At the Hop

I have found that sometimes I can get from here to there by hopping a whole lot easier than crutching. You would think this would be easy, but sometimes it is not. I mean think about it – in order to get anywhere via hopping you have to lean forward and thrust yourself straight ahead trying to stay upright and not end up in a crumpled heap on the floor – oh while also ensuring you keep your broken ankle off the floor at all times. Actually now that I think about it I’m not really hopping at all. I’m just sort of flailing myself in the direction in which I’m hoping to go.

Sometimes I find that waving my arms to balance is highly effective, although seemingly a little ridiculous to any onlookers (i.e. my husband). I don’t think he’s ever quite sure that I’ll make it from the recliner to the couch or from the recliner to the kitchen successfully or if I will fall on my face.
I rarely ever truly stop…it’s more of a fall onto/into something in an attempt to slow down…

On a positive note (a first I know!) I’ve actually been walking without the crutches some – or walking with one crutch. All the ankle can handle currently is slow walking…agonizingly slow walking. Like old people with canes still pass me slow walking. My trainers want me to come back to the gym. I don’t know why. I’m not sure what I will be able to do other than stand there and look pitiful. I’m really good at that though and perhaps that’s what they are looking for. We’ll see. I can actually stand on both feet…well one foot and one boot just fine…but if I even think about putting more than half of my weight on my right foot – all sorts of fireworks and alarms go off in my brain and it tells me to think again.

I can’t wait to sleep on my side again. Currently that is not an option as my foot still sleeps on a little mountain of pillows and tries to avoid being touched by all things around it. Poor Eddie – when he rolls I have a panic attack thinking one of his good ankles might hit my bad one and cause further injury and/or pain. I also can’t wait to get the boot off! First off it is heavy. Secondly it’s ugly (really why are there no options for colors/designs…I paid almost 300 dollars for this boot…yeah you read that right…300 dollars for the boot… I won’t even go into all of the other costs associated with this dern ankle injury). And thirdly - the other day I felt like the liner smelled like a Junior High boys locker room so I washed it on a gentle cycle and will continue to spray febreeze in that mug so that I won’t alienate any friends I do still have now that I’m a cripple.

Also – I have once again kept up with my yearly trend of meeting my health insurance deductible before the end of the first month of the calendar year. How do I do this every year? You’re welcome Blue Cross. You’re welcome. I look forward to chatting with your customer services reps in the billing department every month as I try to figure out how we will pay these bills off! So much for that savings plan Eddie…my bad!

In other non-depressing news. My ortho gave me the appropriate documentation to apply for a disabled person parking tag! Score! Parking will be great fun now! Too bad that I still can’t drive to take full advantage of this.

Crutches Are Dumb

After a week of depression, hopelessness, misery and pain, I am starting to think that my miracle healing isn’t going to happen. I really thought I would have healed right up good as new –but I’m still wearing this ugly boot and I’m still hobbling around on crutches. It’s been almost two weeks since I so graciously fell while trying to jump at the gym and broke my ankle. I still get jealous when I watch people walk around freely or see any of my friends wearing cute heels that I pray I will one day get to wear again.

When I was younger I sort of thought crutches were cool. Like if I ever saw anyone using them, I’d want to play on them for a minute or two. Now when I see them I want to throw them through a window. I thought I’d have really funny crutch stories to tell about my getting around, but once I realized how hard it was to use them and get around – I’ve resigned myself to sitting on the couch, recliner or bed and doing nothing – and there’s nothing funny I can say about any of that.

Sadly, lifting my body weight with my back, arms and shoulders to land perfectly on my good leg is very exhausting. I am a slow moving crutch walker…debating every move I make. I hate them. My arm pits hate them even more. They are the most awkward pieces of medical crap ever constructed. They are long and cumbersome and don’t fit anywhere. Wherever I try to lay them they are in the way, and I don’t want to trip the guy with two good legs in our house and have him break his ankle – then we really would be in a mess! If I lean them against a wall they inevitably crash to the ground a few minutes later, usually taking stuff with them…my drink…papers, etc. I have to take them with me everywhere I go, but once I’m there I can’t figure out what to do because I can’t hold anything and use them at the same time. Drinks aren’t exactly transportable when my hands are committed to holding my body up using the crutches.

