Snap. Burn. Foot felt like it was in a hole.
Snap.
Burn.
Foot felt like it was in a hole.
That is what describes what happened 2 weeks ago when I fully ruptured the Achilles tendon on my right foot.
I was watching my 10-year-old run her cross country meet. It was the last of the season. Steve and I had planned points along the course to watch her. My first point was a bit after the start, where I got a cup of coffee, and two points at the end.
She reached me towards the end. I cheered her on. It was a beautiful day. Sunny, with some rain clouds. It was that day where you needed sunglasses, but felt like a fool wearing them while the rain drops gently fell. "80%, and when you round the corner, give it 100%," I yelled to her as she passed me.
As I was walking to that last point, I kept me eyes on her, cheering her on. She saw the finish line, and picked up speed. And so did I...I wanted to meet her at that last point to give her one final cheer/push. If I didn't run I wouldn't meet her.
And when I picked it up, it happened. Snap. Burn. Foot felt like it was in a hole. I stepped with my left foot, processing everything. It's amazing how fast your mind can go. Did I just twist my foot? Did I step in a hole in the ground? What's happening? Then I stepped again with my right foot. Nothing.
I had absolutely no control over my right foot. In that second or two, I figured it was my Achilles. I stopped and sat down on the grass. I knew I couldn't go further.
I called Steve. This was the exact same time Cici was crossing the finish. He ignored my call. I called immediately again. He answered. All I said was, "I need help. I think it's my Achilles." And that was all it took to get him to me. As I sat on the grass I dumped my coffee. I figured I wouldn't be drinking that anytime soon. Steve got Cici through the corral and about a minute later I saw him crest the hill, looking left and right. My long arms waved side to side, and he finally spotted me.
I couldn't bear any weight, and Steve did his best to help me to our team area where we had two chairs out. A fellow dad helped half way through that transfer, and I finally made my way to the chair. I rested, and tried to figure everything out. My tendon was collapsed, and I couldn't move it. It was a very peculiar feeling, no doubt. So many fellow parents surrounded me, offering advice and help. People are so good.
Steve moved the car as close as he could, and with the help of two grown men I made it to the car. They actually picked me up, since it was just easier. I just needed grapes and someone fanning me, and I would have been the queen of the world. Not quite.
Steve, Cici, and I went to the Emergency Department, which was a short 6 minute drive. Ben, the whole time, was with a friend at his house hanging out. I was at the ED about 2 hours total. I left with x-rays, a splint, and a diagnosis of a ruptured Achilles.
The pain that Sunday was a solid 6. When a nurse asked my pain level, I always clarify that I birthed a child with no drugs. Somehow I feel like I need to add that. Perhaps to explain where I've been. But anyway, I took 500 of naxopren (aleve) and was feeling okay in about 30 minutes.
I did get teary while there. As a busy working mother with a traveling husband, I had a lot going through my mind. Not to mention, I knew it was a serious diagnosis. I've heard about how bad an Achilles rupture is, but the unknown got the better of me.
Pain on Monday and Tuesday was incredibly tolerable. Like a 0/10, tolerable. Okay, maybe at times a 1/10. I never had pain around my heel, but rather tenderness/soreness up my calf. When I had my doctor visit on Wednesday, I was at a steady 0/10. It helps that Steve was home those days, and that I didn't go into the office. My days consisted of resting and laying down. It's easy to not be in pain when you don't move much.
My appointment was early on Wednesday. By the time I left that appointment, I had a boot, and a surgery date. The doctor didn't even get an MRI or a ultrasound. Apparently, I was "clinical" and my tear was easy to feel. No need for further testing when the issue was clear as day.
I went to work that afternoon. I was exhausted. Same with Thursday, work = exhausted. The boot and crutches were incredibly cumbersome and exhausting. But, Friday was good. With planned time off work, I had things to get prepared, including informing my clients I would be out and notes.
Last weekend was good, I was acclimating to the boot, even walking on it. Stairs were manageable, and I was trying to be as self-reliant as possible. We even hosted our annual Halloween party on Saturday evening. I even had it in me to dress up. Noting special, but I did.
