Today I got to show off my "new" walking abilities to my dad when he picked me up for physical therapy. I can now walk about 5-10 feet, with the help of a walker; it aches a bit, but my stride is getting a bit more natural. He said that it's good to see me back on my feet, even if it's only for a couple of steps at a time.
Meanwhile, I had another intense PT session today. My regular therapist was there and was upset when I told her about Saturday's session; she says that they overworked me and that two hours was too much therapy for now. Still, the (presumably) "lighter" session she had me do today still kicked my butt. She put a 2-pound ankle weight on my foot and had me do various range of motion stretches, which were fairly easy. But then I had to stand and do exercises where I raised my bad leg and held it out to the side for 10 seconds ... and then raised my good leg and did the same. Ouch! Putting all of my weight onto my bad leg for these moves was hard, especially with the weight on my foot, but I'm glad that I'm being challenged. I was seriously huffing and puffing and sweating after these, which is kind of sad, given how simple they would've been without a broken leg (but I guess that's the point). I was up for doing some more exercises, but she called time on our session and warned me not to overdo things. Still, I'm pleased that I'm now able to ambulate a little and am getting back some balance. Though I was gripping the rail while I did these, I felt less of a need to than I did before and even let go for a second to see what it felt like.
I have to say, I really like having a set exercise plan in place, even if the moves are kind of lame (no pun intended) at the moment. It feels good to be moving and sweating and well, doing something. I also like that I'm kind of "forced" to do these exercises because if I don't, well, it'll compromise my recovery. Sticking with a workout program has always been an issue for me, despite exercising sporadically for years, but I don't really have a choice with this one -- which is a good thing.
I suppose I should regard my weight the same way: that I don't have a choice and I *have* to work out if I want to get healthy. It's more difficult though, I think, when the dangers and results aren't as urgent. I know intellectually that if I don't lose the weight I can die, but that's easy to ignore when I'm youngish and relatively healthy. It can also get frustrating when I don't see the results I want as quickly. Whereas with my leg, I'm already seeing drastic results so it's a little more motivating. Right now, however, getting up and moving is only going to help me with both of my problems, so it's win-win!
My goal right now is a small one and it's to be able to walk the length of our hallway to the living room with the walker. This is about 30 feet -- not a terribly long distance on a normal day, but for me, it feels like a couple of miles right now. Once I conquer this, then maybe I will be able to get from room to room without the wheelchair or office chair and then I'll be on my way to being a fully functioning person once more.
Showing posts with label phsyical therapy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label phsyical therapy. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
All Hail The Warrior Queen
It's been two days since I've been back on my feet post broken leg, but today was the first day I did standing exercises in physical therapy. I'm proud to say that it went really, really well.
I explained to them that I wanted to be challenged and they didn't disappoint. My session ended up lasting more than two hours!
I'm really glad that I've been doing some standing exercises on my own for the past couple of days, so I wasn't too nervous when they asked me to get out of the wheelchair. However, I was a little hesitant when the therapists asked me to do my workout barefoot, explaining that I wouldn't be able to move as well with the AirCast. It really wasn't bad, though. I feared that without the brace, my ankle would be twisting all over the place and I'd break it again, but my leg felt surprisingly stable. Then again, I have plates and screws in it, so I have some extra support there.
Thanks to all of the practice I've had lifting myself in and out of chairs and cars and beds, etc., I was able to pull myself up out of my chair without help -- and the therapists were impressed. They then had me do 50 semi-squats, 50 shifts of weight from one foot to another and 60 marches in place. Those were the most difficult because whenever my good leg came up, all of my weight was on my bad leg. I had to take a couple of breaks during this exercise, but I managed to do 10 extra than they'd asked for.