This is so not fun.
On an end note…Eddie deserves hubby of the year award for sure after all of this. I realize that he is probably annoyed that he has to take care of my EVERY waking need. He is a saint! I have grown to love him even more than before (except for when I get mad at him for walking around unassisted). Who would have thought that bringing someone a cup of water could be so romantic?

No Fun

It’s no fun having a broken ankle. Not at all. I’m jealous that everyone around me (which pretty much only consists of Eddie and my mom) can just go on with life as usual…you know just going to the kitchen or bathroom whenever they want to…having complete freedom to wander from one room to the next. I’m jealous and I would throw myself a pity party except I can’t get out of the recliner and put decorations up and what’s a party without decorations?

Want to know something ironic? We removed the handi ramp that was attached to the house… yup…that’s correct…Eddie completely obliterated it and made it obsolete after hearing me whine about how much of an eyesore it was… now the only ways to get into our house are sets of stairs…just my luck! I have crutches (blog post detailing the torture that crutches are up next) and still it takes at least 10 minutes for me to plan my moves and get my brave face on to successfully get up 3 measly steps so that I can make it into McNest and to my beloved recliner! Ridiculous! I never should have laughed at the handi ramp! I should have decorated it with pink streamers and celebrated it for what it was!

So I’ve spent the last couple of days sitting in the recliner with my right foot elevated on some pillows and have spent the last two nights just the same except the pillows and I both move to the bed. I pretty much am getting served hand and foot by my darling husband and patient mother since I can’t seem to get around without hurting myself or wincing in pain...and while I do enjoy getting waited on, I’m annoyed that I can’t get up when I want to without inflicting sharp pains to my ankle area. I’m limiting my liquid intake as to not have to take bathroom breaks very often. I have worn stretchy pants for like 5 days in a row. I have probably slept about 50% of the day and I have complained and whined about my current state of being the other 50%. I’m also annoyed that this is really wrecking my diet groove. Eddie can still go to 9R and is going to get ahead of me on the weight loss bracket I have created in my mind. Annoying.

Also annoying is the fact that it takes me like 45 minutes to get a shower. We have one bathroom downstairs – which has a tub/shower. Well I can’t step into it. We had to get a handi shower chair so that I could sit on the edge of the tub and then pull myself onto the chair and then twist my entire body in. Once I’ve done that I’m already exhausted and I’ve yet to even start washing! I can’t stand up on one foot the whole time and get everything done, so we had to go purchase one of those shower wand things so I could pull it down. It’s ridiculous. I can’t stand it. Washing my hair is a nightmare and drying off is like a workout in itself. Plus because of me having to sit on the chair the shower curtain sometimes touches me and grosses me out even tho it’s practically brand new and clean – but it sticks to me and that makes me feel yucky and then I just get mad because I don’t want to start all over in the whole wash me process. UGH!!

When I was trying to find a bright spot to this whole broken ankle mess I’ve gotten myself into, I concluded that I couldn't have picked a better time of year to have this happen. It wasn't summer with the seriously crazy heat to stink up this boot contraption I have to wear all the time, and it wasn't around any holiday that I would miss out on. So really the whole situation isn’t interfering with anything major…oh…except my life.

Everything Happens For A Reason

You’ve heard that old saying “everything happens for a reason” right?

Let’s back up a minute…and start from the beginning. You may be wondering why I am even updating this blog after such a long hiatus. It’s because I have the time to. Why do I have time? I broke my ankle, and I can’t do anything else but sit here and pout or type on the computer. It’s not even an exciting story. You know those stories…the ones where something just so fantastic crazy happens that it’s passed on for years through the family. Sadly, my accident story isn’t like that. Nope. It was just a split second in time that has completely changed my life.

You see I had once again made the tragic mistake of signing up for my work’s Biggest Loser contest again (yes…previous lesson obviously not learned), so Eddie and I went back on the low carb diet and joined a local gym that does things in a whole different way. 9Round is… well…9 rounds of fitness and kickboxing with personal trainers. It’s fun…it’s fast…and it works. I’ll talk about 9R more in some upcoming blog posts (since I’m pretty sure I’ll have time), but for now I’ll just stick with how this tale of woe came about. After jumping rope during Round 1 I was feeling pretty good about myself. Three minutes of cardio without passing out = success for me. Round 2 was explained to me. I was supposed to jump over this little bar that was probably no more than 4 inches high and let’s just say 6 inches long that was in the floor. By the way – these measurements are nowhere near accurate… I am terrible at estimation/distance/measurements…and am actually quite prone to exaggeration (see above paragraph last sentence).

