The Final Milestone

Guess what I wore Monday?

For, like, 13 hours, even.

Yep.

They might not be a pair of my favorite pointy-toe stillettos, but I feel like we're on the cusp of those and I'm willing to claim this as victory recovery.

My closet and I are so pleased.

Toe-tal Appreciation

Today is Cinco de Mayo. A day when Mexico celebrates victory over France. Well...I think that's the story. I never really got into history. For me, Cinco de Mayo is all about the opportunity to enjoy a margarita or two and gorge myself with queso.

Today is also a different sort of "Independence Day" for me. The pins are OUT!

I'm not going to lie. The removal of the pins was not exactly pleasant. OK...it hurt like hell. I had an equal number of people suggest that it would either be completely painless or hurt a lot. I went into it prepared for a lot of pain while really hoping that I wouldn't feel a thing. I'll spare you all the gory details and just say that it really hurt and I just might have let out a bit of a scream on the first one. Or maybe even a loud scream. And I'd like to think that's saying something because I've been forced to develop a pretty high tolerance for pain.

BUT...it's done! To mark this momentous occasion in my little life, I'd like to declare today to be NATIONAL TOE APPRECIATION DAY.

(I'm sure that Mexico doesn't mind sharing the day. It's probably a nice distraction from all that "we're the home of the swine flu" PR nightmare they're grappling with right now.)

To celebrate NTAD I'd like you to just stop and think about all the things your little piggies do for you that you daily take for granted. Here are my top 6 reasons that I love my toes:

1. They're pretty fundamental in the ability to walk, run and jump. Not to mention all that P90x and Jillian Michaels Shred mania that so many of you are suffering through enjoying lately.

2. They so willingly squeeze into all those beautiful shoes that line the shelves of my closet. Oh, pointy-toed stilettos, how I've missed you!

3. There would be no lovely walks on the beach and digging your toes blissfully in the sand if you didn't, you know, have toes to dig in.

4. Dipping your toes in the pool. Enough said.

5. Pedicures just wouldn't be the same. Those toenails are a canvas upon which I can enjoy my "Chick Flick Cherry" nail polish on a daily basis.

6. Two-stepping. I don't boot scoot a lot these days, bit I love knowing that, thanks to my toes, I can.

I know there are more reasons that I can't think of now, but six is a nice random number. Comment and tell me why YOU love your toes!

Oh...and there was a lot of discussion in my world about how exactly I would be "declawed." I was betting on an instrument that was in the family of fancy pliers. Turns out that it was actually a pair of fancy scissors instead. I took a photo for those of you who were morbidly curious (you know who you are).

I turned away as soon as I took this and didn't watch the actual removal.

Feeling it was, well, more than enough.

Foreshadowing and a Smidge of Redemption

I've got to admit that I'm pretty amused by the sharp spike in hits to the blog as folks flock here to see pictures of my very pathetic looking toes. I'm so happy that I can be the train wreck of the week. No, really...please allow my misfortune to entertain you. I'm a giver like that.

As people emailed me comments about the blog (and certainly about the toes!) I started looking back at some of my more recent posts. I was, to say the least, a bit disturbed by the amount of foreshadowing I came across. In this post I actually said, "it's definitely time to prove that I can enjoy an adventure that doesn't end with some sort of triage." Wow. Guess I let those words fly out of my mouth one SoCal trip too soon. There was another reference somewhere in there, too, about ER visits and how accident prone I am.

Perhaps there's a lesson here.

But despite all of the clear signs that Moose + Bike = BAD NEWS, I do have one tiny point of redemption. OK, redemption might be a stretch, but these days I've got to take what I can get.

I realized that I never did post pictures from my rock climbing afternoon in LA (3 weeks before bike riding in LA). So here you go...there IS, in fact proof that I can enjoy an adventure and not end up in the ER. At least once in while.

Yep......that's me...