One of the therapists, Dave, also had me do a bunch of resistance band exercises, which I really liked. He initially had me using a band that had the resistance of 1-2 pounds (the resistance comes from the thickness of the material; it's more "bendy" when the resistance is lower), but it was too easy for me and he gave me the next level up, 3-4 pounds. That was actually kind of easy for me, too, so I'm going to try the next level during my session on Tuesday. But he was pleased to see that I was doing so well and wasn't in too much pain -- and then called me a "warrior," which was cool. I think he appreciated having a patient who was willing to work hard and was enthusiastic about the process. I think it's the A-student in me; a teacher gives me an assignment and I want to do well.
It was frustrating how out of breath I was getting, though, even from just a few minutes of exercises. I don't know if it's because of my weight or because my leg is still so weak and I have to concentrate so hard to move it still. But I pushed through and got everything done. I'll continue to do the same workouts using that railing in our hallway (with Jon spotting me for safety).
One thing I like about these therapists is that they're encouraging, but not pushy to the point that you want to kill them. I never went for the whole drill sergeant thing with teachers or conductors or coaches. I'm just too thin-skinned. But these guys gave me a lot of positive reinforcement and kicked my ass in the process.
All of this is making me wonder if I should work with a personal trainer in the future. My big concern with a trainer is that many don't know how to deal with obese clients. From the few times I've dealt with them and from what I've heard of other overweight people who've worked with them, they tend to underestimate or overestimate their clients' abilities. Back in my beloved gym, I tried out a trainer, but he was too scared to challenge me; I think he was afraid I'd get a heart attack while using the elliptical or something, so I got bored and ended up working out on my own. However, I've also heard many stories of trainers telling obese people to run or do things that can hurt their knees and backs. I'm all for being pushed, but there are safety concerns that come with obesity. I can't even watch The Biggest Loser because my knees hurt just watching these seriously overweight people run on treadmills with the trainers barking at them. Some people go for that, I guess, but I wish we'd see a show where they demonstrated realistic exercises for obese people to do. Maybe I can come up with such a show in the future when I'm in shape.
Anyway, I digress, but it feels good to be back on a regular exercise program, even if my movements are limited for now. It was nice to be told that I'm doing a great job with something physical. After months of being unable to do a lot of stuff, this was just what I needed.
I explained to them that I wanted to be challenged and they didn't disappoint. My session ended up lasting more than two hours!
I'm really glad that I've been doing some standing exercises on my own for the past couple of days, so I wasn't too nervous when they asked me to get out of the wheelchair. However, I was a little hesitant when the therapists asked me to do my workout barefoot, explaining that I wouldn't be able to move as well with the AirCast. It really wasn't bad, though. I feared that without the brace, my ankle would be twisting all over the place and I'd break it again, but my leg felt surprisingly stable. Then again, I have plates and screws in it, so I have some extra support there.
Thanks to all of the practice I've had lifting myself in and out of chairs and cars and beds, etc., I was able to pull myself up out of my chair without help -- and the therapists were impressed. They then had me do 50 semi-squats, 50 shifts of weight from one foot to another and 60 marches in place. Those were the most difficult because whenever my good leg came up, all of my weight was on my bad leg. I had to take a couple of breaks during this exercise, but I managed to do 10 extra than they'd asked for.
One of the therapists, Dave, also had me do a bunch of resistance band exercises, which I really liked. He initially had me using a band that had the resistance of 1-2 pounds (the resistance comes from the thickness of the material; it's more "bendy" when the resistance is lower), but it was too easy for me and he gave me the next level up, 3-4 pounds. That was actually kind of easy for me, too, so I'm going to try the next level during my session on Tuesday. But he was pleased to see that I was doing so well and wasn't in too much pain -- and then called me a "warrior," which was cool. I think he appreciated having a patient who was willing to work hard and was enthusiastic about the process. I think it's the A-student in me; a teacher gives me an assignment and I want to do well.
It was frustrating how out of breath I was getting, though, even from just a few minutes of exercises. I don't know if it's because of my weight or because my leg is still so weak and I have to concentrate so hard to move it still. But I pushed through and got everything done. I'll continue to do the same workouts using that railing in our hallway (with Jon spotting me for safety).