I didn’t even make it one jump before I clipped the little bar with the side of my foot, rolled my ankle, fell to the ground and immediately grabbed my ankle after hearing a “crack” and feeling the most horrific pain I have ever felt in my entire 30years of being. I knew something was wrong…and by wrong I meant I would probably never walk again. As a world class volleyball player (or sitting most of the time on the bench watching my friends play while in Jr High) and ballet dancer (when I was 4), I’ve had my share of sprains…and I hadn’t had one like this. And while it wasn’t life threatening by any means and was considerably lower on the tragic sports injury scale than say a broken back or neck injury – for me it was my first real serious injury aside from the time I knocked my front teeth out while hanging upside down on the monkey bars in elementary school.

After sitting on the floor and trying not to throw up, pass out or cry, I finally succumbed to the tears and tried to figure out in my mind what to do. Do I call my daddy and have him helicopter in to save me (which for some reason is always my first solution to any problem) or do I try to stand up and hop on out of here before anyone else sees me on the floor writhing in pain (which was probably really great advertising for the new gym in town as well – you’re welcome guys).

I went with the second alternative, and after my big strong husband picked me up out of the floor I literally hopped to the car and got home.

We got me set up in the recliner…foot propped up on pillows and ice packs galore! The only positive thing I remember from that evening was that Cheryl & Patti brought me Los Amigos so I was able to have carbs. If that wasn’t a get well present to remember I don’t know what is. For future injuries, sicknesses and hospital stays please keep in mind I love a chicken quesadilla!

The next morning Eddie took me to Doctor’s Care (which for me is kinda like that TV show Cheers – they all know my name and I have my own special chair)…the nurse came out to our car and greeted me with a wheel chair which I gladly accepted. After taking my vitals, getting x-rayed and waiting for what felt like an eternity the doctor came in and gave me the news… my ankle was broken. She might as well have reached into my chest, pulled my heart out and stomped on it right there in that little room. I spent the rest of the day feeling sorry for myself and then the majority of the next day going from being nervous to being pissed off before my ortho appointment in which they would determine the surgical state of my ankle.

After a trip to the orthopedic doctor (in which I was yet again wheel chaired into a building), I now have my very own air cast and my very own prescription for pain medication. I don’t know why they didn’t just give me a prescription for Xanax too since I can already tell my anxiety level is going to be out of control. I pray that I don’t end up on Intervention.

So everything happens for a reason right? I guess I broke my ankle because diets and exercise are stupid. Lesson learned

How Charter is Killing Me Slowly - One Day at a Time

Ed and I being NewlywEd and all last year (and trying to be all budgety in our new adult life) had to prioritize where we wanted our disposable income to go. Although I was perfectly content with where my money had previously gone (American Eagle, GAP, Macy’s, the occasional manicure and massage, etc), I had to be all grown up and allot some funds to the power company and the gas company because electricity, heating and air conditioning were high priorities on the list of things we thought we might need.

When it came to luxuries (i.e. things we can live without but choose not to live without) we were more interested in a life with DVR (I love you DishNetwork! and I love the episodes of Little House on the Prairie that you tape 3 times a day for me) than with Internet. However, when a Charter promotional ad promised us a good deal for 6 months – we thought why not? So at the end of 09 – December I think - we splurged for some internet.

Sweet I thought! Facebook, Itunes, email, Google, the WORLD WIDE WEB…would be at my beck and call any time of the day.
Or not. The internet worked so well…the first day it was installed. After that we had sketchy, unreliable internet for days…weeks…and then months at a time. Call after call. Service tech after service tech. Those guys performed magic while at my house and made the internet work, but after they left…and after a little tease of being online – the magic internet fairy dust they used would lose effect and we would lose signal yet again.

Calling Charter’s customer service has felt similar to what I believe medieval torture felt like. My head has nearly exploded each and every time that I have attempted to resolve our internet problem. Now I realize and understand that a lot of major companies like Charter outsource some their customer service to countries like India or Pakistan. What I don’t understand is how I am always transferred to them instead of someone I can actually have a dialog with without trying to translate in my head what they actually mean.