...dangling from a rope on a big rock. Kind of high up there.

(At least for me).

And back safely on the ground where I'm sure I ought to stay.

(But am sure I won't)

Thanks, MDP, for taking me and getting me up and down without incident. I think I quietly mentioned at one point that you might ought to know that I'm a little bit accident prone...now you know what that means. And I can't wait to climb again!

"Toe"-tally Disgusting

Well, I don't get it, but apparently photos of my broken toes are in high demand. My original thought was that I would post a link to Flickr or something so you wouldn't see them unless you really wanted to, but I'd have to set up accounts and these days I just don't have that kind of time.

So if you don't want to see it...now is the time to leave the page. I'll try to add some space so you have to scroll down and aren't immediately assaulted by the lovely images. If that didn't work and you saw it anyway I apologize. But only sort of, because let's face it...I have to not only look at, but also feel it....and wrap my brain around the fact that there is metal protruding from my body. So. Completely. Disgusting. And bizarre.

I saw the doc yesterday and all is on the right track--the pins will be in for 4 more weeks (UGH!) and then I should be back to normal within a few weeks after that. The pain is very manageable and I'm SO grateful that they gave me this post op sciatic nerve block pump thingy that left my entire right leg numb for 3 days. I could still feel the toes some, but not nearly as much as if I'd hadn't essentially had an epidural in my leg. The pump thingy, by the way, also very bizarre. And my roommate deserves a medal of some sort for not only helping me get around when I had no feeling in my leg, but also for helping me pull the catheter out of my hip when the pump ran dry. That's a quite a story in and of itself, but I have the feeling that I've already crossed way over the TMI line and will have enough respect for us all to just leave it at that.

I genuinely feel like I lost a week of my life to the twighlight zone...who knew that two little toes could cause so much trouble?! HUGE thanks to Amy, Clare, Stephanie, Laura, Tracey, Liz and others who helped me out so much last week...I can't tell you how much I appreciate and love you guys!

OK...so without further ado...

Here's what it looked like the night before surgery:

Here's what I was able to see until yesterday morning:

And here's what I have to look at for the next month:

My co-workers have nicknamed me "The Claw." Nice. Apparently I am as prone to odd nicknames as I am to all the injuries.

Paging Prince Charming

Dear Prince Charming,

I still believe that you're out there somewhere and am excited for the day we actually get to meet and fall in love. I know those are going to be some good times. However, I'd like to request a bit of expediency in the process.

As I lie here on the couch with my foot propped in post-surgery recovery, pain pump releasing the numbing meds in five minute intervals, I am acutely aware of your absence. I have lovely friends who have been so helpful over the past few days--they are awesome and I love them very much.

I'm just saying, though, that it would be really great if you could go ahead and ride up, hitch your beautiful white horse to the front porch and ring the bell. Even in my current state I'll find away to let you in. And I promise that I generally look better than I do at the moment.

Don't misunderstand that I only want you around to be a nurse of sorts...not at all. I'm just thinking that these moments are part of the whole kit and kaboodle. I promise to do the same for you as needed. (Though I must say that I really hope you're not as accident prone as I am. I'm sure we have a lot in common, but maybe just not that nifty little trait).

OK. That's all. Hope to see you soon,
Mel

Not Exactly the "Spring Break" I Had in Mind...

OK, yes...I said I wanted to adopt the "Spring Break" mentality and went so far as to joke about my "rolling Spring Break" as I travelled a little and got to visit with other legitimate spring breakers over the past few weeks. I usually love a good dose of irony...but this is too much even for me.

Saturday morning I was hanging out with one of my best friends from college, Julie, where she lives in Redondo Beach. We took a couple of her beach cruisers (pretty much the kind of bike I had when I was 10...complete with the basket and cute little horn on it) down to Hermosa Beach for breakfast. The round trip was 4-ish miles and we were almost back to her house when I had a little mishap.

