This is the last week before I have surgery on my peroneal brevis and peroneal longus tendons in my right ankle and foot a week from Thursday. I am not allowed to take any over the counter anti-inflammatories this whole week, so I'm going to be in a bit of pain. It'll be me and the ice pack hanging out on the sofa with my foot elevated -- a lot. It'll be good practice for the stupid amount of pain I'll be in when my foot swells up to the size of a basketball post surgery. Dr. Google sucks for things like this. Yes, I know what to expect, but I'm really not looking forward to the first week or so post surgery. I did, however, drop off the prescription for seven days worth of pain pills at the pharmacy today.
The rule is, and I promised my soul to Dr. Kluesner that I wouldn't break it, is that for two weeks, my foot is to be elevated above my heart except 1) when I go to the bathroom, 2) when I go to take a shower and 3) when I'm in the car going to my post operative appointments. So, I'll be stranded in my basement for two weeks. If you want to come on over and watch some TV with me or chat, feel free. We'll be in the pet-free, kid-free basement, which will be like my own private apartment until I'm off of crutches, which will be at least 4 1/2 weeks after the surgery. (4 days with a splint, 2 weeks in first hard cast, then suture removal and then 2 more weeks in another hard cast, followed by an air cast -- which I may or may not be able to stumble around in, it depends on the healing.)
But I'm kind of excited and -- dare I write it -- hopeful. Will this surgery finally end the 16-month ordeal? I mean, I can't even call it "the broken foot 2012" because it spilled over into a two-year period.
But I am also very nervous. Going into surgery is a bit like having to hire a lawyer. You always feel like you're in deep doo doo when you have to use their services.
On the other hand, it means I'm probably 97-ish days from getting in a running shoe again and maybe actually running (very slowly with lots of intervals). And holy cow have I missed that hour. Walking, though I like that alone time, just doesn't get the chemical rush in the brain that running does.
Plus, X-man has picked up a bit of the running bug lately. His favorite times to run are a) when he's having a squirt gun fight or b) when he sees striped carpets. (No lie!)
I bought new hallway rugs from Amazon.com last week. They're long and striped and cover the hardwood floor on our second floor. As soon as I got them in place, X-man started sprinting up and down the hallway between his bathroom and our bedroom.
Yesterday, while I was getting dressed for my Library Board meeting, X-man ran up and down the hall four times. After the fourth time, he pumped his fist in the air and said, "Yeah! I did it!"
My kid doesn't wear a watch, so he wasn't worried about time. I wanted to ask what he was celebrating, because it probably comes with some bit of enlightenment like, "I out ran a bear!", but I didn't want to ruin the moment with my stupid questions.
Let's see if he's as excited about running the 3k at school on Sept. 22nd. Last year they offered a 1k for kindergarteners and first graders, so he might decide to stay with his own age group, particularly since he did pretty okay in the standings among little people. Mostly, I just want him to enjoy the running and give a crap about the times. But that took me until I was injured to really understand, so you know, he's got 30 more years to "get" that lesson.
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