Tuesday, March 26, 2013


I'm not talking running streaks today. Those are puzzling to me, though they do show how compulsive a person can be. The more I give up on running, the more ridiculous it all seems to me, and yet I am familiar with that crazy drive. It has just escaped me lately. Sometimes I wonder if it was all one big waste of time, as I sit and binge on House of Cards episodes.

I'm in a hole. Shit luck, bad losing streak or whatever you want to call it, I'm getting tired of "fighting", which means I'm just plain tired. If I could sleep the rest of my days, I don't think I would mind all that much. Of course, when you feel cruddy, being positive isn't all that easy, and it has been one hell of a winter/spring.

I mentioned that I was sick for two months with some kind of monster flu/virus/cold, but that was just the tip of the mountain of ice. In short, things suck right now, but I suppose being on the mend is better than where I was two days ago.

God, my let foot has been a disaster since that stress fracture led me to the idiot who gave me the cortisone shots. I've forgotten what it's like to even walk normally. Allow me to rant a little bit, because I have been through hell. With me, it seems it can never be something minor; it has to be an all-out catastrophe, though it has been pointed out to me that I'm "lucky" to still have a foot at this point. The worst way to try to make someone feel better is to point out that it could be worse. "Oh, you just slammed your hand in the car door? At least it wasn't your head." Yeah, works great. I'm sure the guy squirming and yelping with the mashed hand feels a ton better now.

The story...

After the surgery, my foot was hurting. That seemed normal, right? Maybe not. I get so used to feeling shitty that it becomes hard to tell what's normal pain and what requires more attention. The doctor checked how the foot was healing a week ago Monday, and it looked pretty good. It was looking better, and the stitches were supposed to come out the following week. For two days, nothing much changed, but by the third day I was limping more. I assumed the discomfort was from the rubbing my shoe was doing, so I cut up an old pair of shoes, leaving as little friction against the side as possible. That didn't seem to help much. My foot ached and was too painful to run on, so I switched to the bike, doing mostly easy workouts. I'm VERY out of shape lately. What was concerning was this low-grade fever that I couldn't seem to shake.

I struggled through the rest of the week, and when I woke up on Sunday, I knew something wasn't right. In addition to my foot being extra swollen, it was also bright red. Infection. It was obvious, so I called my doctor on his cell phone. Man, I hate bothering people, even when I know it's the right thing to do. He was super nice about everything and called in some oral antibiotics. Before work, I took a double dose, as he suggested. Somehow I managed to get through the day, but when I got home, the foot was worse. My mood wasn't helped when, on my way home, some out of control asshole tried to cut me off and then started yelling at me, flipping me off in the process. He wanted to make an extra wide turn in a double turn lane, forgetting that there are other people on the road. The situation escalated when I didn't respond to his monkey-like gestures, so he cut me off and slammed on his brakes. I'm not sure how I avoided the accident, but I did and laid all my anger out on my horn. Some people really are complete holes and need to be medicated.

Back to my foot...

Well, the thing looked awful. It got to the point where I couldn't really put my weight on it. It looked like an over-stuffed burrito, just ready to burst at the seams. And it was an angry pink, the scars stretched and raised up against the pressure building inside. I called the doctor again, and he told me to get to the hospital. Had I known what was in store, I'm not so sure I would have gone so willingly, but it needed to be done.

(If you're eating, you might want to set your Fruit Loops aside at this point)

People tell me that I have a high pain tolerance. I think at times that's true, but prolonged pain reduces me to a wimp. When the ER doc told me she was going to have to open the wound a little, I knew it wouldn't be pleasant. When she looked at me and told me flat out that it was going to hurt, my stomach felt queasy. It already hurt, so the thought of anyone even touching my foot made me cringe. The last time I was told not this is going to hurt a little bit or this is going to hurt for a short time, but simply this is going to hurt, I was in the ER after severing a tendon in my hand. The doctor had to give me several shots around the base of my thumb, and I was told to breathe through the pain, which I did. While that was bad, it was NOTHING compared to what I went through with the inflamed foot. Holy shit. This was a bloody red, supreme kind of pain, the kind that makes you whimper and beg for it to stop in your head. At one point, I think I yelped, but it didn't stop her from poking that needle around in the wound, jabbing it up and down and then left and right. Before it was even numb, she started squeezing out the puss, which, mixed with a bit of blood, oozed down my foot in a thin line. After that and a good cry, I felt at least a little bit better.

I was put on an IV and given antibiotics. I was worn out, but my foot was achy and throbbing, too irritated to allow me any rest. It took about an hour and a half to administer the medication. I got to listen to a flock of kids who brought their friend to the ER after he had been yarfing, probably due to some kind of flu. I started to feel very alone, but not necessarily lonely, more just sad about my own situation. No pain meds when driving, so I was sent home with 4 Percocet. I took one and passed out for a long time in my cozy little bed.

So, I haven't been exercising, and I can't say I give much of a crap at this point. Maybe I will start to care when I realize how grossly out of shape I have become, but for now, all I want is for this fever to go away. I'm on one of the most powerful oral antibiotics out there, so the infection should clear up soon. I have one more draining to do today, and hopefully that will be the last of those things. The stitches are all out now, and the swelling is down too, though my ankle still hidden under the puffiness.

So yeah, shit luck. Some years are worse than others.

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