So I had my first follow up with the surgeon today.
(As an aside, it felt really strange to get cut open and then just have no one look at the wound for two weeks.)
It went really well! I get an A+ in Patient. Incision looks great (well, “great for a surgical incision,” I suppose). Flexibility is good, no swelling or fever. I’m still NWB for four weeks, but I don’t have to wear the boot when I’m just hanging out on the couch (actual words: “Just don’t fall down while you’re not in the boot.”). I don’t have to sleep in the monster, either, which may have been when I told the surgeon he was my best friend. Elevation only when it feels sore, feel free to massage and put on lotion and do things to make the foot feel loved again.
AND I CAN TAKE A SHOWER TOMORROW.
I refuse to apologize for the capslock, you should just be grateful it’s not in eighty-point purple blinky MySpace text. For two weeks I’ve been washing my hair in the sink, taking washcloths to the smelly bits, gazing longingly at the shower chair that’s been waiting quietly.
I can go back to work “as tolerated,” so I’m going to call and talk to my lovely boss tomorrow. I had enough sick hours to cover the time away, but I’d like to be useful again. Michael is being very bossy about not letting me do house things (not that I can do much one-legged on a knee scooter) and is generally amazing, but I’ve taken to getting weepy over feeling useless; the least I can do is help some people get their birth control.
I’ve had several people bring or send me goodies over the last couple of weeks, lots of lovely messages and a few cards, and generally have felt well-loved and missed. Thanks to all of YOU for checking in. As a gift, I shall give you an escape hatch from the following:
~~~WARNING WARNING WARNING~~~
I’M GOING TO POST A COUPLE OF ICKY PICTURES.
DO NOT SCROLL DOWN IF YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE THEM.
I LOVE YOU AND WILL SEE YOU NEXT TIME, FEEL FREE TO FLEE.
This is what I saw when they took the bandage off this afternoon:
There’s some weird mottling but it doesn’t hurt or itch or anything. Dr Boffeli thinks it’s just a reaction to the bandage.
I had eleven stitches – disappointingly one less than my favorite number, but we can’t have everything. I told Michelle if I have an impressive scar, I’m going to get a tattoo to go with it. Perhaps of the nasty demon who tore his way into this dimension via my peroneus brevis tendon.