Homecoming!!! Giant moves to the bottom of the wheelie rankings, and I rode 10 miles

Friday marked EIGHT weeks on crutches. (Or, as I like to think of it, 56 days without candy.) I marked the occasion by doing something spectacular.

Shoes! On both feet! You can tell the right foot is still swollen and wide, but it's 10,000x improved.

That’s right….SHOES! On both feet! Once a week for the past month I’ve been playing Cinderella, trying to squeeze my sad little (big) foot into a shoe that’s too small. Finally, it worked. I wore my shoe around the office all day, and felt like a normal person. I changed out of it before I went home, so I could use the “signaling effect” (look at me using that MBA) on Metro with the boot. Oh wait. Except I forgot I got a ride home. Whatever. That was not my point.

On Saturday my dad drove up to NoVA with precious cargo in tow…Miss Turkey has come home to roost, this time for good! (I noted that of the 3 1/4 years I’ve have this dog, she’s now lived with my parents for almost 20% of it. This is good for me, as it let me live in NYC for my summer at AmEx, but it’s also telling commentary on how much my parents love this dog!)

Turkey is terrific (duh) because no matter when she last saw you, she acts like she’s seeing you again for the first time. She visited overnight two weeks ago, but I still decided (thanks, Kara) to film her homecoming. Only it took her a bit to notice me, and I am also not a very good documentarian.

Behold.

You would have beheld this a few days ago but I couldn’t figure out how to get the video from my phone to my computer (have I mentioned recently how much I hate my Android?). I did it once before, but that was Vicodin-enabled, which apparently was the key. The video is cut short because aforementioned Happy Dog knocked the phone out of my hand.

While my dad was happy to bring me the dog, I don’t think he was quite as happy with his list of chores – which included taking out my trash and recycling, helping me do laundry, and going to the grocery store.

But first, we crutched to lunch. I was feeling all bold so I just one-crutched, and though we were slow, it was just fine. After lunch I was starting to get tired, so my dad walked back to my apartment, got my car, and came to pick me up. En route to the store I said I’d probably use the wheelie cart, because I was tired and we were under some time pressure (the ACC tournament had not yet ruined my weekend, so I was trying to make it home for the game).

We cruised right into the Giant, where I’d previously had such luck. Luck ran out. Neither of the two wheelie carts had been plugged in, so they had zero charge. This, despite having large signs on the back of each cart seat that say “charge at any and every opportunity” (I’ve totally fallen off my game…if this were a month ago you know there would’ve been a photo!). The manager sort of shrugged, and offered a half-hearted apology.

You can probably guess what came next.

I went crazy. Not really crazy, but soapbox, I-think-I-am-the-voice-of-the-disabled (however temporary) variety. I pointed out that I was, indeed, just temporarily disabled, but this was a huge, huge inconvenience (mostly because I was exhausted from one-crutching too far, but that is beside the point). If someone who were permanently disabled came in and tried to shop, they would be out of luck, and that is unacceptable. The dude agreed it was unacceptable. But our reaching consensus did not charge the wheelie carts. My options were go to another store, where the parking is bad and the wheelie carts might not be charged, or stay put and try to one-crutch it around the store. Time was ticking towards tip-off (say that six times fast), so we opted to stay in the store. I’ll admit I was secretly hoping the Giant guy might offer to do the shopping for me, but it was a busy Saturday afternoon, so there was no way that was happening.

I love my dad dearly, but I also didn’t trust him to roam the store without me, mainly because my list said things like “yogurt” and I know that means “three single-serve plain Chobanis,” and he does not. Etc. It would have taken too long to re-write the list or translate it for him, so he pushed the cart and I slogged along behind (I thought about hopping in the cart like a 4-year old, but I didn’t think that would work too well or bode well for getting out of the store without making a scene). Long about the bread aisle, my ankle had had enough, and so had I. So I did what any self-respecting 3X-year old would do: I sat in the pharmacy and I cried. Now my dad really lost his mind. I’m pretty sure no dad likes watching his kid cry, but especially when it’s from pain, and when the grocery list is half done. He ran around the rest of the store and finished the list, coming back to me with multiple options whenever he had a question. Thanks, Dad!