I'm still not completely sure what happened. I will admit that I haven't been on a bike in ages and was a little unsteady from the start. But I thought I had finally gotten into the groove by the time we were in the home stretch. I think I was shifting around in my seat a little to get comfortable--the bike was too tall for me and after 4 miles I was definitely feeling the effects of that. While I was shifting someone surprised me and I lost my balance and started to fall, so I kicked out my right foot to catch myself. I was next to a curb, and in a freak occurrence that would only happen to me, my foot somehow caught the curb on the way down.

I didn't even completely fall over, just stumbled a bit into the bushes. But when I looked down I knew there was a problem. I'll spare you the graphic details and will just say that I knew as soon as I saw my foot that one or two toes were broken. I guess I should mention that I--like every other Southern Californian out there on a cruiser--was wearing flip flops. Don't even bother to lecture me on this point...I get it.

All of this happened an hour before I needed to hop in the car and drive back to the OC to catch my two flights home. Let's just say it was a VERY long travel day topped off with a trip to the ER when I got back to Texas. They confirmed that I broke both the 4th and 5th toes on my right foot (the one that "had none" and the one that cried "wee, wee, wee all the way home").

This morning I followed up with an orthopaedic foot specialist and fully expected that he would just tell me to keep buddy taping them and was pretty shocked when he told me that while he hasn't operated on a toe in more than two years, he wants to do surgery tomorrow as the 4th will likely need a pin. Sigh.

So yes...I'm still "that" girl. You might think that knowing that I have a condition that creates a severe balance deficiency would make me feel better, but it doesn't. Well, you might really think that knowing that I have a condition that creates a severe balance deficiency would keep me off a bike to begin with. But while I might be the most accident prone person on the planet I just refuse to not do the things I enjoy for fear of getting hurt. But it would certainly help me out if I wasn't allergic to pain meds. That part actually makes me more than a little grumpy.

Before my very literal "rolling spring break" I did have a really great time. Here are a few pics of the fun.

Sunset at Huntington Beach:

Hanging out with Clay & Shawna in Anaheim:

Laguna Beach:

Sunset at Redondo Beach:

With Julie at Hermosa Beach (just before the accident):

I'll spare you the picture of my foot.

What Time is it Anyway??

I spent a lovely long weekend in LA with groovy people enjoying the gorgeous coastline, watching a myriad of interesting people enjoy the beach, and even got in a little rock climbing.

(For those of you who know me well that last bit probably filled you with terror and you're now expecting to hear about my experience at the ER. I'm happy to report that other than a few normal scrapes I came out unscathed. Well...there is a situation with my big toenail, but it's hardly worth mentioning...not to mention completely disgusting).

Daylight Saving Time came to visit while I was there and I just need to say that it's completely unacceptable for a time change to happen during vacation--at least if you're losing an hour. I will admit that we were still up and going strong at 2:00 AM local time and had a very hilarious (OK...probably more like pathetic) few minutes of trying to figure out what time it really was as half the clocks around us automatically adjusted for the change and we had those plus a few watches from other visitors from different time zones and were VERY confused.

I got home last night, and by that time I had completely forgotten that the time change ever happened, and so I didn't change my clock. So yes, I managed to be an hour late for work today. Nice.

I kept forgetting to take my camera or to take pictures while I was out there, so I don't have much to post. Others did, though, so after I get pictures of me managing to dangle from a rope on a rock without hurting myself, you better believe that I'll post the evidence. Because whatever time it is, it's definitely time to prove that I can enjoy an adventure that doesn't end with some sort of triage.

Public Humiliation of the Day

Oh, how things manage to "shape" our days in unexpected ways! Yesterday afternoon after work I headed over to the mall on my way home. There's a great salon in Austin (Tara's) that opened a little shop there last year, and while I would generally avoid salon services at the mall (yes, I'm a snob about things such as this...I already know that), I have been a faithful customer of this establishment for getting my brows threaded since they opened.


