wonderful. Free at last! And yet my gut told me that it didn’t completely make sense to go from 75% weight bearing in the boot directly to normal barefooted life. So I decided to wear my Birkenstocks as slippers around the house. Throughout the afternoon, my left foot went from being fine, to having some slight discomfort to feeling more pain to then being so painful I could barely stand on it to massive swelling – and this was just from minor walking around within my tiny 5-room apartment. Oh s#!t … I’ve really messed things up! It was after office hours at that point so I got the crutches out again (grrr!), went back to my bed, iced and elevated my foot and stayed off it the rest of the night.

First thing the next morning, I left a phone message at my surgeon’s office. Heard NOTHING from him that entire day (double grrr!). The following morning I called again, still having to leave a message. About three hours later his PA finally called me back. I explained everything that had happened since my PT visit and when I finished she said, “Well, I think I’m the one who called your physical therapist—your name sounds familiar—but I’m a little confused about the boot. You’re supposed to continue wearing the boot until your next appointment with Dr. Campbell in four weeks. So I’m not sure where your physical therapist got that it was OK not to wear it … or to go barefoot.”

Well, I didn’t either – and neither did he because I had an appointment with him the next day where I told him what I’d been told and he, of course, took no responsibility either. It boggles my mind how that could have gotten lost in translation when the ONLY reason he’d called the PA to begin with, the ONE question we needed the answer to was, “Do I still need to wear the boot?” Unbelievable. Her instructions were for me to go back to 50% weight bearing for a few days and then if there was no pain to try 75% and hopefully in a week’s time I could be back to 100%. This ticked me off because it now meant that I’d have to take (and use!) my crutches while at the annual Festival Gathering of the Network of Biblical Storytellers, where I’m always schlepping lots of crap across the grounds of the conference center and where there is a significant amount of walking between the buildings where the meals are, the meetings are and the beds are (GROWL!).

Well, if there were ever a group for me to be lame while in the midst of, it’s my beloved Network of Biblical Storytellers. Folks were more than accommodating; I was lovingly cared for the entire nine days I was there. And it’s a good thing, too, because the PA’s proposed timetable didn’t end up matching my reality. I still felt pain a few days after the setback and even minor discomfort a week later. So it took a full two weeks to get back on track. I MIGHT have been able to ditch the crutches a day or two earlier but figured, “Why risk it? Why not take advantage of all the helpers I’m blessed with and give my foot a couple extra days of pampering?” So that’s what I did. And the day I finally did put the crutches away, I was even able to go on a small hike at Linville Gorge in NC – still wearing the boot, of course!

The end of August I was given permission to start weaning myself out of the boot (which took me about a week). Classes had started and I didn’t want to have to perform—or even teach—while wearing it. At first, my foot would get tired and achy pretty quickly so I’d spend some time teaching from a stool. Eventually I was able to go the full two hours without sitting—but I was still wearing shoes throughout. Finally the day came when I was able to teach barefoot and that’s how it’s been ever since.

I’m still not quite 100% healed; I’d say I’m around 98%. Interestingly, the remaining discomfort isn’t with my heel but with the rest of my foot “waking up” after a two-and-a-half/three-month vacation. All those atrophied muscles and ligaments and tendons and nerves have to remember what to do and how to work together again. Someone in the know told me that that is a slower process than the 3%/day atrophy process. In fact, it might take nine months to a year before I cease to have any discomfort. A couple of weeks ago I was getting a little impatient. I felt like I’d been stuck at 95% for several weeks and just couldn’t clear that hurdle. But then, when I really thought about it, I’d remember numerous things that I hadn’t been able to do just a week earlier or that had been somewhat painful a few days before that were now not an issue. Progress WAS happening; I just had to view the larger picture and not get bogged down in any given moment’s frustration. When I did that, I’d realize that I’d actually come a long way, baby!

So as a daily reminder of that bigger story (and as a tribute to one of my favorite holiday movies, now that “the season” has officially begun) I decided to do something more with that old boot than simply shove it to the back of a closet.

It now adorns my office, the room where I spend the vast majority of my non-traveling time. It’s the place where I’m most likely to get impatient and to stress (and stress about!) the DOING of life, that relentless march of accomplishing tasks, most of which are geared toward paying the bills.

Progress is definitely being made. While my stamina still hasn’t completely recovered yet, people who see me on my crutches comment on how well (and quickly!)  I maneuver. I’ve learned how to “waddle” from one room to another carrying a plate of food or glass of liquid. I’ve started driving myself places now (like my Coumadin Clinic appointments – Tuesday’s result was 1.9. Woohoo! Almost there!). And look how nicely my incisions are healing (I promise, these aren’t nearly as nauseating as the first ones were!):

I suppose the thing I’ve noticed most about myself during the past month is how much more intentionally I do things now. I touched on this in my “Slow Down!” post, and tempo certainly is part of it. But “intention” is probably a more descriptive word. I watch where I place my crutches; I think through the path from point A to point B prior to setting out, making sure I’m aware of all that “journey” will entail; I rest up before beginning (and often take my merry old time during the preparation); after taking the time to weigh the pros and cons I sometimes decide NOT to go at all. Now, I’m not talking about intensive overseas trips, here; I’m talking about whether or not to fetch my phone from the other room or determining if I REALLY need to go to the bathroom now or if I can wait until later when I can combine that “trip” with another one I’ll need to make (like fetching my phone from the other room at a time when I’m expecting a call).

