1. We decided not to get the apartment at Mococo. It just wasn’t financially responsible. Future babies are still an option, but that decision will be revisited next summer when we’re closer to being out of debt.
2. Work has been tough lately, since my best work friend landed herself a promotion over to the head office. I can’t tell if I’m more bitter because I miss her, or because the work load has increased so much, or a combination of both. I keep toying with the idea of looking around for something else, but that won’t be anytime in the next couple of months. One, because I think losing another CA would make my boss cry, and I like my boss, and two, because I’m not going to be at all presentable for interviews any time soon. Because:
3. I had foot surgery on Wednesday. That plantar fasciitis flare that started last September just wasn’t getting any better, so I mentioned it to my GP when I was in for my annual check-up. She gave me a cortisone shot and sent me to see a podiatrist. It took a month to get an appointment with him, and in the meantime the shot did nothing to help (and cost over $500). Something popped in my arch the week before I saw him, but he just said “oh, I’m sure that’s just the fascia” and gave me another cortisone shot, after saying that my GP put it in the wrong place. No relief from the second shot, and the $800 orthotics were only mildly helpful, so I got a second opinion from a different podiatrist. She said she thought I was a good candidate for physical therapy, so from March through June I had 11 visits with a physical therapist, 12 acupuncture appointments, and somewhere around eight chiropractor appointments, trying to fix my poor malfunctioning foot.
First week of July I had a follow up with the second podiatrist and she said she’d go ahead and order an MRI for me. She didn’t think it would show anything, but that she suspected confirmation of an intact foot would be what I needed to finally make progress with PT. Placebo MRI, fine, whatever. I went in for that on Monday the 14th and was told on the way out that I shouldn’t expect to hear from the podiatrist until that Friday or the following Monday…and then my phone rang three hours later with instructions to set up a consult with the foot surgeon.
“Significant tear to the peroneus brevis tendon,” I was told two days later. I could probably limp along as I have been from now on, but we’d done everything there was to do, so if I actually wanted to get better, it was going to have to be surgery. With all of the money we’ve thrown at this problem since last autumn, we’ve hit our “out of pocket maximum” with our health insurance. Normally in addition to whatever copays, I’d have to pay 20% of the costs of the surgery, but (as I told the surgeon) if we could get it all done before August 1, it would all be covered. I’m super grateful for the timing and that they were able to squeeze me in. And six days was just enough time to assimilate the information that I was having real surgery without giving me too much time to panic about it.
(I haven’t seen the second podiatrist since she ordered the “placebo” MRI. I wonder if she has any feelings about this.)
I have so many things to be grateful for. This is happening in the summertime so I don’t need to worry about figuring out how to walk again on icy sidewalks. My sister is coming to visit next Tuesday so I should be a little more fun to be around. Timing with insurance was perfect. I have an amazing spouse who is taking brilliant care of me. Lots of friends are offering to bring hot dishes and jello salads (because Minnesota). I had almost exactly enough sick time to cover the two weeks (minimum) I’ll be out of work. My boss was super supportive and kind, despite the fact that the next couple of weeks are huge “no PTO allowed” weeks with both regional and national audits to get through. If I have to be cut open, well, there really couldn’t be a better set up for it.
I was terrified on Wednesday and there were lots of things that did not go as planned. There was a bottleneck at the hospital – I was supposed to go back at 3:25 but it was after 6:30 before they fetched me from the prep room. I’d been comforted by nurse friends that the anesthesiologist would offer me V3rsed and Z0fran when I told him about my tendencies toward panic and nausea, neither of which were forthcoming. I was supposed to have a nerve block as well as the general but somewhere in the fifteen minutes before I hit the O.R. that plan was changed (or they just forgot that part of the plan). Nurse was remarkably snarky when I vomited coming out of the anesthesia (though she had been warned and I didn’t get anywhere near her!).
I have no recollection of speaking to the surgeon after the procedure, but Michael spoke to him and he was very encouraged. He even asked if I’ll be able to try running at some point, and was told that as long as I keep up with PT, there should be no road blocks there. So that’s exciting.
I’ve been home nearly three full days now. I was awake for five hours on Thursday and ten hours yesterday. Hoping for fourteen today. I’m in quite a lot of pain and the N0rc0 isn’t much help, but the doctor on call isn’t calling back the nurse on the nurse line. I’m kind of fretting that I’m not allowed to take the boot off to look at the dressing – what if it’s bleeding or oozing? – but I can at least see my toes, and am telling myself that as long as they are pink and warm, and I don’t get a fever, I should be okay. Two weeks seems like a long time to go between having one’s foot sliced open and having a medical professional check on the wound, but what do I know?
Ugh. I’m a big baby about a relatively minor procedure, but right now I don’t care. Whine.