By the time we made it home I was in serious pain, and I haven’t had any pain for weeks. My dad retrieved my second crutch from the apartment and after I crutched inside, I had myself a hot date with the Magical Ice Machine. My toes swelled up like a balloon – so badly they actually got blisters from overlapping each other.

So Sunday I was back to two crutches. (Lesson learned: always have the second crutch available!) Jill the PT took a look on Monday and is keeping me on two crutches for commuting this week, but I’m still using just one crutch in the office. At home, I can walk from the couch to the kitchen or my bedroom to the bathroom ON MY OWN. It is very exciting.

Almost as exciting as riding ten miles on the bike, which I did today in 40 minutes. On Level 5!!!

Tomorrow morning I go back to Dr. Awesome Doc. Not sure what he will say of my progress. This evening I realized the MS Ride is in less than 2 1/2 months (will you please support me?) so I’m hoping he’ll give me some guidance about whether or not this is really a reasonable goal. I’ve already resigned myself to having to do the 25-mile ride both days, rather than the 75/75 or 75/50 milers I’ve done in the past. I know that both the 50- and 75-mile courses are very hilly. There’s also the not-insignificant issue of being able to get my foot into a cycling shoe. And the movement to get my shoes out of the clips, which I definitely do not have the range of motion yet to do. Oh, and the fact that I can’t drive my car. Small details, really. After a visit to the good doc, I head to a day-long conference on the crappy state of the economy, where I’ll get my geek on. Lunch keynote by Paul Volcker. I’m eagerly anticipating whether or not he’ll call me a “cripple” again.

I’m betting yes.

Suspicious White Powder

On Thursday the becoming-rampant delivery of white powder was delivered to the restaurant in my office building. We came down out of the elevators to go to a work function at a nearby hotel, and were quickly ushered out the other door. (By “quickly ushered” I mean “sent my colleague back upstairs to get my second crutch so as not to be late to function because had to take detour.”) They wouldn’t tell us what it was so for a bit we thought it might be a b-o-m-b threat.

Fortunately the white powder turned out not to be anything (that we’ve been told), so the detour was just a detour.

On Thursday I also discovered the secret (or temporary secret?) to successful Metro commuting. I didn’t have to ask for a seat. Why, you ask? Did I finally find a car with nice people? Oh, no.

In fact, how did I not know that DC was voted the#3 rudest city in America? This ranking came out while I was convalescing, so guess I missed it. On the ride down the escalator that morning I watched as a blind lady and her guide dog directly ahead of me were hit by nearly every passerby, and not one person apologized.

I have met some very nice people in DC/NoVA, including my coworkers, lovely dog walker, Dr. Awesome Doc, my PT, the staff at Subway, and the very nice doorman at the Hyatt with the giant smile that I pass near my office every day. But I tell you what. The nice people are decidedly not the ones that commute on the Orange Line.

No, no. I got a seat because the car was empty!!

I was running a little late, so I made it to the station after 7:30, when the fares change. Everyone riding from further out (where the increased fare actually makes a difference – for me it’s like 10 cents) was already in. Voila. It was beyond lovely.

I repeated this on Friday, and also had the same success. Woo! A way to end the week? No, sirree. By Friday afternoon the escalator had broken (of course, it was too good to think it might make it all week), and since the elevator is still broken, I was a bit stuck. Fortunately Awesome CoWorker #2 (lookin’ at you, EPauls) had offered to drive me home, so I crutched back to work and took her up on the offer.

This week was also good because we finally got a door on our office (I believe the very term “office” normally implies there is also a door, but when we moved into our new office in November, we were not only lacking a door, we were also lacking hinges or anything else indicating there had been/might one day be a door. And ours was the only office in the joint lacking this.)

Anyway. While I was out in January they hired a third person to go in our four-person office, and our CEO finally became aware of the lack of door (I’m not sure how he missed my constant protestations and/or threats to cover the door opening with Greg Brady beads, but he did). Door ordered. And earlier this week, door appeared. Hooray! It is glorious.

