After four weeks of wearing this five pound contraption on my left foot (and let me tell you, the calf muscles on my left leg are GREAT!), it’s finally gone. And honestly, I’d do a happy dance if I could.

But today I had more x-rays before I got my pardon and I had the forethought to capture my bones for your viewing pleasure. Also, I have a weird fascination with x-rays.

This x-ray shows you my fracture on the day of the ‘incident’ as it’s currently being called. If you look above the mouse pointer, you’ll see the small crack in the fourth metatarsal. If only my grandmother, a former nurse, could see how I correctly used my limited knowledge of the skeletal system.

And today’s x-ray! It looks 10 times worse than the previous because the crack looks wider and it appears that I did more damage to myself since the original ‘incident’. But that’s the wrong line of thought. Because I don’t have the real x-ray image (these were captured with my iPhone), you’d see that there is new bone in the crevice. Also, I’m standing in the second x-ray because I can actually put weight on my foot again – that first x-ray, I was in a small amount of pain. There was no standing.

So, now you’ve had a bit of anatomy fun with Nutcase, I won’t scare you with the ugly (but comfortable) footwear that I’ll be wearing for the next six weeks.

One takes shoes for granted until you lug around a five pound boot that doesn’t fit comfortably for the foot it supposed to help heal and squeezes my leg constantly. Even when I get permission to wear shoes, they aren’t the cute sandals that my tootsies long for – oh no.

Sandals (and the pedicures that go along with) that’s not until May, eight weeks after the event because I have to wear supportive foot gear. And supportive sandals are NOT pretty.

Of course, it wasn’t on purpose. And I won’t go into boring detail but I wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary when the event occurred. Alright, got the boring stuff out of the way.

But the one thing that I’ve learned about having a broken foot, is that bathroom stuff SUCKS! Especially on crutches. Yes, I know that you’re shocked that being handicapped isn’t a breeze. The worse is taking a shower. Stepping requires a full strategic plan from what foot goes where and how to use a crutch to support your body weight. Then the important events of shaving your legs are out the window because you can’t put your weight on the foot with the broken bone. Stupid broken bone, getting in the way of smooth calves. I guess I’ll start the ‘be like Mo’Nique, hairy leg freak’. (And if for some reason Mo’Nique reads this – covering all bases – I love you girlfriend and your new husband Oscar!)

Because my foot was the target, I decided that I was going to try to balance as much as possible on the good foot while trying to shampoo, condition, scrub, exfoliate, and rinse. Guess what I found out? I don’t have much of sense of balance at all. But I think you all figured that out when I told you that I broke my foot. Thankfully, B was nearby in case I needed because after getting out of the shower, which required hurdle/tub jumping (I’m so ready for the 2012 games!), he helped me put on my pants. I’d go with skirts because they don’t require leg shimmying but please see last line of previous paragraph. I’m not that bold yet to show my new leg beards off.

So, now we’re all up-to-date. Tomorrow, I find out how bad the damage truly is to the metatarsal and determine if surgery is needed. We’re going with ‘please no surgery, I’ll be good and where the boot’ begging stance when I see the doctor. Until next time.

There are points where you think you’re emotionally okay and then life places an emotional glass window in front of you and you walk right into it. It hurts physically because you walked into it with full force, emotionally because you didn’t see it coming and then everything inside lingers.

Yesterday, I took a simple photo of Lola hiding under an afghan on the couch because it was cold in the apartment and she wanted some warmth.

The picture doesn’t really capture the adorableness of the moment but B and I wanted to remember her trying to find a spot to cover up, because her fur coat wasn’t cutting it.

That’s when I walked into the emotional glass window.

It was the afghan that triggered the whole thing because I thought I should really email Grandma this photo, she’d love it. She made the afghan and should see that we use it and that our pets enjoy wrapping up in it. But, I can’t. She won’t receive it. At least not on any PC on this planet.

Then I thought maybe I should put the afghan away so that it would be saved forever and ever. It was a ludicrous thought, then I wouldn’t be able to wrap up in something that was crafted with her hands and made with so much love.

And I know that’s why she made it because even though she isn’t here to give me a hug, she gave it to me in the way of fibers twisted together to make yarn and then bound together by a Grandmother that loved me very much. That’s the part of the emotions from my glass window that lingers on.

The afghan won’t go into hiding because there are still going to be moments of when I find that birthday card she sent or another momento, that I’ll need it for a hug that no one on earth can provide.

Yes, you’re currently standing in the middle of a hurricane where all you see blowing around you are things to get done, people to please, people to worry about, and time passing you by with memories of life being swept up, making you feel like the tornado is carrying you away with it. The memories can be comforting, reminding you of easier times but they can also be the parts of life that made you stronger because the situations weren’t good but you survived and excelled.

And those times when the hurt of the memories or the thinking about the hard times that are about to come in life, you’re in the middle, in the calm now. Wait and be still until you have to be swept away. And when this passes, life will be different but it’ll be better because you’ll be enriched by all the experiences you’ve gained. And just like after every storm, you’ll pick up the pieces, rebuild and live life in a new, different way.

Love,

The voice inside your head.

