Hot and Cold

I'm still wearing my fashion-statement boot and sporting crutches.  If you don't know what this is all about, you can read the whole story here.  My ankle is taking longer to heal than either I or my doctor anticipated.  

In addition to physical therapy, which hasn't started yet, he asked me to do "hot and cold." This is a form of medieval torture.

It starts with two buckets of water, one hot and one cold.  I mean REALLY hot and ICE cold.  Pretend you are water boarding your foot and plunge it first into the hot water.

Keep it in there for 3 minutes as you watch it turn a beautiful shade of hot pink.  Then the real fun begins.  Plunge your foot into the bucket of ice water.

This is an entirely new level of pain.  Cramping, to be more precise.  Kent was timing my 3 minute intervals and I asked if it was almost over 30 seconds in.  Yes, it was time for mind over matter, except I did mind and it definitely mattered.

Finally, the torture ended after one minute.  Wait, no, it continued for 3 more CYCLES of 30 second intervals in each bucket.  Yikes!

Seriously, I have to admit that it does get the blood flowing through my foot.  I think that promotes healing (at least that's what the doctor said).  If it means I can get out of the boot sooner, I'm all for that.

Next form of torture - physical therapy manipulation.  Stay tuned.

cindy

No Good Doggone Deed Goes Unpunished

I have a soft spot for dogs.  I especially have a thing for dogs who are in the wrong places.   When I was 4, I spotted the neighbor's puppy in our backyard.  I bolted for the back door and ran my entire left forearm through the glass door.  Twenty five stitches later, I think the puppy found its way back to its yard.

On Tuesday my kids and I noticed a dog in the street in front of our house as we left for the day.  I opened the car door and an English setter jumped in on my lap.  We went door to door on our block looking for the dog's owners.  Leaving one of the houses, I missed the single step off their porch.  My right foot twisted and I went down hard on my left knee.  OUCH!

7 hours and a lot of crazy limping later, I went to urgent care.  I came home with crutches, a short boot, and hydrocodone.  The diagnosis was an acute sprain and a fracture of my fifth metatarsal, although it was not clear that the broken bone was caused by the fall.

On the drive back home, I found good news - fliers all over the neighborhood looking for our furry house guest.  I called the number on the flyer and SURPRISE!  The dog belonged to our new neighbors ACROSS THE STREET.  The dog, Beau, jumped the fence minutes before we found him.  They were frantically looking for Beau all day, and he was enjoying a play date with my dogs in the backyard pool.  I felt bad for them worrying, and they felt bad about my foot.

After visiting the orthopedic surgeon the next day, I had a revised diagnosis - ligament tearing but no broken bones, just a bone spur.  I also had a bigger boot to wear with my crutches.

{SIGH}

Here's what I learned:

1.  Watch where you step
2.  Introduce yourself to new neighbors
3.  Leave the dog in the street.

cindy