This week I also passed the 20-minute barrier on the bike, and rode on Level 3 (totally bypassed Level 2). Over 5 miles! Twice! Very exciting progress.

I’ve been crutching regularly in the office with just one crutch, and can go very short distances in my house without any assistance. I also learned two new exercises in PT, where I stand on both feet (almost full weight) and step back and forth, balancing my hands on two tables on either side – basically moving my ankle back and forth in the right way.

Yesterday (Friday) marked 8 weeks – and I can finally see some progress. Hopefully the end of assisted living is finally in sight!

It’s not that the entertainment has diminished….(return to public transit, Part I)

I just cannot express how busy I am (yeah, yeah, yeah…so is everybody. I didn’t say it was a good excuse).  But I can’t apply to be on the Fancy BlogHer network til I’ve posted multiple times a week for three consecutive months – so really I need to keep posting. I don’t actually totally understand what BlogHer is, but I think it’s a network of ladies writing blogs…so a way to find readers who aren’t friends, family, and/or bored coworkers I am too lazy to talk to. Which sounds interesting, but also sort of stressful. (ok, I just looked it up. I am maybe thinking of something else? Cause it seems like I can join this now…blog has to be over 30 days old and mine is ….well…nine years old, with long lapses for a few years. I guess that qualifies. Wait a minute, no it doesn’t. Their main site and the signup site don’t agree.)

(Actually, maybe this is creepy?)

Anyway. Last Friday I one-crutched from the parking garage into work and around the office all day; I’d gotten permission to try it. By about 4 pm I was wrecked, and sore. End of experiment for day. Then I rested all weekend and left my apartment exactly once, to crutch out to lunch with my friend (and provider of 10 days of delicious lasgana last month) Nikki.

This week was important because I Returned to Public Transit. Both my parents and Fantabulous CoWorker are going on vacation starting this coming weekend, so I am getting Miss Turkey back on March 10 whether I am ready or not. So I wanted a week of getting to and from work on my own to “prove” that I am ready for the dog. (‘long about Sunday night when I was being witchy to my mom I realized I was having a lot of anxiety about this. Sorry, mom.)

Monday morning I got up super early to prepare for my journey. I wanted to get to Metro before the real morning rush (loosely defined as 730-9 a.m., at least according to the fare calculators), thinking that if it were less crowded, it might be “easier.”

Oh. My naivete was so cute.

Although I’ve been making good progress with one crutch in the office and at home, I decided that for commuting I’d use both (for one thing, I can get across the street a lot faster with two. And if I get tired, using two is easier. And there’s that whole balance thing.)

Before I made it into the station I was faced with my first obstacle. Something that had not even occurred to me until I was staring at it.

The Escalator.

Ever since a traumatic escalator experience at the Macy’s in Herald Square in 1982 (if you’ve seen ‘Elf’ you can imagine it for yourself), I have not particularly liked these things. Even when I’m wearing two shoes and using two legs. Each summer DC does a public awareness campaign about not getting flip flops stuck in the escalators. And if you’ve been to DC, you know that taking Metro means riding Really, Really Long Escalators.

I stared at it a minute, then thought about “double-crutching” (both in one hand), which is how I go up and down stairs. Since I couldn’t put my hand on the escalator rail for balance, like I would on a stair rail, that didn’t feel too safe, so I went back to regular style. I stared at it a minute more, but knew time was ticking and either someone was going to push me out of the way, or I’d just lose my balance and fall. So I squeezed up my courage and hopped on with my good foot, holding the crutches in one hand and touching the rail with the other for balance.

It worked!

The first escalator is sort of short, so I had time to prepare for the dismount…and then crutch some more and get ready for the big descent.

I successfully made the second escalator, and then took the stairs down to the platform (in retrospect, the stairs were a bad idea. They are marble (?) and slippery. And there a lot of them. And by the time I’d navigated all of the escalators above, there were a lot more people, all of whom were In a Really Big Hurry and Not Thrilled by My Presence.)