Sunday was restful, and a good day to get ready for surgery Monday. My report time on Monday was 9:30, so we got the kids on the bus that Monday morning, and we were off. I'm anxious, although lately I've been really good with things, so I was anxious that I would be anxious. I get most anxious about health stuff. But, I was good the whole time leading up to surgery. Like, not once did I even get butterflies in my stomach.
There was a time that morning Monday morning that my "allergies acted up", but it's a very sweet story. We were borrowing a knee scooter from my aunt, and were planning the pick-up the couple days prior to the surgery. The final plan was that while I was in pre-op Steve would swing by my Aunt's work and get it. That Monday morning, as I was sitting (drinking and eating nothing) at the island I got a text from my aunt. She wished me well, and had a story to share...
The previous day she was using the leaf blower in her garage. As she passed over a tote full of pictures, one came flying out...just one...a picture of me and my mom when we were on a cruise in Alaska in 1999.
My aunt told me that she knew my mom was with me.
I cried for a good while. Got it all out. It was very sweet and wonderful and perfect. Even at 41-years-old, you still want your mom. If she was still with us, I know she would have been up helping out. But, I'm sure she had a nice conversation with the Big Man upstairs regarding my surgery, which comforts me.
The surgery went well. I walked myself to the operating room with the help of a lovely nurse. I didn't have my contacts or glasses on, so everything was blurry. When I walked into the operating room itself, I saw many black (scrubs) fuzzy blobs. I greeted everyone. The nurse anesthetists and anesthesiologist were my main talking people. The nurse was asking how it happened. I find that everyone is asking me that question. I always respond with the desire for some sexy story, but alas it was just a suburban, coffee-drinking, mom at a cross country meet story. Side note, the typical Achilles tear happens to a middle-aged male weekend warrior type. I certainly don't fit that profile. The nurse is a runner himself, so he was asking other running questions. Then we got to talking about Brooks versus Hoka. And then I could feel it come over me...
..."so this is how it happens..." and I was out. They did a great job distracting me while I was going under. Well done!
My mind woke up before my eyelids. My lip hurt. I opened my eyelids, and a very sweet nurse took care of me. I had the very typical after surgery feel: sore throat, weird taste of my mouth, dry mouth, dry nose, thirst. And my lip! It was good and fat. And my right breast hurt. Since I was face down for the surgery, I'm sure my face and body took a beating.
After x time, I was feeling good and it was time to leave. We got home a bit after the kids got home from school. They greeted us in the driveway. So sweet!
That night I was feeling really good. Well, sore throat, fat lip, and boob aside. I had a nerve block that was wonderful.
The next two days were rough. But manageable. I hit a low on Thursday when the pain from the surgery wore off, and the frustration began with my foot being stuck in the position in the splint. My foot was swollen and I could feel that it was tight and stuck in the splint. I was in tears, and even made two calls into the nurse. She told me that "everything was coming alive" and it sure was! One oxy later, and I calmed down. Friday was a better day.
...and that is how I gauge my progress, every day is better than the day before.
I go back on Tuesday to the doctor. They'll take out the stitches, and put me in a cast or boot. I'm voting cast. I need three weeks total of non-weight bearing and the boot is just heavy and clunky. I figure the cast will have better mobility. PT doesn't start for 3 months, so after the first of the year. It's hard for me to keep up with the timeline beyond the next step. I know the above are the broadstrokes, and that I'll have lots of little steps along the way.
All in all, my spirits are good. My overall attitude to this injury has been, "the universe puts you at the exact place you're supposed to be, at the exact time you're supposed to be there." Kismet. There was some reason this happened. I need to trust the journey. Maybe it's because I needed to slow down. Maybe it's because the kids needed to learn more independence. Maybe it's because I needed to finish editing my book. Which I did!! Now, I just need to find an agent!
Steve has been great. Truly. From running up that hill, worry in his eyes, and then carrying me to the car. To bringing me breakfast, lunch, and dinner. To keeping up with the kids. And dogs. And house. He's great. "Through sickness and health," am I right? So far, Steve has executed his marriage vows very nicely.