Now, he got to take valium before the surgery so that he’d be nice and calm. Unfortunately, the pharmacist gave him the wrong dosage, 2 mg instead of 10 mg. He didn’t get to experience full loopyness, only partial. Which kind of made me sad as well because I had the video camera ready and waiting to record all the fun times. So, my lovelies, you should be sad as well, because we could’ve had some great viewing together.

After the surgery he’s on the all mighty vicodin. And let me tell you, they gave him the GOOD SHIT. B has felt no pain since coming home yesterday and was able to sleep through the night. And today, he’s a big strong, tough man who doesn’t need drugs and can take the pain. The pain that our wallet took yesterday, well that’s going to last a whole lot longer.

But, until that whole exercise thing starts working, you need to stop being a bitch and hanging out with insomnia. Insomnia is a bad dude that’s only using you to get to me. He doesn’t want you lower back, he wants to make me miserable by telling you look pretty and that you should act out like a 13 year-old girl tying to impress the hot Senior on campus. Stop it. You’re much more than that.

Now, I love you but get back in line and stand straight and pain free spine. And, hips, you’re next so you better be reading this as well.

Regards,

The owner of the body.

So, Alfred found all of the muscles in my body that had been giving me shit since December and decided to lay the smackdown. When we were done, I felt like a million bucks because my body had been told what’s what and that I should have some muscular peace for a while.

That peace lasted until I was at Michael’s buying some necessary items for an upcoming baby shower (I’m definitely writing about that later), when the muscles in my spine and thighs realized that Alfred wasn’t around. They could be utter and total bitches to me again. Now, I know this is simply the muscle reaction to the massage and it lined up with another dose of medicine being due as well.

I am home and all muscles in thighs are on strike and I had to hobble to the computer to type this.  If you need me, I’ll be on the couch with a heating pad, aspercreme (if I’m going to hobble, I should smell like I hobble) and B rubbing my feet.

We both LOVE New Orleans: the charm, history, ghosts, food, people, etc.. And, I love it so much that I was kissing the pavement not once but twice on our two trips. I kept my falling to one per trip but I did do both tumbles on the same street, you know for consistencies sake.

The last fall was the most spectacular. I had just pulled up to the hotel because I had driven the leg from Florida to NOLA. The valet opened my car door and I went to exit my vehicle. A dangerous maneuver that I had successfully completed hundreds of times. Actually, I was batting a 1000 on graceful car exits.

I knew that I was going to bite it when I felt the shoelace to my sneaker become ensnared in some bolt, contraption, OH WHO THE HELL KNOWS on something between the seat and frame of my car. And as oncoming traffic sat at the nearby light and tourists walked by, I said a very personal hello to the asphalt of Poydras Street.

Poor B thought his wife was going to be car fodder but I was smart enough to roll towards the wheels so that oncoming traffic wouldn’t get Nutcase all over their tires. Yes, people, I was almost Louisiana Road Kill. Out of nowhere there was a swarm of people around me, all wanting to help. Thankfully, I was helped up and brushed myself off. Nothing was broken.

Once in the hotel room, I examined the damage. Without tearing or getting blood on my clothing, I was able skin up my knees and elbow better than most kindergartners. Also, I have a couple of good size goose eggs on my shins – I thought you could only get those things on your noggin, boy was I wrong. My body is no longer a glaring shade of white, that I had been so proud of, now I’m various hues of purple, black and blue. My body is now a lovely shade of bruised.

Now that it’s a day later and my body has fully reacted to my grace, my arms and legs are stiff from catching myself. I am INCREDIBLY grateful to my cache of drugs and I’m sure my doctor is going to be thrilled over my latest escaped.

And with that I’ll sign off because I’m pooped, strained, sprained, swollen and a whole lot of sore.

Okay, so B and I created that hell and we kept adding to the coffers by putting more and more shit in there. And, it’s less than two weeks until my parents get here. He knew the task at hand and, ladies, let me tell you, he kicked cleaning ass.

Now, we all know about my back. Anyone who doesn’t simply look for all posts tagged “Pain” and proceed from there. And, yesterday was a bad back day. REALLY bad. To the point that hips, legs and knees were all on strike. We both started out looking at what the room had become and wondering where to start. And then I had to sit.

But, B. Oh, wonderful, fabulous, glad-that-I-get-to-smooch-you-whenever-I-want B kept cleaning. He got all of the junk out and took it to the dumpster. Moved not one but two set of shelves. One being the set that we keep all of my cookware, kitchen necessities on. Set up the television and got the cable working on it (it’s a really old, finicky set that will be crotchety if not loved when set up for cable).

And, then…the best part.

He VACUUMED!!!!!

*swoon*

Anyone who knows me and has spoken to me about housekeeping, I hate vacuuming. With a passion. I hate the vibrations that go through your body when you turn the machine on. When something that shouldn’t be on floor gets sucked up in the canister (mostly because I didn’t want to bend over and pick it up) and then you have to get said item out of the canister. (Because I was too damn lazy to pick it up off the floor and now I have to get my hands fucking dirty in dry dusty shit that makes me sneeze and this a really long run on sentence.)

Of course, I made sure my husband was well rewarded for his valiant efforts for taking on the fight against clutter and dirt. Oh yes, rewarded indeed. I let him sleep in.