Sooo…on the platform a little after 7:30 (? maybe? I haven’t worn a watch in weeks as it cuts into my wrist when I crutch.) It may as well have been 8:30 or 5 p.m. The car was totally packed, and as I crutched in and looked around, every one of the people sitting in the “please give to the disabled” seats looked down. Away from me. All hoping I would not do what I did. But you know what? I had to. I did my very best, “please, may I have a seat?” ask (promise. I was not cranky…I needed a seat before the car started moving!). They all kept looking down. So again, this time with a little plea, “one of you?”And a lady got up and gave me her seat.

I thanked her profusely. And immediately got out my phone to post a snarky Facebook status.

Dang. That was 862 words for me to get on the train.

It occurs to me that if I just wrote shorter, less-involved write-ups, it would take me much less time. But they would also be much less fun to read. Right?

I arrived at my stop without incident, and then navigated my way upstairs – also on the stairs. See: bad idea above. And lots, lots more people. And the grossest mistake: I didn’t have gloves, so I was having to touch the rail with every step. Eww. Then one up escalator (pleasant surprise to see that the up escalator is wayyy easier to navigate) and finally, I was on the street. Home free – just a few blocks to the office!

(As an aside: I do not have a thing against elevators. In fact, I rather like them these days. But alas, the street elevator has been out since December and is expected to be fixed “in March.” Which helps me not at all, because by “March” you know they mean “April 17.” The elevator near my house takes you down just a short level, and then you have to walk a long, solitary corridor of spectacularly slippery Metro tiles. I’d rather jump the escalator and be near people who, in theory, will help me if I fall down.)

TO be continued…at least I got to the office in those 1,038 words.

One last thing I forgot to post from Turkey’s visit back on Feb 25. Last summer my dad had “Gramps Camp” for the dog, and stole her for a week for activities such as lap napping, hiking, wildlife-viewing and pasta necklace-making. Perhaps you remember Turkey and the Camp Bus-turned-VOD.

Well, Gramps turned the crafts up a notch while Turkey has been visiting and recovering from her surgery. What did I receive?

Yes, yes, they gave me a pawprint from my DOG. (Even I am too embarrassed to bring this to work. But we can all admit it is kind of spectacular.)

Calamity Mo

Really, a whole week without posting? (sorry, Cordelia. What, have you stopped caring about work now that you got into b-school? Oh, right. You have.) I have fallen off my game. I don’t know what happened, except that I am completely stuck in a time warp and under 7,000 guns at work, and working my tail off (see also: wrote contracts during the Oscars!)(Sort of sad that doing so made the Oscars less loooong).

The most significant thing that happened was that I tripped/slipped barefoot in my kitchen on Saturday. I twisted my operated-on right foot (of course, why would it not be that foot?), stubbed the left toes, and slammed face-first into the granite by the sink. My forearm stopped me from bashing in my teeth. Thanks, forearm!

What precipitated this little dance? My parents were on their way with the pooch for a visit, and I’d decided my apartment was a mess and needed cleaning. So I was casual-crutching (swinging one crutch under armpit instead of holding it, so I can use one hand to hold stuff instead of the crutch. I started doing this when I was abandoned in order to get coffee and food to the living room.) I’d thought I was all bad-ass and smarty pants, even bragging to Ryan that I knew how to carry coffee on crutches and could teach her.

Hey genius? The fancy surgical shoe is apparently for wearing all the time, not just outside of my apartment! If you’ve ever been to visit me you know I’m fanatical about not wearing shoes in my apartment. So much so that I’ve been wiping off the crutches with wet wipes every time I come home. (Never mind that Turkey probably brings in as much dirt as I would, but that is not the point here.) So when I’m at home I’m usually barefoot. This made it much easier to twist when I stumbled.

So when I stumbled barefoot, who was laughing? Not me. I cried hysterically for about 15 minutes while I tried to assess the situation. Fortunately I have a chair in my kitchen, from the olden days when I couldn’t stand up for too long without resting. So I sat on the chair while I cried. It hurt, and I wasn’t bleeding, but I was mostly concerned that I’d done something to damage the repair. It was bound to happen sooner or later, so I guess a fall on Day 43 is better than a fall on Day 3…but still. I was worried and panicked and not at all in a very good mood when my parents and Turkey arrived a half hour later.

