Warrior Women; how I survived my life

I fully intended to write up some entertaining pieces about our recent travels, and I still hope to do so. I need to retreat alone somewhere and simply write.

At the moment I’m visiting my parents and certain events have reinforced my feeling that strong, warrior women have had my back for years. I didn’t always realize it or appreciate it.  I feel compelled to address this issue.

At the film festival we watched a short film with a female protagonist who went out on her own to start a new life. What we found sad, initially, was that she was so alone. Did she not have parents? Friends? Siblings? I realized then, as I often have, how much of a safety net I’ve carried around with me my whole life. She found her makeshift family, just as I now have a birth family and a makeshift family.

I’ve always felt fortunate to have a loving family. Yes, we’ve had our issues, but we love each other and we want to see each other. We’re interested in each others’ lives. My mom and sisters were there in the early years. I have an older sister who was like a second mom to me and another older sister who has been kind of an ally my whole life. I have a younger sister who looked up to me at one time, and now is always on my mind, even though I don’t see her much.

When I left home for university, my sisters were there again. I also made friends and continued some high school friendships.  I have different sets of friends, some with overlap, that I have taken for granted too long. It’s only in recent years that we’ve started having reunions and that I’ve really appreciated what these friends have done for me.  Through different dates and boyfriends they have been on my side, looking out for my best interests.

In my internship, I would not have survived, never have gone back or moved on to finish elsewhere, without their faith in me. It took losing one of these lovely ladies to bring us all together again.

The pattern continued when I started working. It continued when I had children, in my baby group and in the women I met through our children’s school friends and in Brownies. Some of my best warriors I met in Speed Skating.  It goes on even now that we’ve started this life so far from our friends and families.

By the way, when did I forget how to make friends on my own, without the connection of children? I’m trying to learn that skill all over again.

I’m afraid I didn’t always appreciate this warrior force. Sometimes I wasn’t the best of friends myself. Sometimes I forgot that it wasn’t all about me. I love these ladies so much for standing by me and being there, no matter how oblivious I might have been to their needs.  I can  pinpoint the moment when I started to be someone else’s warrior. It was when our first child was born, but like the people who have had my back all those years, I don’t restrict my support to family members. I can almost pinpoint when I became a warrior for someone not related.

We recently saw the movie Wonder Woman, and I loved it for so many reasons. I know I’m not Wonder Woman, but I love what she stands for. We have one thing in common and that’s being surrounded by an amazing support group of warriors. I want to be an Amazon warrior and help to shape the Wonder Women as well as the men of the future.

 

Expectations vs Reality and self fulfilling prophecies.

I have an artistic friend who sees art everywhere. She can look at the close up of boxes stacked together and see a pattern that, to her eye, creates a work of art.

I often look up from what I’m doing and marvel a little at the beauty that surrounds us. Little things capture my attention, like the way the sun or moonlight is glimmering off the rib of a palm frond. I take photos of the sunset almost every night, because there is always something different in it that appeals to me. The setting sun might be casting perfect palm tree shadows on the pool. A cloud will be glowing pink and gold. Even the storms here are beautiful, with the contrast of dark clouds against the varying blues of the sea.

It occurred to me recently that I’ve started looking at people in the same way. I expect the best of everyone. I expect honesty and kindness. I used to be more wary of people, and I still find it difficult to get to know someone. I have found, from talking to neighbours and friends, that if you look for the worst in people, you’ll probably find it.

Consider some of our prejudices, and I’m sure I have my own. People of my generation speak dismissively of “millennials”, yet I wonder, what age is a millennial? The young people I know are not glued to their phones. They are not selfish and self-absorbed. They don’t have any sense of entitlement. They are hard-working, social, intelligent and thoughtful.

Yes, we hear about certain behaviours that make us say, “Entitlement!” I don’t think that word is exclusive to any age group. There are people in their 30’s, 40’s 50’s, 60’s and older with a sense of entitlement.