Steve's been home since this has happened, and will be for the next couple weeks. He had to borrow a couple vacation days from next year, but he's also using an incredibly perfectly timed vacation. Last year at this time, we were sailing the Royal Caribbean seas, which is where I would rather be. We didn't have anything big planned this October, but rather we had smaller things in mind. Perhaps Cancun, or Paris, or NYC to visit my sister. But, plans have changed. We'll be at home. That's okay. We're going away for Spring Break, so that trip will be all that much sweeter.
Mind if I get preachy for a minute? Let's talk body movement. Obviously my body is compromised right now, and the struggle is real. It started with muscle soreness in my arms and back from the crutches. Now I'm struggling with this dead weight at the bottom of my leg. Don't take your body for granted. If you are able to move, do it! When it comes to something as simple as walking the dogs, embrace it. What I would give to walk up the stairs, or to shower standing up. Hell, even to put two feet on the floor when using the toilet. Appreciate the body you have. Don't take it for granted. Don't abuse it.
And to further that point, exercise your body. When I was putting my entire body weight on those crutches, my arms were weak. When I was getting up and down the stairs one step at a time on my butt, and getting myself up from the floor entirely on the strength of my left leg in some sort of modified deadlift something-or-another, and the single hop up and down the step from our kitchen into our family room, I can feel it. I know my legs are strong, but I feel the weakness in my arms. Don't neglect your body! It's an amazing machine, that should be worked.
And that's the most ironic thing about this all...I finally started working out again. Anxiety kept me from working out properly the last number of years. Dog walking and a yoga session here and there weren't enough to keep my body in shape. So, I decided to take advantage of the 30 minutes I had before work. I started running on the treadmill at work. And here I am now...
I've thought about exercise a lot these last couple weeks. And I think when it's time to get back in the saddle, I'll be doing lots of yoga. I feel I'll be baby-ing my Achilles (both of them) for a good while, and yoga would be great for that. And yoga will give me the strength I feel like I'm missing. I do want to make the excuse that my long ass arms make it harder for upper body strength, but enough with excuses.
As I mentioned above, the universe has put me at the exact place I need to be, at the exact time I need to be here. I'm always a glass is half full type of person, and this is no exception. I'm trusting the journey.
Burn.
Foot felt like it was in a hole.
That is what describes what happened 2 weeks ago when I fully ruptured the Achilles tendon on my right foot.
I was watching my 10-year-old run her cross country meet. It was the last of the season. Steve and I had planned points along the course to watch her. My first point was a bit after the start, where I got a cup of coffee, and two points at the end.
She reached me towards the end. I cheered her on. It was a beautiful day. Sunny, with some rain clouds. It was that day where you needed sunglasses, but felt like a fool wearing them while the rain drops gently fell. "80%, and when you round the corner, give it 100%," I yelled to her as she passed me.
As I was walking to that last point, I kept me eyes on her, cheering her on. She saw the finish line, and picked up speed. And so did I...I wanted to meet her at that last point to give her one final cheer/push. If I didn't run I wouldn't meet her.
And when I picked it up, it happened. Snap. Burn. Foot felt like it was in a hole. I stepped with my left foot, processing everything. It's amazing how fast your mind can go. Did I just twist my foot? Did I step in a hole in the ground? What's happening? Then I stepped again with my right foot. Nothing.
I had absolutely no control over my right foot. In that second or two, I figured it was my Achilles. I stopped and sat down on the grass. I knew I couldn't go further.
I called Steve. This was the exact same time Cici was crossing the finish. He ignored my call. I called immediately again. He answered. All I said was, "I need help. I think it's my Achilles." And that was all it took to get him to me. As I sat on the grass I dumped my coffee. I figured I wouldn't be drinking that anytime soon. Steve got Cici through the corral and about a minute later I saw him crest the hill, looking left and right. My long arms waved side to side, and he finally spotted me.
I couldn't bear any weight, and Steve did his best to help me to our team area where we had two chairs out. A fellow dad helped half way through that transfer, and I finally made my way to the chair. I rested, and tried to figure everything out. My tendon was collapsed, and I couldn't move it. It was a very peculiar feeling, no doubt. So many fellow parents surrounded me, offering advice and help. People are so good.