One thing I like about these therapists is that they're encouraging, but not pushy to the point that you want to kill them. I never went for the whole drill sergeant thing with teachers or conductors or coaches. I'm just too thin-skinned. But these guys gave me a lot of positive reinforcement and kicked my ass in the process.
All of this is making me wonder if I should work with a personal trainer in the future. My big concern with a trainer is that many don't know how to deal with obese clients. From the few times I've dealt with them and from what I've heard of other overweight people who've worked with them, they tend to underestimate or overestimate their clients' abilities. Back in my beloved gym, I tried out a trainer, but he was too scared to challenge me; I think he was afraid I'd get a heart attack while using the elliptical or something, so I got bored and ended up working out on my own. However, I've also heard many stories of trainers telling obese people to run or do things that can hurt their knees and backs. I'm all for being pushed, but there are safety concerns that come with obesity. I can't even watch The Biggest Loser because my knees hurt just watching these seriously overweight people run on treadmills with the trainers barking at them. Some people go for that, I guess, but I wish we'd see a show where they demonstrated realistic exercises for obese people to do. Maybe I can come up with such a show in the future when I'm in shape.
Anyway, I digress, but it feels good to be back on a regular exercise program, even if my movements are limited for now. It was nice to be told that I'm doing a great job with something physical. After months of being unable to do a lot of stuff, this was just what I needed.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Let's Get Physical (Therapy)
Today was my first real day of physical therapy (as opposed to the last time, which was just a consulatation). It wasn't too bad, though the session lasted longer than I thought at 90 minutes. I didn't think that there would be much I could do since I'm still non-weight bearing, but the therapist, Abigail, really gave my foot a workout.
First, she had me put heat on it for 20 minutes and the massaged it for 10 (this was my favorite part). After, I had to move my foot in every way possible -- curl the toes, flex and point, rotate my ankle. None of these exercises hurt, but my foot felt very stiff and it was shaking a bit because it's still so weak. She then had me do some movements where I actually put my foot on the floor (while sitting) and THAT felt strange. She had me rest my toes on the floor while I did calf raises with my heel and then rest my heel on the floor while I raised my toes. The calf raises hurt! I wasn't in agony or anything, but my muscles were quite sore. This makes me even more nervous about what it will feel like when I actually stand on my foot again, but the therapist told me if I do these exercises twice a day, I'll build up my muscles and the swelling will go down. I sure as hell hope so. I'm not intending to half-ass anything, though. I'll do these exercises daily.
I also picked up a mini ultrasound machine that's supposed to help my fracture heal. I haven't used it yet so I don't know what it'll feel like, but I have to keep it on my leg for 20 minutes a day, as well. So between this and the therapy, a good chunk of my day is filled.
I'm grateful that I've had my parents to drive me around to these various appointments. I was afraid that we'd kill each other, because we tend to argue when we spend a lot of time together -- especially when I'm alone and without my husband -- but so far (knock on wood, knock on wood), it's been okay. They still annoy me; for instance, my dad refused to listen when I told him to back the wheelchair out at a certain point because this is how Jon does it ... and sure enough the chair got stuck. And he still keeps asking me questions about my medical history (have you seen this type of doctor? Why are you listed as being pre-diabetic -- what does that mean?) whenever my mom goes out for a cigarette (yeah, I get the irony, too). But I'm trying to keep my cool and not flip out at him, even though I wish he wouldn't ask me this stuff.
We actually had a very civil conversation today about my weight. He said that he saw an interview with Al Roker who'd shared that even though he'd gotten a gastric bypass, he'd gained weight back -- and that no matter how thin he got, he'd always be a fat person inside, kind of like an alcoholic always is an alcoholic, even if he's sober. I explained that yes, this is exactly how it is for me -- that I want to be thin and have succeeded before but it's just been so difficult for me to stay on track. That even though I know what to eat, that I'm often overtaken by a compulsion to binge, and that I have to think about every bite I eat. I also revealed that I've been speaking with a therapist about my eating disorder and my dad was happy to hear that. I think maybe he's beginning to understand how complex obesity and how me being fat doesn't mean that I'm lazy or "misbehaving" because I ate "bad" food. I think that maybe Roker's interview hit a nerve or something and he saw how even someone who went to great extremes to lose weight has had a difficult time fighting his food addiction.