My point here is that when we have these prejudices, we treat people a certain way. Are you giving everyone a fair chance to demonstrate what is great about them? Are you open enough to accept people with their differences and still see their inner beauty. Have you had a real conversation with that young, single guy, or that beautiful young woman? You’ve made your assumptions, but do you really know them? Do you know how much loss they’ve had in their lives? Do you know if they are happy where they are in life?

Look for the best in a situation, the “silver lining” to use a cliché. Look for the beauty in your surroundings. (I know, easy for me to say that here in Paradise, but I find beauty wherever I am.) Finally, expect the best from people. Sometimes you’ll be disappointed, but I think, more often, you will learn how complex each individual is and that almost everyone has something wonderful to offer.

There is a lovely quote from Mother Teresa. I am not a religious person, but I did like this. “People are often unreasonable and self centered. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway. If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway. The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best, anyway. For you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.”

Whether you believe in God or the power of the universe or nothing, what can it hurt to be kind and generous and honest? It can only help make the world better.

 

Flowers Sea Swim: Mission accomplished!

My training period was short, only a week, but I knew I could go the distance. Three days before the race, I swam for sixty minutes. The sea was very rough, but not any rougher than what I’d experienced so far. I didn’t think I would take longer than sixty minutes to do the course, so I was satisfied with my training. It was time to taper.

I was supposed to do a shorter swim on the Thursday, but I was feeling a little queasy and exhausted, so my son told me to take a rest day. I had a little pool swim and did some yoga, but otherwise it was a rest day.

The day before the race I went out for a fifteen minute swim, just to get a feel for the sea. It had calmed down quite a bit, but there was still a strong current. I was getting concerned about swimming against the current on race day.

When I got home from the beach, I learned that the direction of the race had changed. Instead of starting at the Kimpton, we would start at the Royal Palms and swim to the Westin. In other words, someone had noted the direction of the current and wanted us to actually finish the race. That news made my day! Surely I could finish the mile going with the current!

Friday evening I ate pasta to provide my body with carbohydrates which would be stored as glycogen. Glycogen is the main source of energy during exertion.

Friday morning I swam for a few minutes in the swimming pool, just to loosen up. I did my yoga to relax and help my breathing. I carefully taped my foot and sunscreened everything except my arm, where my race number would go. We scoped out the parking areas and planned when we should go.

Our neighbour and his friend agree to join us, to save on finding parking. I have to admit that I was relieved to have them along. It helped me relax to have someone to chat with on the way there. I was feeling pretty relaxed when we arrived and I picked up my swim cap and got my race number on my arm.

It was time to sunscreen and pack up my belongings to be picked up later. My husband was walking along the beach, but he didn’t need to carry all my things. I gave him my phone, but that was it.

We were all counted off as we walked through a sort of gate to the water. I had prepared my goggles to defog them, so I rinsed off the defog, put my swim cap on, which was too small for long hair, and put on my goggles. We found places to start in the water and we were off!

Not very far in I realized my goggles were leaking. The seal had come off the lens portion. With great effort to keep moving on my back, I managed to put them back together, but not before the whole eyepiece fell off.  I’d guess that cost me at least 3 minutes.

I remember seeing the first eighth of a mile marker. After that I was in survival mode. I tried to find people to catch and pass. I tried to breathe rhythmically. At one point I was gaining on someone doing backstroke. He suddenly looked up and looked at me with a pleasantly surprised expression, and then I felt it. It was the current actually giving us a bit of a push. I hadn’t really noticed it before that.

I ploughed on. I told myself, like Dory, just keep swimming, just keep on swimming. I tried to recognize the buildings along the beach, but I don’t walk that beach enough. I alternated between front crawl, breast stroke and back crawl. The back of my knee began to hurt with what I thought was a cramp. I could no longer do whip kick. I was so tired, but I pushed myself to do the crawl as I noticed the race officials. They were waving everyone to the right. I realized that I must be almost done. I swam under a rope and pushed myself to finish and get my number. It said 855, but I later was listed as about 844. As I walked out of the water to the beach I saw a time clock with 51 minutes on it, but again, I later learned I’d finished in about 50 minutes. I felt a little disappointed that my time with the current wasn’t better, but happy to have finished.