So I ran in for a much needed service and was completely bummed when I saw that the shop was closed while they were moving to a new location in the mall (is being next to Nordstrom really THAT much of a reason to close and relocate?). To cheer myself up I headed down to Old Navy to shop for cute, cheap scarves (it IS the year of the scarf, after all) and on my way I was startled to come across a kiosk that turned out to be Tara's temporary home. I'm not going to lie. It took me a moment to agree to have my brows threaded RIGHT THERE. Smack dab in the middle of the mall. This required sheer bravery. Public hair removal is not for the faint of heart. But I had a situation going on with the brows and they needed to be tamed. So I took a deep breath and hopped in the chair.

That gnawing sensation in the pit of my belly...you, know, the one I should have learned to listen to by now? Yeah...that's the one that I should have listened to last night. It started OK, then I realized that the conversation of the (very lovely) girls working on me wasn't merely chit chat, but instruction. That's right. Not only was I enduring the gaping stares and comments of passers-by, I was in the hands of...wait for it...a TRAINEE. Yeah. You can pretty much figure out how this is going to end.


I was paying very close attention to the tone and inflection of the conversation (actually a great distraction from my horror of being so on display) and it was all going well. Right brow done. A look in the mirror for approval. Perfect.

Then on to the left. Also seemed to all be going well. I'm still not quite sure what happened, but they finished up the left and then went BACK to the right. Now, I know that at this point I should have opened my mouth and asked, nay, DEMANDED to know what was going on. But I didn't. I think it's going to require some therapy to understand why I don't speak up in moments such as these. But I'm nice. I want to be respectful. I want to trust. And after all...it's just my FACE we're dealing with.

I assume she was just going to do a little touch up to even the two brows. And then I heard what I was fearing from the beginning. The one who was "supervising" gasped. Then, in horrified tones started to shout instructions to the "trainee". Panic sets in and I was seemingly paralyzed while more hair was being removed. Then...and I just love this...they give me a huge smile and hand me the mirror while gushing about how great I look.

Yeah...except about a quarter of the right brow is GONE. Right there between the pretzel stand and the bejeweled cell phone booth I was BROW SCALPED.

When the dust settled I was too deflated to even go scarf shopping. I instead made a beeline for Sephora to investigate brown pencil options.

Brow pencil? Check. Appointment for therapy? Forthcoming.

My Cabinet Overfloweth

So those of you who go to Mesa...do you remember when we had the Palm Sunday pancake party, oh, about two years ago? We got the DELICIOUS pancake batter pre-made from the good folks at Kerby Lane (who also gave us a great deal--Kerby Lane ROCKS!). Because Kerby Lane pancakes are generally regarded as the most delectable breakfast treat in all of Austin, it made sense at the time to take home some of the leftover batter and freeze it.

Yeah. Except that I have an established track record of letting leftovers go to waste. And that's if they're lucky enough to make into the fridge. The freezer? Forget about it. My freezer is the place where things go to never be seen again and subsequently die from frostbite. So this weekend when I decided that it was time to get rid of a casserole that my mom made for me almost three years ago after a surgery (I ate the other three--don't tell her I let one go to waste!), it seemed reasonable that I should also face the fact that I never made pancakes and toss the TWO containers of frozen batter.

So I decide to fill one side of the sink with warm water and drop in the containers to the let them defrost so I could pour it down the disposal. This was an excellent plan. Worked like a charm. But as I as eventually washed the remnants of batter down the drain I suddenly noticed that my foot was getting wet. I looked down and there was an emerging puddle of watery batter forming at my feet. I opened the cabinet under the sink and water GUSHED out. Everything in there was soaked through. Sigh. This is just not what you want to see at 11:00 on a Saturday night (yes, I was home cleaning out my freezer on a Saturday night...that's a whole 'nother issue.)

