“Disgusting” and Liking It
I had my 6 week post-op appointment today with my surgeon. I’ll be 6 weeks officially on Monday. He checked out my knee, grinned and told me how great I’m doing. He did that pulling test that he did on me before surgery. My leg barely budged. Before it felt like he could just pull it right off. I’m realizing that my knee is stable. It is better; I just need to give it time to heal now. My surgeon also reminded me that while the outside incision areas may be disappearing quickly, I need to remember that there was a whole lot happening on the inside and all of that trauma is going to take some serious time to heal.
My knees at almost 6 weeks post-op (I think you can tell them apart).
He officially welcomed me to the boredom stage. For the past two weeks, my body has been breaking down the graft and for the next six weeks, my body will work on building it back up. I need to be very careful during this crucial don’t-screw-it-up time period. I’ve been given instructions to start walking around the house without the brace from time to time to see how it feels, with plans to get rid of the brace within the next week or two (minus excursions outside the house where they still want me to wear it so people don’t bump into me, etc.).
I didn’t break any flexion records at PT today. I pretty much stayed where I was on Wednesday. Considering that I barely did any of my PT yesterday since I was busy dealing with a 24 hour virus, I wasn’t too disappointed. While I was on the table working on my leg lifts, another woman was laying on a table a few down from me. She still had steri-strips on her knee. I heard her tell my PT that I was "disgusting" because of how I was able to do leg lifts.
My PT said to her, "Try to think of it as: that’s the goal."
When I was done with my table exercises, I Lance Armstronged it on the bike for 15 minutes (while visualizing kata), added another 5 lbs. to the leg press machine and then spent a couple minutes walking backwards on the treadmill. I had to look straight ahead because looking down was so funny and disorienting. I started imagining myself on one of those crazy treadmill commercials where the person goes flying off and into the wall.
Walking on an incline, the goal is to use long backward strides which help with walking and extension. Thankfully, I kept it together and made it off there alive.
The college rugby player who is seven weeks ahead of me has been my goal. Now I’m somebody’s goal. It feels really nice to be a goal. Go ahead and call me "disgusting." It’s the most flattering compliment I’ve heard in a while.
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Don’t Call it a Comeback
I fully expected to be tortured today at physical therapy. I worked so hard on my bike yesterday that this morning, I was hurting. The back of my knee was just killing me and when I tried to work on flexion this morning, it was a lost cause.
I walked into PT with the weight of the world on my shoulders and it was obvious to my PT. On the table beside me, sat the college rugby player who had ACL reconstruction seven weeks before me. He was the one who warned me three days before my surgery that it was awful. He gave me this huge smile and asked me how I’ve been. We spent our table time discussing our recoveries. He asked me where my flexion was and when I told him I was at 129 last week, his eyes got wide.
"Girl! That’s good," he said. "I didn’t hit 130 until nine weeks!"
He went on to tell me that he had a lot of problems with swelling and that it wasn’t until his 8th week that he got to ride the bike. He was shocked that I was riding already, let alone two weeks ago. That made me feel awesome. All along, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself thinking that I’m not a world class athlete and I’m not young like a lot of people who have this surgery. It’s just going to take me longer. According to him, I’m way ahead of the game.
For your listening pleasure, some tunes to match my mood for the day with particular emphasis on the following lyrics. Just substitute "knee" for "land" and "PT room" for "itty bitty world":
"I’m gonna rock this land
I’m gonna take this itty bitty world by storm
And I’m just gettin warm"
My ACL friend went on to walk backwards on the treadmill and work on some lateral movement exercises and I started working on my flexion. My PT came over and started bending my leg a bit. I told him I was going to have a lousy day, that my flexion had been horrible this morning. . . and then he measured me at 133 degrees and it didn’t even really hurt all that much. I was shocked.
He put me on the bike for 15 minutes with a tension level of three and I managed to ride over four and a half miles in that time. I also broke a sweat and got a good work out. When I felt like I couldn’t pedal any faster, I imagined my beach bod this summer. I truly will be in the best shape of my life by then. Slacking off is not a choice with this recovery, so I’m hoping that I can continue the working out trend once I’m healed completely.
After the bike, it was on to the leg press machine, where we added another 10 pounds and another set (up to four now). When I was finished with all my exercises, my PT told me how awesome I’m doing and gave me a high five. He does not distribute high five’s for just anyone or any accomplishment. In fact, I’ve only ever seen him give them to me. Uh-huh, that’s right.
Then he watched me walk with the brace unlocked. The grin spread across his face and he told me I can keep it unlocked. "You’re walking GREAT!" he told me. He was genuinely excited and so was I. It feels weird walking without it locked, but having the freedom to walk normally again feels AMAZING. I’m guessing that in another week or two, this brace will be officially gone.