Race volunteers put “Finisher” medals around our necks. I took my number to an official and got my gift bag. I found the food and beverage tables. I took way more food than I would be able to eat, a bottle of water and a bottle of Gatorade. I still hadn’t seen anyone I knew.

Finally, after I managed to claim my belongings after what seemed like ages, I saw my friends, but not my husband. My neighbour saved a spot with our stuff and we went off to find my husband.

What followed was the most exhausting part of the Flowers Sea Swim; waiting around on the beach, in the afternoon sun, for the prizes to be announced. The Flowers Sea Swim is known for their generous prizes, but in order to qualify, you have to finish the race and be present for the announcements. We could have gone home and showered and come back in time for the prize draws, but we waited through the speeches, chugging our water and Gatorade, munching on fruit and sandwiches and pizza. Honestly, I wasn’t as hungry as I thought I’d be. I was thirsty and hot.

So, we waited, while speeches were made, winners announced and finally, draw prizes. Names were called and sometimes a name would be recognized, but none of those names were ours!

By the end of the day the prize announcements were cutting well into evening plans for others, but not for us. We hadn’t planned to do anything that evening except eat and crash.

In retrospect, I’m glad I did the swim. I’m proud to have finished with so little time to train, and yes, I would do it again.

 

 

 

 

 

Flowers Sea Swim: New goals, new discoveries and a rude awakening

I returned to Cayman with the best intentions. I planned to train for the Flowers Sea Swim, the one mile swim along Seven Mile Beach that has competitors from all over the world. There are up to 1100 swimmers in this competition, all ages and abilities.

I’d been told that it was a fun event with lots of prizes for anyone who can finish the mile swim within the allotted 75 minutes. I was told that was a generous amount of time and would be no problem for me, a daily swimmer.

I discovered a few things when I set out to prepare for the competition.

First of all, the date was a lot earlier than I remembered from previous years, when I’m sure it was closer to the end of June. This year, the race is on June 10. That left very little time to prepare after over a month away. Sure, we’d done lots of walking, but I didn’t have a sea handy to swim in or even a pool.

Secondly, it’s  much less convenient to prepare for a sea swim every day than it is to jump in the pool in the morning and kick off  a set number of laps. The sea has no shade, so that means either thorough sun screening or  a sunscreen shirt. The sea outside our door is rather rough this time of year. We require a drive to a more well-situated beach for access and calmer seas.

With an attitude of “Let’s do this!” I set  out the first day, a little queasy, presumably from the rum punch I’d had the night before in addition to wine with dinner. There was a current, but not too strong. I swam for 35 minutes, feeling every one of them as if I was going to die or at the very least, throw up. My head was pounding. My goggles kept fogging up. My hair kept getting in my face.

I came out feeling worse and spent the day in the prone position after a soothing bath. Throw up I did, leaving me completely spent. I was unable to eat anything all day. I had a slightly high temperature, which told me that this was not a hangover.

After some sleuthing, we determined that I had eaten some bad leftovers. It was food poisoning. I swam in the pool the following day and I was very careful with my food intake. It was time to get some training advice as time was running out.

After a long Skype session with our son, I had a training plan. I can do this.

On Monday I went for my next swim, wearing my sunscreen shirt and swim shorts and a swim cap. Here’s the thing about the sea. There are waves. It’s salty. There is no shade. For every stroke in the pool I would need at least two or three to make the same distance in the sea. I swam for 40 minutes, swallowing sea water when I took a breath, resting frequently and wondering if I was completely out of my mind. The positive was that I’d defogged my goggles and they worked just fine.

