The Joy of Seeing My Leg

Last Friday I went to a new orthopedist and he took off my old cast and gave me a new removable cast. He also said that I could now put weight on my ankle as long as I use the walker. It is great to be able to walk again. Every thing seems to work better -- digestion, circulation, and mind-- just because I can remain in an upright position for part of the day. I can also go up the two stairs to the kitchen, which means I won't starve to death if left alone for several hours.

But the best part of this transformation is getting reacquainted with my left leg. I missed seeing it. When the removable cast is taken off, there it is, like a long lost friend. My foot skin is pealing, but my incisions are closed and there is only a minor atrophy of the calf muscles. I am due to start physical therapy soon, but in the meantime, I love letting the sun shine on my leg and wiggling my toes. My ankle is really stiff and painful to move or rotate, but at least it is attached to my foot at a normal angle again, and I am hopeful that one day I will be on the track again without Comet II.

The happiness of seeing my leg has led me to consider, that for a fat person, I quite like my body. First of all, on a practical level, it seems to work. I have borne children, breast fed them, carried them on my back for long distances, and, more recently, camped and swam in ice cold rivers with my grandchildren. On the aesthetic level, I have pretty feet, fairly unwrinkled decolletage for a sixty year old, and thick wavy hair that shines in the sun. I don't sunburn. My skin turns a toasty warm color in the summer. I could list all the negative things about me, but I won't. I think that fat people, like all people, should be happy with the good physical attributes they are fortunate enough to receive.

But being in a wheelchair and now a walker is not as positive an experience. I have adapted reasonably well to the physical limitations ( I attribute this to an innate ability to spend hours on the couch engrossed in house shows and sports on the tube). But the emotional side has been tough. At first I tried being stoic and cheerful, but this lead to my family assuming I could be left alone for hours on end. Eventually feelings of not being able to express feelings overwhelmed me and I had a cry day. This alerted my family that I needed more TLC. Hence, I have a rotating schedule of family care with breaks filled in by a wonderful neighbor of Rose and Mario, who visits frequently bringing a burst of energy and optimism with her. She is someone who has overcome obstacles through perseverance, courage, and super organizational skills. Her personality is just what the doctor ordered.

So now I am off to the shower where I will wash my leg and rinse it for a long time with a stream of hot water. I never realized what joy a limb could bring.

Recovering at Home

I am recovering at home after spending about 2 weeks in hotels so that our downstairs bathroom could be remodeled into a full bath that is handicapped accessible. Mario, my son-in-law, rounded up a crew of his friends from the construction industry, and produced a little jewel. It must be the world's most elegant small, handicapped bathroom. In my wheel chair, which I have named Comet II, in honor of my favorite childhood horse, I can roll right in and use the facilities without assistance, which is great, since I am dependent on others for just about everything else.

After my surgery, I was told to stay off my ankle for six weeks. Since I am too old and heavy to use crutches, I can choose between using a walker with which I can hop on my good leg about 15 feet before resting, or Comet II, in which I can, glide nimbly around the lower level of my house including the new bathroom. You can see why I am fond of Comet II.

For the first few days at home I slept on the couch in the family room, which was very comfortable, but a little lonely at night, with Joe snoring loudly in the comfort of our king size bed upstairs. Then the Contour Bed arrived. Purchased for small fortune, it is a king size marvel with two extra long twin mattresses on the bottom. Each mattress has a separate control which can lift electrically the head or foot, and give a very ineffective vibrating massage. So now Joe is downstairs with me. I have my feet elevated above my heart (to reduce swelling), and my head raised slightly to reduce acid reflux. The sixties are obviously a decade of multiple health problems for me.

Being in a wheel chair with a broken ankle is a very interesting experience. I am able to cope with the pain with deep breathing, relaxation, and, truth be told, the occasional percocet. But what really bugs me is the loss of privacy. Between Mario's crew, visiting well-wishers, the kids and grand kids, and Allyson and Joe, I am surrounded by people during my waking hours. This is very difficult because I usually spend part of each day alone, thinking and daydreaming.

The other upsetting issue is coping with loosing the fitness I have fought so hard to gain. For the first few weeks after the accident, I had trouble eating, but now my appetite, especially for sweets, has returned with full force and I am fighting to control it. My upper body is getting pretty strong from lifting my weight around, but my core and butt muscles are deteriorating. Tomorrow, if the weather is nice, I am hoping to take Comet II to the track and do some cardio work. In the meantime, I must go lie on the couch with my leg above my heart and watch HDTV.