What was going to be my birthday party/black belt party may instead be my "crutches and brace are gone" party. (Did I happen to mention that the crutches are gone as of last week?) And yes, there will be music by LL Cool J at my party, and you better believe I’ll be chair dancing my butt off.
***Make sure to check out The BBM Review today. We’re letting you know about exciting contests and have three prizes to give away next week!"
How to Make a Head McExplode Part II
I dropped Big I off at a play date yesterday and there was no way I was getting Lil C out of that house quietly without some serious bribery. When you are wearing a leg brace, it’s just not worth it to cause a temper tantrum. I’m wisely choosing my battles. So, I promised her a happy meal from McDonald’s and she was more than happy to leave with me like a little angel.
We went to the drive-thru. I ordered a meal for me that cost $4.98 and a happy meal for Lil C. There was a sign up that said, "Order any extra-value meal and get a happy meal for $.99". Perfect. So, my total before tax should have been $5.97. I couldn’t hear my total through the speaker, and their display monitor wasn’t working properly. I should have seen trouble coming right then and there.
When I pulled up to the window, the woman reached for my credit card and said my total was $9.54. WHAT?
I politely told her that the amount was incorrect. She didn’t even allow me to finish my statement before she started barking at me (as if I’d just called her a horrendous name or something) that "I don’t punch in the orders; I just take the money. If it says it’s $9-something, then that’s what it is."
Now I’m annoyed, and my head is about to mcexplode. This happens at McDonald’s a lot.
"Well actually, that’s not what it is. My meal costs $4.98 and the happy meal is $.99. That equals $5.97, nowhere near $9 and I’m not paying $9." I considered asking her to add it up in her head but realized that this was probably an unrealistic request considering my treatment thus far. I did the work for her and still. . .
"Well, that’s what it says," she barks back at me.
"Well, then you’re going to need to go find someone who knows how to fix it and work the cash register because I’m not giving you my credit card until you do." I contemplated driving away, but there was Lil C to consider and also the principle of the matter.
She then proceeds to bark at me that "I can’t see the breakdown until I charge you and print out the receipt.
"Well, then you’re going to need to find someone who can," I tell her, "because that’s just going to make extra work for both of us-you over-charging me, and me having to get you to take the charge off when this is already proving difficult enough for you."
"Well I didn’t do it!" she yells at me.
"I didn’t say you did," I said back to her calmly. "I just told you that the total is not correct and asked you politely to please fix it. If you can’t do that, then kindly find someone who can and will. I’m not going to be overcharged $3."
Maybe money grows on trees (or by overcharging customers) for McDonald’s, but I work hard for mine. Meanwhile, the cars are lining up behind me.
She slams the window and leaves the area in a huff. My blood was boiling on the inside. I believe I started breathing as if trying to get through a bad labor contraction. She comes back, punches a couple things into the cash register and amazingly enough, my charge is reduced by $3. Amazing. It turns out those cash registers can take charges off. Who would have ever thought they could do such an incredible thing???? They seem to just need a willing human being to work them.
I hand her my credit card and she hands me back my receipt. It’s only as I’m driving away that I see that she actually charged me ten cents more than she should have for the happy meal. I didn’t go back.
It’s just not worth it. I think we’re done at McDonald’s. My blood pressure will thank me, and so will our arteries.
I Knew Him When. . .
I played the saxophone when I was in elementary, junior high, and most of high school. I even won a solo award as part of our school jazz band one year. I was one of those "One summer, at band camp" kids, although I balanced it out with large doses of sports participation and dance committee type things. There was this one particular band guy. . .
You know the one. He’s the one that every girl drools over. The guys the band girls drool over are always different from the ones the mainstream girls drool over. This guy was a drummer, a really fabulous drummer. During jazz band competitions, if he had a solo (which was always), no drummer ever had a chance over this particular guy. If you were born within a three year span of Shane Rozum and were an aspiring drummer, well then, you were out of luck. He always took the trophies home. I think it was a combination of his mad drumming skills and that perfectly wavy hair that made the girls go crazy over him.
He was a year older, and it was a sad day when he moved up to the high school and left us lowly 9th grade girls pining behind in the junior high school.
Because we were silly girls, we made up songs about him, wrote poems about him, and were all comfortable sharing our stories and fantasies of dancing with him at a school dance because he was, what we concerned to be, unattainable. He was completely inaccessible to us in the way that Brad Pitt is to the general population of non-big-lipped women. At least that’s what we all thought.
If you know me (either personally or through my writing), you know that I’m the one out of the group who gets up to karaoke when no one else will and without needing 14 margaritas to do so. I’m the girl who goes to the interactive wax museum and thinks we are not getting our money’s worth unless we do each and every interactive (and possibly embarrassing) activity. Yes, I’ll volunteer.
I’ve never been accused of being shy.