Not only am I always connected with someone who is still in Learning to Speak English 101, but I am always connected to someone who I think hates their job and isn’t one bit invested in helping to solve my issue. Not to mention, the 15 minute phone menu that Satan himself created that never gives me an option to “SPEAK TO SOMEONE WHO CAN HELP ME OUT WITH A PROBLEM” so I find myself saying “Agent” over and over again to try and override the system and get me to an actual HUMAN BEING.

To make this long story even longer, we cancelled internet service at the end of June. I should really said we cancelled them sending us bills since we never really had internet service when it comes down to it. They owe us $70 dollars. We have been told different things each time we have called to find out when our check would be arriving in our mailbox.

The check was apparently cut/processed July 3, Aug 4, and this latest time Aug 12th. We haven’t received anything. I have confirmed our address multiple times. We have received reimbursement checks from insurance companies with no problem since then. Every day I check the mail, and every day I am disappointed to see that my check still hasn’t arrived.

Each time I call I feel like I’m losing minutes of my life. I repeat my sob story over and over to Charter agents who could care less and apparently have no historical log of what I have said to the agent before them. I have probably gone over my minutes on my phone plan after being on hold so many times. I’m guessing I’ll eventually have to use gas money and a vacation day to drive to our local Charter to see if they can help – though I imagine it will just be a real life version of my hopeless telephone calls.

Funnily enough though, I keep receiving those Charter bulk mail-outs telling me they miss me as a customer. I have probably received about 6 of those since we have cancelled.

Charter – I hate you.

The end...and then begin again

So today was the last day of my work’s Biggest Loser weight loss competition. Amen.

Today was also the day wherein I heavily splurged not only once…but 4 times so far…and that’s only breakfast and lunch. After my 8:30 am weigh in, I had a chocolate glazed donut with sprinkles chased with a Reeses peanut butter Easter egg. Yum! Lunch time came and went along with a few hundred calories made up of a hot dog from Skins (I’m a Thrasher what can I say?) and a piece of chocolate pound cake. The evidence of my indulgence … nothing but a crumpled up wrapper in the trash can and a very full belly.

I have a wasted calorie and carbohydrate hangover complete with oniony breath and a side of regret. I want nothing more than to go home and take a carb nap or fall into a carb coma.

For the last five days (actually the last 3 months) I have been thinking of all sorts of things I would do to celebrate this occasion. All of those things had to do with having some food that I actually wanted to eat and didn’t HAVE to eat. I would watch tv and see a commercial for a fast food joint or restaurant and be like yum I want that! Even stuff I really don’t care for (i.e. a hot dog) seemed delish! While the splurge was nice for a minute, now I actually feel bad. Boo! That sucks. I’ve decided to not go on an all out binge week since I really don’t want to ruin what I did work hard to accomplish.

What did I accomplish? A loss of 20.5 pounds. I’m including the half a pound cause I worked hard for every little ounce. The good thing about being as tall as I am is that a gain of 20 lbs isn’t totally incredibly noticeable. The bad thing is that a loss of 20 lbs isn’t either. I can tell there is a difference though – the dimple on face is showing again when I smile and the jeans I had been wearing have now been retired since I couldn’t walk up my steps without them falling to the ground (pants on the ground, pants on the ground).

So where do we go from here? I have decided that I have two new goals. One is to lose 9.5 more pounds by June 14th (which not only is my first day of summer vacation at the beach but my 30th bday as well – and I know what you’re thinking – I do not look like a 30 year old – and you are right – and I love you). So yeah 30 lbs by 30th bday.

My second goal is to start “training” to run a 5K. This could prove to be much harder than goal one – mainly because I don’t really even like to walk to the mailbox at my house. This goal even has sub goals (I love a detailed plan) – I want to run a mile. I want to run 2 miles. I want to run 3 miles. And I don’t want to throw up or die while I’m doing it. I also don’t want to experience shin splints, blisters, soreness, humiliation or hyperventilation.

I’m not putting an end date on this goal because that would stress me out, but I found a program online called Couch to 5K. Apparently it can train people who normally get most of their daily activity from sitting on the couch (yup that’d be me) to run 3.1 miles in about 9 weeks (I’m not sure how. By magic perhaps? We’ll see). I will say that I use the term “running” very loosely. I can’t imagine I would ever full out run since I honestly don’t have a desire to run (and haven’t ran a mile since I was forced to for a grade in highschool gym class) – but I can see me jogging…or walk/jogging…wogging? Jalking? Either way – you get my point.

