Much anticipated, was going to get my 'all clear' for running. My previous check up in October had been stellar, bone graft was setting well. Yet, something happened in November that niggled at the back of my mind. About 3 weeks ago, I snapped at the opportunity to go to Atlanta and be trained by an Olympic pentathlon coach. From 8 AM to 3 PM, hours of swimming, fencing and pistol shooting. No running, nothing I hadn't been cleared to do, I swear! The next day, something didn't feel quite right, I choked it up to burgeoning arthritis.
Been biking mile after mile on it every day to exercise the hell hounds and figured I'd simply have to learn how to ignore this new arthritis pain.
On Sunday, my attempt to spread 500 pounds of fertilizer for the sprouting wheat in the horse pastures came to a dramatic halt almost immediately when the bottom plate fell out of the hopper. With rain expected overnight and unable to move the tractor, I came up with Plan B: borrow a neighbor's spreader. Albeit smaller than I had hoped, but effective.
Instead of crop circles, we will soon have bright green lines running amok that only Picasso could be proud of. But, the hopper was eventually emptied and spread by hand and I got my cardio!
Never say die.
Even got to use the arena lights to shine on the remaining acres to finish up the job, AND had an irate husband show up in pyjamas asking if "I was planning on coming home tonight, or not".
So, on Monday, when I told the surgeon how annoyed my foot was after miles of fertilizing the previous day, he just blinked at me. X-rays show the pins are broken, thus as is my foot. Then said "we're putting in a plate". @$!&? Yes, the whole ordeal starts again... next Tuesday.
I'm deflated, deeply disappointed I still can't run, angry and anxious because it had been a very painful surgery and post op period. I distinctly remember saying "glad I don't ever have to do that again". Sure they prescribe pain meds, but I refuse to sully my body with them nor taint my house with their presence. This is me at my most militant. This will be surgery 13 or 14, losing count now, but I've only used opioids once after my first surgery and they're not for me. I'd rather have searing pain than have my brain dulled into seeing pretty pink balloons. As a precaution for my heart, we're going the route of local block versus general anesthesia. That was a uniquely painful experience I'd hoped to never revisit.
Enough of the pity party, I have to amp myself up to get all my work done in one week rather than two. And I have the uphill battle to convince The Husband that we can still go on our honeymoon.
Just booked everything this weekend.
Cabana in the mountains on a coffee plantation.
Isolated in El Salvador for 4 days, what's he squawking about? I do not know.
Yes, El Salvador, I know, I know, in the top 10 most dangerous countries in the world. We live in a country where people get mowed down in schools and theaters, it's all relative. The plantation owner assures me their 3 Rottweilers keep everyone out.
You can take me off the farm, but I'll just find another one to hide in!!!
And yes, you can feel sorry for Flynn, but not too much. He'll get all the fun of driving the rental car in a third world country, not me with my cast.
I think next December we should check out flights to Ethiopia. And I get to drive!