Steve moved the car as close as he could, and with the help of two grown men I made it to the car. They actually picked me up, since it was just easier. I just needed grapes and someone fanning me, and I would have been the queen of the world. Not quite.
Steve, Cici, and I went to the Emergency Department, which was a short 6 minute drive. Ben, the whole time, was with a friend at his house hanging out. I was at the ED about 2 hours total. I left with x-rays, a splint, and a diagnosis of a ruptured Achilles.
The pain that Sunday was a solid 6. When a nurse asked my pain level, I always clarify that I birthed a child with no drugs. Somehow I feel like I need to add that. Perhaps to explain where I've been. But anyway, I took 500 of naxopren (aleve) and was feeling okay in about 30 minutes.
I did get teary while there. As a busy working mother with a traveling husband, I had a lot going through my mind. Not to mention, I knew it was a serious diagnosis. I've heard about how bad an Achilles rupture is, but the unknown got the better of me.
Pain on Monday and Tuesday was incredibly tolerable. Like a 0/10, tolerable. Okay, maybe at times a 1/10. I never had pain around my heel, but rather tenderness/soreness up my calf. When I had my doctor visit on Wednesday, I was at a steady 0/10. It helps that Steve was home those days, and that I didn't go into the office. My days consisted of resting and laying down. It's easy to not be in pain when you don't move much.
My appointment was early on Wednesday. By the time I left that appointment, I had a boot, and a surgery date. The doctor didn't even get an MRI or a ultrasound. Apparently, I was "clinical" and my tear was easy to feel. No need for further testing when the issue was clear as day.
I went to work that afternoon. I was exhausted. Same with Thursday, work = exhausted. The boot and crutches were incredibly cumbersome and exhausting. But, Friday was good. With planned time off work, I had things to get prepared, including informing my clients I would be out and notes.
Last weekend was good, I was acclimating to the boot, even walking on it. Stairs were manageable, and I was trying to be as self-reliant as possible. We even hosted our annual Halloween party on Saturday evening. I even had it in me to dress up. Noting special, but I did.
Sunday was restful, and a good day to get ready for surgery Monday. My report time on Monday was 9:30, so we got the kids on the bus that Monday morning, and we were off. I'm anxious, although lately I've been really good with things, so I was anxious that I would be anxious. I get most anxious about health stuff. But, I was good the whole time leading up to surgery. Like, not once did I even get butterflies in my stomach.
There was a time that morning Monday morning that my "allergies acted up", but it's a very sweet story. We were borrowing a knee scooter from my aunt, and were planning the pick-up the couple days prior to the surgery. The final plan was that while I was in pre-op Steve would swing by my Aunt's work and get it. That Monday morning, as I was sitting (drinking and eating nothing) at the island I got a text from my aunt. She wished me well, and had a story to share...
The previous day she was using the leaf blower in her garage. As she passed over a tote full of pictures, one came flying out...just one...a picture of me and my mom when we were on a cruise in Alaska in 1999.
My aunt told me that she knew my mom was with me.
I cried for a good while. Got it all out. It was very sweet and wonderful and perfect. Even at 41-years-old, you still want your mom. If she was still with us, I know she would have been up helping out. But, I'm sure she had a nice conversation with the Big Man upstairs regarding my surgery, which comforts me.
The surgery went well. I walked myself to the operating room with the help of a lovely nurse. I didn't have my contacts or glasses on, so everything was blurry. When I walked into the operating room itself, I saw many black (scrubs) fuzzy blobs. I greeted everyone. The nurse anesthetists and anesthesiologist were my main talking people. The nurse was asking how it happened. I find that everyone is asking me that question. I always respond with the desire for some sexy story, but alas it was just a suburban, coffee-drinking, mom at a cross country meet story. Side note, the typical Achilles tear happens to a middle-aged male weekend warrior type. I certainly don't fit that profile. The nurse is a runner himself, so he was asking other running questions. Then we got to talking about Brooks versus Hoka. And then I could feel it come over me...
..."so this is how it happens..." and I was out. They did a great job distracting me while I was going under. Well done!