This conversation was important to me because I feel as if my weight has created a barrier between my parents and me. When I began to gain in college, it understandably frustrated them, but I don't think they handled it well. They'd lecture me as if I were a naughty child, attempted to use negative reinforcement ("You'll never get a boyfriend, job, etc.") and actually threatened to take me out of school if I didn't lose. Then when I did lose a little, they'd remind me that I had more to go. When I was a bridesmaid in my friend's wedding, I looked GREAT and a lot of people complimented me -- but then my mom replied, "She still has to lose some more."
I get that they were concerned, but I wished that they'd taken a different approach. I don't think that they meant to make me feel badly about myself, but they did. Not only was I upset about gaining the weight, but now I was disappointing them, as well. That's what really got to me, that I let them down so much. The thing is, I TRIED to lose the weight, as I am now. But they didn't seem to understand that or understand how hard it was for me.
Eventually the pressure got to me and I just stopped coming home during holidays whenever it was possible for me to find another place to stay. During our long spring break, I went home with my now sister-in-law and spent Passover with my now in-laws (on a sidenote, this is how I got to know my husband). And during Thanksgiving of senior year, I chose to spend the weekend in our house by myself rather than come home. I lied that I had to do a shift at the newspaper where I was working at the time, but I just didn't feel like dealing with them. So while everyone else was enjoying Thanksgiving with their families, I was all by myself for four days. It sucked. But it was better than going home and getting in an argument.
These days, I have a decent relationship with my folks, but we don't see each other much. They travel often and I've made a point to only see them when Jon is with me to act as a buffer. I would like to be closer, though. I think that they could handle things better, but then again, I probably can, too.
Now that I'm older, I can see their side of things a little better. I'm not sure what I'd do if I had a daughter and she became obese as an adult. I don't know what I'd say or how I could help her without hurting her feelings. I guess I can see how it would be a tough thing to deal with. I don't think that my parents are bad people at all, but they (unintentionally) made ME feel like a bad person.
I think that there are too many bad memories tied in with my parents and my weight for me to ever fully let them in on my weight loss struggles; as of now, they don't know that I spent some time bingeing and purging. But if I can let them in at least a little, maybe we can find some peace.
First, she had me put heat on it for 20 minutes and the massaged it for 10 (this was my favorite part). After, I had to move my foot in every way possible -- curl the toes, flex and point, rotate my ankle. None of these exercises hurt, but my foot felt very stiff and it was shaking a bit because it's still so weak. She then had me do some movements where I actually put my foot on the floor (while sitting) and THAT felt strange. She had me rest my toes on the floor while I did calf raises with my heel and then rest my heel on the floor while I raised my toes. The calf raises hurt! I wasn't in agony or anything, but my muscles were quite sore. This makes me even more nervous about what it will feel like when I actually stand on my foot again, but the therapist told me if I do these exercises twice a day, I'll build up my muscles and the swelling will go down. I sure as hell hope so. I'm not intending to half-ass anything, though. I'll do these exercises daily.
I also picked up a mini ultrasound machine that's supposed to help my fracture heal. I haven't used it yet so I don't know what it'll feel like, but I have to keep it on my leg for 20 minutes a day, as well. So between this and the therapy, a good chunk of my day is filled.
I'm grateful that I've had my parents to drive me around to these various appointments. I was afraid that we'd kill each other, because we tend to argue when we spend a lot of time together -- especially when I'm alone and without my husband -- but so far (knock on wood, knock on wood), it's been okay. They still annoy me; for instance, my dad refused to listen when I told him to back the wheelchair out at a certain point because this is how Jon does it ... and sure enough the chair got stuck. And he still keeps asking me questions about my medical history (have you seen this type of doctor? Why are you listed as being pre-diabetic -- what does that mean?) whenever my mom goes out for a cigarette (yeah, I get the irony, too). But I'm trying to keep my cool and not flip out at him, even though I wish he wouldn't ask me this stuff.