Fortunately they were bringing with them the Magical Ice Machine, so I knew I could ice pretty quickly, which I did. Then my dad went off to an opera and my mom and I ate at my favorite restaurant ever (Maybe not ever. But I like it a whole lot.) and I tried not to freak out.

Turkey was healing nicely so we let her sleep with the cone off. The poor gal must not have slept well for the past three weeks (like you would with a giant cone on your head – and she likes to sleep curled tightly in a ball), so she barely moved all night, and made no attempts to join me on the couch.

I made sure she remembered who was boss, as I’m pretty sure my parents let her get away with just about anything.

I really do not like you. Or this.

On Sunday we went to Trader Joe’s – and I resisted the urge to use the Wheelie Cart! Progress, I’m tellin’ ya. After brunch I thought it was a good idea to crutch 1.2 miles home.

Are you sensing a theme? That maybe I don’t always think things all the way through?

My dad said we were nuts and drove back to my apartment. My mom obliged and we set out on the adventure. About 30 minutes into the adventure I was thinking this was sort of stupid…but hey, I had nowhere to be, it was a nice day, and I need some sort of physical exercise.

On Monday I went back to PT, freaking out about the foot. It was definitely more swollen than normal. She reassured me (but wouldn’t let me get on the bike, boo hiss), but had me check in with the doc just in case. She got a lot of the swelling out so I was feeling pretty good.

Last night I got a thumbs up from the doc by email, at least from what I’m telling him, so I think we’re good. Today at PT* I was allowed back on the bike (8:33 and my cadence got up to 87 at Level 1! Woo!). I am officially allowed to one-crutch it at work, and I have permission to try it for longer distances.

Though I love living with my fantabulous coworker friend (I forgot how nice it is to talk to a real person, and not just a furry friend who only wants to eat and sleep on the couch), I will be excited to be back in my apartment soon, and even more excited to get Miss Turkey back!

*Side note of today’s trip to PT. I don’t know how the weather is where you are, but here in DC it was A#1 bad. Like, monsoon, people coming in head-to-toe soaking wet from walking two blocks bad. And as I learned last week, Mo No Can Carry Umbrella on Crutches. My AWESOME coworker (A friend emailed me to say I have awesome coworkers, what with them letting me live with them, carting my butt around, and helping me get my coffee, breakfast, and lunch every day. It’s true. I do!) offered to walk the two blocks with me with a giant golf umbrella  – borrowed from yet another awesome coworker – so I wouldn’t get soaked. Then an hour later she came back to collect me! That, my friends, is service. But really my favorite part of the story is this: we had an event this morning, with a Congressman and Other Fancy People, so I had to wear a suit. I wasn’t about to wear a suit into the monsoon, lest it get ruined and me be soaking wet all day. When I came back I stayed in my yoga pants and t-shirt (hot pink with “Athlete” written across it) and put on my suit jacket.

I am kind of a vision. Had a full-on serious conversation with the CEO and I don’t even think he noticed. If I were still at “Walgreens” I would have been sent home.

I know, you want a photo of this get-up. Even I have some sense. Take my word for it.

What is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever worn at work?

ERIKA CAN WE GO HOME NOW?????

Sucked into a time warp

that is what happens to me every day in the office. It is 9 a.m. and then it is 7:30 p.m. And I am still here. And this is WRONG!!!

There is an update coming soon, I promise. I had a little derailment, err…fall, this weekend which threw me for a loop. Also I had a visit from my puppy. Which was lovely, but didn’t leave much time for writing.

Especially since I was working all the way through the Oscars!