My mind woke up before my eyelids. My lip hurt. I opened my eyelids, and a very sweet nurse took care of me. I had the very typical after surgery feel: sore throat, weird taste of my mouth, dry mouth, dry nose, thirst. And my lip! It was good and fat. And my right breast hurt. Since I was face down for the surgery, I'm sure my face and body took a beating.
After x time, I was feeling good and it was time to leave. We got home a bit after the kids got home from school. They greeted us in the driveway. So sweet!
That night I was feeling really good. Well, sore throat, fat lip, and boob aside. I had a nerve block that was wonderful.
The next two days were rough. But manageable. I hit a low on Thursday when the pain from the surgery wore off, and the frustration began with my foot being stuck in the position in the splint. My foot was swollen and I could feel that it was tight and stuck in the splint. I was in tears, and even made two calls into the nurse. She told me that "everything was coming alive" and it sure was! One oxy later, and I calmed down. Friday was a better day.
...and that is how I gauge my progress, every day is better than the day before.
I go back on Tuesday to the doctor. They'll take out the stitches, and put me in a cast or boot. I'm voting cast. I need three weeks total of non-weight bearing and the boot is just heavy and clunky. I figure the cast will have better mobility. PT doesn't start for 3 months, so after the first of the year. It's hard for me to keep up with the timeline beyond the next step. I know the above are the broadstrokes, and that I'll have lots of little steps along the way.
All in all, my spirits are good. My overall attitude to this injury has been, "the universe puts you at the exact place you're supposed to be, at the exact time you're supposed to be there." Kismet. There was some reason this happened. I need to trust the journey. Maybe it's because I needed to slow down. Maybe it's because the kids needed to learn more independence. Maybe it's because I needed to finish editing my book. Which I did!! Now, I just need to find an agent!
Steve has been great. Truly. From running up that hill, worry in his eyes, and then carrying me to the car. To bringing me breakfast, lunch, and dinner. To keeping up with the kids. And dogs. And house. He's great. "Through sickness and health," am I right? So far, Steve has executed his marriage vows very nicely.
Steve's been home since this has happened, and will be for the next couple weeks. He had to borrow a couple vacation days from next year, but he's also using an incredibly perfectly timed vacation. Last year at this time, we were sailing the Royal Caribbean seas, which is where I would rather be. We didn't have anything big planned this October, but rather we had smaller things in mind. Perhaps Cancun, or Paris, or NYC to visit my sister. But, plans have changed. We'll be at home. That's okay. We're going away for Spring Break, so that trip will be all that much sweeter.
Mind if I get preachy for a minute? Let's talk body movement. Obviously my body is compromised right now, and the struggle is real. It started with muscle soreness in my arms and back from the crutches. Now I'm struggling with this dead weight at the bottom of my leg. Don't take your body for granted. If you are able to move, do it! When it comes to something as simple as walking the dogs, embrace it. What I would give to walk up the stairs, or to shower standing up. Hell, even to put two feet on the floor when using the toilet. Appreciate the body you have. Don't take it for granted. Don't abuse it.
And to further that point, exercise your body. When I was putting my entire body weight on those crutches, my arms were weak. When I was getting up and down the stairs one step at a time on my butt, and getting myself up from the floor entirely on the strength of my left leg in some sort of modified deadlift something-or-another, and the single hop up and down the step from our kitchen into our family room, I can feel it. I know my legs are strong, but I feel the weakness in my arms. Don't neglect your body! It's an amazing machine, that should be worked.
And that's the most ironic thing about this all...I finally started working out again. Anxiety kept me from working out properly the last number of years. Dog walking and a yoga session here and there weren't enough to keep my body in shape. So, I decided to take advantage of the 30 minutes I had before work. I started running on the treadmill at work. And here I am now...
I've thought about exercise a lot these last couple weeks. And I think when it's time to get back in the saddle, I'll be doing lots of yoga. I feel I'll be baby-ing my Achilles (both of them) for a good while, and yoga would be great for that. And yoga will give me the strength I feel like I'm missing. I do want to make the excuse that my long ass arms make it harder for upper body strength, but enough with excuses.
As I mentioned above, the universe has put me at the exact place I need to be, at the exact time I need to be here. I'm always a glass is half full type of person, and this is no exception. I'm trusting the journey.
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