Early on in this ordeal I was cautioned not to be a hero and that advice has frequently echoed in my head. I don’t have anything to prove; I’m not going to win a trophy or tournament by pushing myself harder or faster than is wise to the goal. In fact, that could actually end up biting me in the butt! This is not something I concerned myself with when I was young. So, the BIGGEST thing I’ve noticed is that I’ve started to think and act like an “old person!”

I’ve told some folks that this whole thing seems surreal to me, like I’m telling someone else’s story because these types of things simply don’t happen to me. Does that mean that this is an anomaly … or is this the beginning of more eventual hospital visits and surgeries, and general health problems? While I certainly hope these things are kept to a minimum, it’s probably not unrealistic to think that this IS the start of more of this type of thing.

So, in light of this, the “50-yard line” takes on another meaning: assuming I live to a normal ripe old age, I’m roughly halfway there. I can look back on the last “50 yards” and see how that played out – fairly healthily. But what does the second half look like facing forward? And, perhaps more importantly, what intention is needed for me to make it as healthily as possible to the goal post?

One category of food that is a natural blood thinner is alcohol. While a little imbibing might not be a big deal, obviously a Coumadin taker wouldn’t want to go overboard with it. Of course, this is especially true once you’ve got your blood regulated to the thinness they want. If, on the other hand, your blood is still really THICK and not anywhere near where they want it to be, some intentional imbibing might not be so bad.

On Tuesday when I had my first Coumadin Clinic visit, she had just gone over all the dos and don’ts and everything else required during that initial appointment, when she checked to see if my blood results had come back. They had … and that’s when we discovered that my blood hadn’t budged — still 1.1.

I didn’t miss a beat. “Listen, I’ve got a bottle of wine at home that apparently needs to be opened tonight!” She sort of grinned and said, “I can’t tell you no. We REALLY need to get your blood thinned out.” Say no more.

So, on doctor’s orders, I had two glasses that night and one on the next two nights. When I went back today for my second visit my blood had risen to 1.6. That’s more like it! Consistency in what you eat is also important when on Coumadin. So I think my task is clear for the next six months.

Cheers!

On Sunday it had finally crept up to 1.3. Monday morning I was told that it had gone back down to 1.1. What?! Apparently blood’s thickness is very susceptible to diet and the day before I had inadvertently eaten some leafy greens, which are the full of vitamin K, which is the antidote for thin blood. So it was almost like having to start over and I thought, “They’re never letting me out of here!”

But fairly quickly after that I saw a swift succession of doctors, nurses, and techs who all indicated that since I basically felt fine and had passed my little P.T. test on my crutches (oh, remember THAT medical incident? Still can’t put any weight on my left foot!) they were preparing to discharge me … with a prescription for Lovenox that would hopefully kick start the effect of the Coumadin. Lovenox, by the way, is injected into your belly. (More on that in a minute!) The nurse gave me my first shot with a higher dose of Coumadin, and let me go.

So I got home late Monday afternoon and despite my feelings of having been on a vacation, it was certainly great to be back in MY home. Heather had cleaned, aired, and spruced it up the day before and the weather had gotten a little cooler (with MUCH lower humidity) so I was quite comfortable.

The BEST part, obviously, was the shower – a full week overdue!! I took my merry old time and finally got to properly shave my poor old atrophied leg (they wouldn’t give me a razor in the hospital because of the blood thinners; I’ll have to be very careful for the next 6 months). The second best part was getting to sleep in the next morning way past 5:30 with no rude awakening (literally) via needle jab (into arms that look a bit like a drug users!).

That afternoon I had to go back to the hospital to have my blood checked again (so I didn’t escape the needle jab for long!) at the Coumadin Clinic. Not knowing exactly where that was we asked the information desk in the main lobby and were told it was “just around the corner.” In reality, it was around the corner … and another corner … and another corner … and ANOTHER corner … and then down a long corridor. CAN’T YOU SEE I’M ON CRUTCHES HERE?!?! Amazingly, (truly) I was barely winded by the time I got there so thank God for even a little thinner blood!

Speaking of which, my blood was still at 1.1!! Apparently I’m not just thick-waisted, thick-boned, thick-headed, and thick-skinned, I’m thick-blooded as well! Seriously, my body is NOT quick to change – it loves hanging on to the status quo (some evolutionary holdover, I suppose, that probably served my ancestors well but is starting to tick me off!). So I was told to double up on the Coumadin and come back on Friday.

Then I got to go home and give myself my first injection of the Lovenox. I know diabetics do this all the time but it was a first for me. The actual insertion of the needle doesn’t really hurt; it’s the psychological mind game you have to play with yourself to willingly stick that needle into your flesh! I did it, and everything was fine … until I read the ingredients of Lovenox, which are derived from porcine intestinal mucosa. I’m no scientist but to me that sounds like snotty pig innards. LOVELY!         No wonder my blood wants to stay thick … look what it’s having to contend with!