Scars and Stars

Short weeks always mess me up. I had a great weekend and saw friends each day. I finally saw The Descendants, which almost made up for the disaster which was The Tree of Life. I went out for coffee. I crutched to brunch. I had lunch. I read five back issues of the Sunday New York Times. Every weekend should be a three-day weekend (back when I worked at eCollege, every four or five weeks each of the helpdesk gurus had to rotate to work a weekend shift, so we’d work 10 days straight. But at the end of those 10 days, we got Thursday and Friday off. A magical four-day weekend! It was fantastic. We also got paid $25 every time someone called us outside of normal working hours. Man, that was the good life. I would pray for the servers to go down when I was on call so I’d get a ton of calls to answer. It’s amazing that we stayed solvent. Though, as you might guess, one of the keys to solvency was finding a better solution for the helpdesk than the aforementioned! Ok, now goodbye, memory lane, that was fun.)

Anyway. Three-day weekends always make for a rough return to the work week, because you’ve just gotten used to being off. (Having been out of the office for four weeks straight, I realize I should probably refrain from complaining about my exhausting five-day workweek of yore.) Anyway. The rest of a short week I am always confused, because it’s Wednesday/Fake Tuesday/Ash Wednesday and your mind is convinced that it’s Thursday. But you need to do a full week of work. Etc. That made me so tired I’m working at home tomorrow.

Tuesday I got craaazy at PT and did 12 minutes on the bike. Then I got to do some hip exercises with weights strapped on my ankle, since my right hip is getting weak from all the not-being-used. (My hamstrings, on the other hand, are strong strong strong from holding up my leg.) (can someone please tell me if the period goes on the inside or the outside of the parentheses? What is the rule???) I also found out that Jill the Amazing PT-lady reads the blog, as she knew to expect the banana bread (good thing I remembered to bake it), which she shared generously with the rest of the staff (Hi Jill!). Most excitingly, I got schooled on how to walk properly with one crutch. Unsurprisingly, I had been doing it incorrectly. Now I’m one-crutching around my apartment, or anytime I want to show off. Or pretend I am Mr. Bates.

(I sure do love parentheses.)

TODAY I went to the gym at work and rode 3.87 miles on the bike in 18 minutes. It was still Level 1 resistance, but I got up to 78 RPMs on an ideal of 90! The “real” exercise bike is actually easier to navigate and use than the recumbent, though I have to pull myself up on it with my arms, like I’m hopping out of a pool. Not that I’ve been in one of those since March 2011. I really want to get on the spin bike, but Ye Old Scabby Ankle is still unable to fit into a running shoe, let alone a clipless pedal cycling shoe. I forgot my phone, so I couldn’t take a picture. But I did it. Then I did some sit ups and bicep curls and the lat pulldown machine and some Pilates moves. It was fun times. I still didn’t really sweat, but it is fun to change into gym clothes.

I also weighed myself, which is something I generally avoid doing very often for reasons much too deep and complicated to get into on My Fun and Carefree Blog. But I was curious, and I don’t have a scale at home (never have, never will). I was surprised to find I have lost quite a bit of weight, down to about Ironman USA 2006 levels. I will generally attribute this to LOSING ALL MY MUSCLES. Let’s not even talk about how sad my cardio skills are going to be when I am allowed to do Actual Exercise. However, I will admit that I like that I can see my Mrs. Obama-esque (not quite, but trying) arm muscles. If I have a good hair day I’ll take a picture.

I am missing, missing, missing my pup this week. Instead of living with Fantabulous CoWorker, I’ve been in my own apartment (and though I sincerely miss her Heavenly/Westin-like Guest Bed, I do also like being in my apartment, but she is crazy awesome to still be ferrying me back and forth to work!), so it’s all the more noticeable that Turkey’s gone. I am getting regular updates and she seems to be enjoying the snowtime and former cat boyfriend interactions she’s having. Her eye is healing well, though she’s stuck in the cone until at least next Monday, making that three weeks in her cone to my six weeks on crutches.

Turkey's windshield is very dirty

Fortunately, it snowed about 6 inches at my parents’, so my dad was able to put her to work with a little snow-shoveling, which conveniently also cleaned off her windshield.

Shoveling is hard work

Wait, one more thing. Want to see some progress??? Check this bad boy out. THIS is 5 1/2 weeks post-op, following instructions all the way.

Lookin' Good, right?!