Wish me luck – and if you work with my husband – wish him luck too – I can only imagine how much fun this will be for him since I’m making him do it with me! :) Love ya babe!

To tan or not to tan

Since I heart RKB bunches and am willing to stand in solidarity with her (that’s what BFFS are for), I have decided to not go to the tanning bed this year. I vowed to embrace my paleness, love my fair skinned arms and legs, and be a happy girl. However, now that March is coming to an end…the temperature is getting hotter…my winter clothes are saying hello to their Rubbermaid tote homes…I have come to realize that I have cultivated a rather pasty glow since last August. I literally become reflective in the daylight, much like Edward Cullen when he gets in the sunlight (yes I just made a Twilight reference). Except I’m not as beautiful and shimmery as Edward (but let’s be honest…who is)?

As bad as I want lay in that enclosed little bed with UV rays shooting into my body, I’m determined that my health is more important. It doesn’t however change my feelings that I feel prettier when I’m tan than I do when I’m pale. I think a lot of people feel that way. I may be a little on the chubby side, but tan chubby is like so much better than pale chubby.

With the whole skin damage and possible cancer scenarios running through my head as well as the thought of looking like a leathery worn out baseball mit by the time I hit 40, I explored my options. I don’t really dig hanging out in the sun (which is pretty much the only other way for me to get some color to my skin naturally …oh except UV rays there too) so that was out. I’ve tried self tanners and have found that they are too time consuming and I often end up looking like I rolled in some mud and forgot to take a shower the next day. I decided to do something I have never done before. I decided to give Mystic Tan a try.

Apparently through the magic of Mystic Tan I could get a healthy glow in as little as 2 minutes. Sweet! I’m in. The directions seemed simple enough. You get in a little stand up booth and a sprayer thingie sprays you with Mystic tan (I hope you were able to follow since I got real technical right there). You have some color right after and then in a few hours the color deepens (through something very scientific that I don’t really understand).

I would post pictures of myself getting ready except for I would never do that in a million years. You can only imagine how attractive I looked in disposable hairnet and little surgical booties plus goggles (which I took off right before going in because I didn’t want to chance raccoon eyes). That was all in addition to mounds of “barrier lotion” I slathered all over my hands and feet.

If you are a Friends fan (hi Jen!) you might remember when Ross got his spray tan on. This might help picture what goes on. To put it simply the machine sprays the front of your body for about 14 seconds – then it makes a noise that prompts you to turn around – and then it sprays the back of your body for about 14 more seconds. This doesn’t seem like a long time…unless you are ill prepared for the start and forgot to take one last deep breath.

Unfortunately I fall into that ill prepared category. I tried to hold my breath, but the combination of the freezing cold mist and my anxiety about not taking that last deep breath caused me to hyperventilate which led to what felt like a mouth full of Mystic Tan. I feel sure that was not safe. I was so freaked that I immediately started coughing which caused me to take yet another deep breath wherein I had a mouth full AND nose full of Mystic Tan mist. I was pretty sure my lungs were turning brown already when the machine finally stopped. Even though I was a little lightheaded, I did consider it a plus that I didn’t pass out naked in the Mystic Tan booth. How tragic would that have been?

I opened the door and gasped for clean air and reached for a towel. I started rubbing the excess off – I did notice a drip down the back of my leg and was able to wipe it off. I could tell I had a little color in the mirror so that was also positive. I removed my attractive disposable wear and washed my hands. I felt a little sticky and I know I smelled funny, but I was feeling ok. Until a few hours later when I realized my hands and feet sort of looked rusty. At that point I started to worry that I was one of those girls that I make fun of for fake tanning. You know who I’m talking about.

I went home and scrubbed off some more in the hopes of not being an orange colored wreck today. This morning when I woke up I went to the bathroom to check my status. I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I tell you I look like an Oompa Loompa. I hope to bring you a positive update in the next few days as to the status of my coloring. In the meantime I’m going to go home and sing Willy Wonka songs to Eddie and make the most of it.

PS Here's the link to the Friends episode - it's a 5 minute clip - but it makes me laugh everytime! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rOLCwaHVtWs