In case you're wondering...watery pancake batter? It quickly dries to form a thick, sticky PASTE. (Think Ross and the leather pants). And I'm not going to lie...that kind of incident is exactly what drives me over the edge to have one of those, uh, frank, discussion with God about why my own pancake-loving-home-mishap-fixing prince charming has not yet arrived on his white horse with flowers and and allen wrench (or whatever tool would be helpful in a situation such as this).

So my kitchen is somewhat out of order today. Because THAT's the reason I'm not cooking a delicious gourmet dinner to enjoy with the Desperate Housewives. Tomorrow I will coerce my handyman (also known as my boss and neighbor) to come over with his eight-year old and take a look and it will, one way or another, get fixed.

I'm sure there's a lesson here--beyond the virtues of EATING the leftovers--but I'm not yet sure what it is. Life is messy. Things get sticky. And this is why it's good to have a freezer full of Lean Cuisine's that you can eat in a pinch.

Getting to the Root of It

The image of "roots" is something that has long intrigued me. It's probably because of its Biblical significance--the vine and the branches, being rooted in Christ, etc. It's a common metaphor. So I'm drawn to photographs of trees with lots of groovy roots and even spend time looking at the roots of weeds when I pull them. (OK...a) yes, I'm a dork and b) yes, from the looks of my flowerbeds it would appear that I think flowers, shrubs and weeds should all coexist and the truth is that I don't weed them very often). Nonetheless, I think roots are cool.

All of that said, my long holiday weekend was a bit interrupted by another, much less groovy kind of root. In my tooth. Up close and personal in the form of a root canal. Ouch. So lest you think that I just ignore my dental hygiene, there's a back story to this one.

When I was around 11 my parents had the grand idea to buy a new game for the family to enjoy. I don't recall the official name of the game, but it involved placing two stakes in the ground (akin to horseshoes, a time tested family favorite of ours) and then tossing these disk thingies and trying to "ring" the disk on the stake. The disks are round with a hole in the center, but with these triangular pieces that also have holes in them--tough to describe, but you basically get points based on where you "ring" the disk.

So there we are, playing away and, as with all games that involved my brother and me in those days, the tide turned, tempers flared and before you know it (completely unprovoked, I'm sure) J decides to sling that sucker right at me. He told the story recently and swears that he was aiming at my shins or knees and remembers just watching it slowly rise as it sailed towards me before hitting me square in the mouth.

We're not going to talk about the pitiful lack of instincts that prevented me from moving out of the way. I'm sure there's a reason that I just can't recall at the moment. Really. There must have been a reason.

The disk hit me right in the gums above my top right tooth. So...yes...not only did I not move, but apparently stood still with my mouth wide open. Another point I'd like us to just gloss over. Except I can't because this is where it all comes back around. So the disk sliced open my gums and, as I wouldn't come to realize for many years, actually damaged the root and ultimately killed that tooth.

So 25-ish years after the incident, the tooth has been starting to discolor and the dental professionals decided that it was time to clean it out, hence the root canal that is impeding on my nice, long weekend.

[OK...gross alert...don't read this unless you like crazy medical details.]

The endodontist (Dr. Staci Ianiro--fabulous and I highly recommend her if you need someone to inflict pain in the name of dental healing) gets into the tooth and lets me know that it's "really cool". So, while I really dig Dr. Ianiro and she's a hip young doc, we have very different ideas of what qualifies as "really cool". She then tells me that the tissue inside my tooth and up through the root has mummified. That's right. Mummified. I won't give you any further details, but you can feel free to call me King Tut. Well...I'd prefer Cleopatra.

I'm happy to report that the pain has now mostly subsided, and due to Dr. I's handiwork the tooth has already changed back to it's proper color (yay!). My brother is completely unfazed despite my attempts to make him feel very guilty about all of this. I'm determined to plot a little friendly revenge but haven't yet decided what it will be.

I guess I should just be glad we weren't playing horseshoes.