We actually had a very civil conversation today about my weight. He said that he saw an interview with Al Roker who'd shared that even though he'd gotten a gastric bypass, he'd gained weight back -- and that no matter how thin he got, he'd always be a fat person inside, kind of like an alcoholic always is an alcoholic, even if he's sober. I explained that yes, this is exactly how it is for me -- that I want to be thin and have succeeded before but it's just been so difficult for me to stay on track. That even though I know what to eat, that I'm often overtaken by a compulsion to binge, and that I have to think about every bite I eat. I also revealed that I've been speaking with a therapist about my eating disorder and my dad was happy to hear that. I think maybe he's beginning to understand how complex obesity and how me being fat doesn't mean that I'm lazy or "misbehaving" because I ate "bad" food. I think that maybe Roker's interview hit a nerve or something and he saw how even someone who went to great extremes to lose weight has had a difficult time fighting his food addiction.
This conversation was important to me because I feel as if my weight has created a barrier between my parents and me. When I began to gain in college, it understandably frustrated them, but I don't think they handled it well. They'd lecture me as if I were a naughty child, attempted to use negative reinforcement ("You'll never get a boyfriend, job, etc.") and actually threatened to take me out of school if I didn't lose. Then when I did lose a little, they'd remind me that I had more to go. When I was a bridesmaid in my friend's wedding, I looked GREAT and a lot of people complimented me -- but then my mom replied, "She still has to lose some more."
I get that they were concerned, but I wished that they'd taken a different approach. I don't think that they meant to make me feel badly about myself, but they did. Not only was I upset about gaining the weight, but now I was disappointing them, as well. That's what really got to me, that I let them down so much. The thing is, I TRIED to lose the weight, as I am now. But they didn't seem to understand that or understand how hard it was for me.
Eventually the pressure got to me and I just stopped coming home during holidays whenever it was possible for me to find another place to stay. During our long spring break, I went home with my now sister-in-law and spent Passover with my now in-laws (on a sidenote, this is how I got to know my husband). And during Thanksgiving of senior year, I chose to spend the weekend in our house by myself rather than come home. I lied that I had to do a shift at the newspaper where I was working at the time, but I just didn't feel like dealing with them. So while everyone else was enjoying Thanksgiving with their families, I was all by myself for four days. It sucked. But it was better than going home and getting in an argument.
These days, I have a decent relationship with my folks, but we don't see each other much. They travel often and I've made a point to only see them when Jon is with me to act as a buffer. I would like to be closer, though. I think that they could handle things better, but then again, I probably can, too.
Now that I'm older, I can see their side of things a little better. I'm not sure what I'd do if I had a daughter and she became obese as an adult. I don't know what I'd say or how I could help her without hurting her feelings. I guess I can see how it would be a tough thing to deal with. I don't think that my parents are bad people at all, but they (unintentionally) made ME feel like a bad person.
I think that there are too many bad memories tied in with my parents and my weight for me to ever fully let them in on my weight loss struggles; as of now, they don't know that I spent some time bingeing and purging. But if I can let them in at least a little, maybe we can find some peace.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Foot Notes
Since I have good news, I figured I'd give my post a nice punny title -- foot notes, geddit? Ha ha.
Anyway, my foot is well, actually starting to look normal -- less like a chicken fetus and more like a regular body part. It's still swollen and a bit bruised, but it's no longer shriveled and the skin is returning to its normal hue. When I look at it, I no longer cringe in horror at its disgusting appearance.