Why does this keep happening? (guest post)

Did y’all miss me? My mom went back to DC on her birthday, and I stayed behind in the vacation house, err…Nana and Grandpa’s house. When my mom left I thought I was just going for a ride in the Jeep (I know, I know, it was the Vehicle of Deception, but after a few good rides, I had decided it might be ok again). Nope. Grandpa put me in the Jeep and I watched as Nana drove my mom’s car away – with my mom in it! Tricked again. When will I learn? Grandpa took me for a ride and then we went for a walk.

I was kind of lonely without my mom and Nana, but I heard my mom went kind of cra-cra when she went back home, cause she was really sad about having to leave me, and about having another month on crutches, and about getting old. Staying with Grandpa, though, was awesome, ’cause he fed me stuff and he put my bed in his room!

I kept trying to scratch the stitches on my back. Even though I had the cone on, I could still kind of reach it, so I would lick the spot and scratch it whenever I could. My mom read something stupid on the internet that said you could put a t-shirt on your dog and help stop them from scratching, so when Nana came home from getting rid of my mom in DC, she had my Halloween costume with her. And then she put it on my butt.

Yes, I have Carolina on my butt.

Wednesday I went on a field trip. I thought maybe we would do something fun like go swimming or go see wildlife, like we did last summer, but noooooooooooo.  Grandpa took me to this place called Elkton and we walked around and around in circles (actually the old guy said they were ovals, but you get the idea).  At least it was sunny and warm. And they didn’t make me wear the embarrassing t-shirt outside.

On Thursday we went BACK in the Jeep/VOD AGAIN. Really, I don’t know what to think at this point. We drove into town and went back to the scary terrible place. Dr. John made like he was going to help me, and I was really, really glad. Because for the past week, one of the stitches has been up UNDER MY EYELID scratching my eye. It hurt a whole lot. I kept trying to scratch it, but every time I did, I would hear “Turkey, NO!” and I would have to stop. Sometimes I really wish I could talk.

As Dr. John was looking at my eyeball, I pulled back to get away from him, which made his hand slip. My eye sort of broke open and started bleeding again. Ugh. So they told Grandpa he should come back in an hour. I got put back in one of those stupid cages, and then they gave me a shot to make me verrry sleeepy.

Why oh why oh why oh why???

When I woke up I could barely see anything. AGAIN. They had put more stitches into my eye, so it would heal. If it doesn’t scratch my eyeball up like last time then I guess I won’t bother it, either. I did get a fancy new cone, which is bigger and also easier to see out of because it is clear. Also, since I can’t reach my back anymore, they took off that stupid t-shirt for good.

Lookin' like Popeye

While we were there, Dr. John gave Grandpa a report on the lump they took out when they sawed me open. The report said that the lump was “chronic fat necrosis with granulomatous inflammation, lymphoid nodules, and fibrosis.” The only word I understand in there is “fat” – which is what Nana and my mom say I am getting. The rest said “All three pieces of tissue are similar in microscopic appearance.  There is no evidence of malignancy or infection.  This could be a lipoma with ischemia and necrosis and resultant inflammation.” Still don’t know what all THAT means, but I hear they are now super sure I don’t have cancer, so hooray!

Grandpa and Nana keep brushing my teeth. Something about “not ruining your newly cleaned teeth” too soon. But it’s poultry flavor toothpaste, and I love that, so it’s ok. I wish I could just eat the toothpaste and not have them shove fingers into my mouth.

Last night I heard Grandpa talking on the phone to my mom and asking her about how it was going at work. She said that on Thursday at PT she got to put 75% of weight on her foot. She also got to ride the exercise bike for 5 minutes and listen to the soundtrack from Footloose. But she also almost got run over by a Metrobus who was too impatient for her to cross the street in the pouring rain, and she was pretty mad about that. (She was also mad that it’s impossible to carry an umbrella when you have to crutch someplace in the rain.) She has a lot of crazy expectations.

Today Nana cleaned out my windshield. I can see a lot better.

Ok, I have a couch to sleep on. See you later.

They don't even try to stop me, so why should I stop!?!