So, when our all-important 9th grade dance was approaching and I didn’t have a boyfriend or any worthy prospects in my own grade, I had an idea. I called Shane Rozum.
The phone call lasted all of two minutes. I think he was as shocked at me calling him as I was at myself for choosing to call him. When the two minutes were up, I had a date to the 9th grade dance and some extremely jealous friends.
Don’t knock the scrunchie. It totally matched my dress.
The dance was fun. He brought me the obligatory corsage and I wore the dress my Mom made me buy, which made me look like a 7-year old instead of a blossoming soon-to-be-high-school-woman (whose body was a little confused about when it was supposed to start the whole blossoming thing anyway). You can’t tell from the pictures, but I’m pretty sure he wore sneakers with his outfit. Truth be told, we didn’t do a whole lot of talking (Get your mind out of the gutter!). For once I felt shy. We hadn’t really talked before. Gawking at someone and going on a real live date are two entirely different things.
We arrived like rock stars (Man, I should have seen it coming. . . ): me with my 80’s rock like ‘do, and Shane with his killer shades.
We did dance, and if looks could have killed. . . well, there were so many band girls who wanted me dead that I would have probably been six feet under half a million times which I think would put me safely through the Earth and out the other side. They could glare all they wanted because even in my pale pink lacy dress, I felt like a rock star being at the dance with the drummer extraordinaire.
Which leads me to today. I haven’t seen Shane since he was a senior in high school and I was a junior. Just this week, I reconnected with another old friend from high school on myspace who told me about the band that Shane is in, a band about to go on tour called "Jealousy Curve." And you know what? They totally rock! I spent some time on their myspace page and listened to their tunes and truly wished that my knee brace wasn’t holding me back from getting my groove on. They have toured with The All American Rejects and are now going on their own tour.
I also stared at Shane’s picture for a while because seriously, is that THE Shane Rozum, the one and the same that I went to the all important 9th grade dance with??? (You’ll only be able to see this with a myspace account. If you don’t have one, take one part typical rock-n-roll drummer, combined with one part wavy shoulder length hair which can be thrown all over the place while wilding drumming, add what I think are some piercings, and you pretty much have the idea.)
Just another one to add to the "I knew him when" list. . .
Whipped Cream on the Horizon
Nothing makes you forget your worries and stress like being around a newborn baby. I spent most of the day with my cousin and her three-week old baby girl. I held her for hours, helped my cousin figure out a more comfortable way to nurse (for which I’m now being told I should be a lactation consultant), gave her my EZ bather (to borrow, since I’m still super attached to all my baby stuff and can’t officially close that door yet), and helped her give the baby a bath. It felt good to be around a little baby, and it also felt good to help out my cousin. It was nice to think about someone else’s issues for a little while.
I don’t know what Mr. BBM was thinking today. Apparently, he spent part of the afternoon while I was gone, shooting Reddi-Whip into the ready and giggly mouths of my girls. I’m thinking that leaving him alone with them on any type of regular basis would probably be a bad idea, especially considering that Lil C now grabs the whipped cream from the refrigerator with demands that she "vants more now, peeease."
Blissfully unaware that my kids were doing whipped cream shots at home, and after staring at a baby all day, it was time for torture PT. Today, I was able to add tension to the bike and go around comfortably from the start. Having my own bike at home is making a difference. We added 5 lbs to the leg press exercises, and my PT also added wall squats to my already lengthy exercise list. He also watched me walk a bit with the brace unlocked. It felt really weird. Next week, we’re unlocking the brace for walking. I’m supposed to practice at home. Something tells me I won’t be walking the runway anytime soon though.
I am now allowed to sleep without the brace on at all, provided my extension doesn’t suffer for it. I can’t wait to go to bed tonight! WOO HOO! I hit 129 degrees flexion today too, which was a nice increase from 125 on Tuesday. Slow and steady seems to be the name of the game here. I’d like to hit the upper 130’s by the end of next week.
I’ve been down in the dumps about this recovery, realizing how ridiculously long it’s going to take to get back to normal. Today, while adding three more leg exercises to the mix, I realized that I’m going to have killer legs for the beach. The leg lifts are also working my abs. I’m going to try to be more positive about all of it. It’s going to be a roller coaster with ups and inevitable downs. Truth be told, I’m not really fond of thrill rides. This one isn’t giving me the option to sit on a park bench with some ice cream though.
One of my friends had ACL reconstruction done on both of his knees and he’s doing great now. He said the surgery forced him to get in the best shape of his life; and he does look fabulous. That’s what I’m going to focus on.
To go along with my peg-leg pirate walk, I’m also going to adopt the Pirates of the Caribbean saying, and continue to "keep a weathered eye on the horizon." I’m also going to treat myself to a whipped cream shot from the fridge. I think I deserve one.
***The latest review is up at The BBM Review. If you’re looking for a new work out system, make sure you check it out.
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