Even better, it's getting easier to move it. The physical therapist gave me some very simple exercises to do each day: basically, I spend a few minutes moving the foot back and forth and then side to side. I've been able to move it back and forth for a while, but it hurts less when I do that. And I can finally move it side to side! The therapist had warned that I might not ever be able to fully move it in that direction, but I can move it side to side and rotate it at the ankle, which I think is better than he'd expected me to be able to do. It's very stiff and I have to concentrate hard when I do it, but it's possible. I was even able to keep it in time with my other foot when I was moving both side to side simultaneously in a rhythm.
I'm hoping and praying that this means that the fracture is finally healing and I'll be up on my feet again. I'm still nervous about what that's going to feel like, but let me tell you, I'm way more confident about standing for the first time on a normal-looking foot than that withered THING I saw at the orthopedist's office last week. I feel that while I may be sore that this foot will at least be able to support me.
I'm wondering how long it'll be, though, before I can walk without worrying that I'll break my bone again. We went out to dinner tonight at a restaurant that's across the street from where I fell and I cringed as I saw the spot. I'm guessing that I'll feel dread whenever I pass it for a long time to come. But will I be able to do the things I enjoy, like hiking or dancing, in the near future? I hope so.
I was telling a friend recently that I hope that I'll be able to run again. He wondered why when I never really ran in the first place. But it's the idea that I CAN if I want to. I don't want my possibilities taken away. And who knows, maybe if I get into good enough shape, I'll like running. I ran for a short period during the summer between 8th and 9th grade and I really enjoyed it. I'd get up early -- around 5 a.m. when it was still cool out -- and jog about two miles around my neighborhood. I loved how quiet and still it was at that hour and how I'd always be awake when the sun first came up. Unfortunately, I stopped when school started and I was overwhelmed with homework and other activities. But I've never forgotten how peaceful it felt to do those runs. Maybe I want that back. I don't miss much about my teen years, but I do miss that feeling of being slender and light enough on my feet that I could run for an extended period of time. I was never athletic and disliked gym, but I enjoyed running when there weren't gym teachers screaming at me to go faster.
For now, though, I'll take a reasonably decent-looking foot. I've been fighting for it these past few months and it's nice to see that it finally seems to be fighting back.
Anyway, my foot is well, actually starting to look normal -- less like a chicken fetus and more like a regular body part. It's still swollen and a bit bruised, but it's no longer shriveled and the skin is returning to its normal hue. When I look at it, I no longer cringe in horror at its disgusting appearance.
Even better, it's getting easier to move it. The physical therapist gave me some very simple exercises to do each day: basically, I spend a few minutes moving the foot back and forth and then side to side. I've been able to move it back and forth for a while, but it hurts less when I do that. And I can finally move it side to side! The therapist had warned that I might not ever be able to fully move it in that direction, but I can move it side to side and rotate it at the ankle, which I think is better than he'd expected me to be able to do. It's very stiff and I have to concentrate hard when I do it, but it's possible. I was even able to keep it in time with my other foot when I was moving both side to side simultaneously in a rhythm.
I'm hoping and praying that this means that the fracture is finally healing and I'll be up on my feet again. I'm still nervous about what that's going to feel like, but let me tell you, I'm way more confident about standing for the first time on a normal-looking foot than that withered THING I saw at the orthopedist's office last week. I feel that while I may be sore that this foot will at least be able to support me.
I'm wondering how long it'll be, though, before I can walk without worrying that I'll break my bone again. We went out to dinner tonight at a restaurant that's across the street from where I fell and I cringed as I saw the spot. I'm guessing that I'll feel dread whenever I pass it for a long time to come. But will I be able to do the things I enjoy, like hiking or dancing, in the near future? I hope so.
I was telling a friend recently that I hope that I'll be able to run again. He wondered why when I never really ran in the first place. But it's the idea that I CAN if I want to. I don't want my possibilities taken away. And who knows, maybe if I get into good enough shape, I'll like running. I ran for a short period during the summer between 8th and 9th grade and I really enjoyed it. I'd get up early -- around 5 a.m. when it was still cool out -- and jog about two miles around my neighborhood. I loved how quiet and still it was at that hour and how I'd always be awake when the sun first came up. Unfortunately, I stopped when school started and I was overwhelmed with homework and other activities. But I've never forgotten how peaceful it felt to do those runs. Maybe I want that back. I don't miss much about my teen years, but I do miss that feeling of being slender and light enough on my feet that I could run for an extended period of time. I was never athletic and disliked gym, but I enjoyed running when there weren't gym teachers screaming at me to go faster.
For now, though, I'll take a reasonably decent-looking foot. I've been fighting for it these past few months and it's nice to see that it finally seems to be fighting back.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Good News, Bad News
First the good news: my hard cast was removed today and I am now sporting an Air Cast, which looks a bit like a Storm Trooper boot. I'm also beginning physical therapy next week so that I can start regaining stength in my bad leg. My doctor says that it's healing well.
Unfortunately, it hasn't healed enough for me to start walking on it. The bone is still fractured, so I have to wait another three weeks. Damn.
This news, of course, messes up a lot of my plans. I'm going to need more time off from work, which I'm sure my boss will LOVE, and it means more work for Jon, who's been taking such good care of me. It also means three more weeks until I can stand on the scale again. So for any readers who've been keeping up with my "countdown," I'm afraid, it's kind of anticlimactic. Guess you'll have to tune in for Countdown, Part 2: Electric Boogaloo.
Meantime, I'll continue lifting weights, plus I'll now be getting my workouts at physical therapy. Not sure what they'll be able to have me do since I can't stand up -- I guess they'll have me stretch the foot or perhaps someone will manipulate it. My doctor is also having someone come by my place with this ultrasound machine that stimulates the bone growth. How high tech -- and weird! I wish they made something like that to destimulate fat. It would be sort of like liposuction, only instead of sucking out fat, you'd vibrate it and it would melt. If only...
At this point, I'm wondering if I ever really wil walk again, but since my leg IS improving, I guess I have to believe it. Still, I was feeling a little sad as I looked over some pics from the New Zealand trip that we took a few years ago. I was in decent shape at the time and was able to do quite a bit of hiking -- more than I'd anticipated. I hope that I'll be able to have another trip like that, if not in NZ than somewhere else.
My emotions have been all over the place during this journey. Some days, I'm fine and even happy and then there are days like today, where I'm a bit frustrated. All I want is to be healthy again -- in regards to my weight, my leg and my mental well-being.
Unfortunately, it hasn't healed enough for me to start walking on it. The bone is still fractured, so I have to wait another three weeks. Damn.
This news, of course, messes up a lot of my plans. I'm going to need more time off from work, which I'm sure my boss will LOVE, and it means more work for Jon, who's been taking such good care of me. It also means three more weeks until I can stand on the scale again. So for any readers who've been keeping up with my "countdown," I'm afraid, it's kind of anticlimactic. Guess you'll have to tune in for Countdown, Part 2: Electric Boogaloo.
Meantime, I'll continue lifting weights, plus I'll now be getting my workouts at physical therapy. Not sure what they'll be able to have me do since I can't stand up -- I guess they'll have me stretch the foot or perhaps someone will manipulate it. My doctor is also having someone come by my place with this ultrasound machine that stimulates the bone growth. How high tech -- and weird! I wish they made something like that to destimulate fat. It would be sort of like liposuction, only instead of sucking out fat, you'd vibrate it and it would melt. If only...
At this point, I'm wondering if I ever really wil walk again, but since my leg IS improving, I guess I have to believe it. Still, I was feeling a little sad as I looked over some pics from the New Zealand trip that we took a few years ago. I was in decent shape at the time and was able to do quite a bit of hiking -- more than I'd anticipated. I hope that I'll be able to have another trip like that, if not in NZ than somewhere else.
My emotions have been all over the place during this journey. Some days, I'm fine and even happy and then there are days like today, where I'm a bit frustrated. All I want is to be healthy again -- in regards to my weight, my leg and my mental well-being.
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