When I finished the swim, I felt good. I stretched a little, drank a whole bottle of water and enjoyed my little shady spot on the beach until my husband came to get me.

Tuesday; it was a rough looking day at sea, but I checked the forecast and determined that it would be okay in the afternoon. No sunscreen shirt today, as it seemed to hold me back in the water. Swim cap on, goggles defogged, better sunscreen on my face, I went in. It was much rougher than the day before. There was a small craft warning, but fortunately, I’m not a small craft. I stayed in the swimming section for safety purposes while my husband went for a snorkel.

It takes some skill and practice to breath without having a drink of sea water. I tried to build up a rhythm, but my pace didn’t match the pace of the waves. I later found out that the waves were 4 to 6 feet. At one point, I almost choked on a mouthful of sea water. That unfortunate delay was quickly followed by a feeling like something had bitten me on my chest. There is life in the sea. Some things bite. I still don’t know what it was, but sometimes when the sea is rough the jellyfish come closer to shore. Maybe it was a baby jellyfish.

I finished the 50 minute swim, and surprised myself at how good I felt afterwards. I just wish I felt good during the swim. Here is how it goes. I start out and immediately feel the fatigue in my arms. I push through and start to feel stronger, but eventually I need to switch to breast stroke. I look up at a buoy marker and set a goal. I swim for what feels like 10 lengths of the pool and look up, only to get a wave in my face. The buoy doesn’t look any closer. I continue on and check my watch, setting goals for myself along the way.

At one point I took twice as long to swim between the marker buoys as I had the previous run, but I cheered up when the return swim took much less time. Obviously, the current was getting stronger.

I have a 60 minute swim to do today. The forecast hasn’t changed. I know I can do it and I’m actually looking forward to it. I hope the weather improves, but I’ll go anyway, unless there’s a lightning storm.

This is even more important to me now than when I signed up. I need to show myself that I can do it. I also need to do this now, while I’m healthy. I learned yesterday that I may need another foot surgery. I don’t know how long the recovery would be, but this is my window to do the swim.

Three more days to train! Let’s do this!

Birthdays and expectations

There is something about birthdays that is still so special to me, even after celebrating so many of my own and others’. Our children were always given a choice of what they’d like to eat on their birthdays. For mine, I would simply ensure that I had something I liked, or maybe I’d get taken out for dinner. I started making my own cake or my daughter would make one for me. I was always disappointed in store-bought cake.

Last year on my birthday I was completely spoiled by our visitors. They cooked for me and made cupcakes. This year I thought it might be grim. We were away from home and staying in a house with my in-laws, but we were the only ones not jet-lagged. Our children weren’t there.

I woke up at my usual time but no one else was awake. We had no car or method of travel yet we were out in the country, miles from any public transit. I went for a walk to calm myself. I did some yoga to focus my mind. I sent messages to my family, still all asleep, thousands of miles away.

There was nothing wrong with the birthday, but I started it too early, before the rest of my world woke up. By the time I went to bed, and even the next morning, I had lots of birthday wishes and love sent my way.

In fact, I was offered my choice of what to have for dinner. I was also tasked with finding a cake on our trip to the store. It was the best store-bought chocolate cake I’ve ever had.

I still love birthdays, no matter how old I get. I have to adjust expectations sometimes, but usually it all ends up happy.

Post op in Paradise continues: how long does this take?

After over two weeks of showering on one foot with a bag over the other, or bathing with one foot propped on the edge of the tub, I was looking forward to getting my stitches out.

I imagined that I could not only shower, but go down to the pool and go for a swim. I can dream, can’t I?

I went to have my stitches out and unfortunately, I was told to wait a little bit longer before I attempted swimming. In fact, the day I was supposed to be able to shower without keeping my foot dry, I took one look and changed my mind. The incision just didn’t look healed.

The stitches were out, but I had all that dry, scabby skin around the incision. It seemed like there were small patches where it hadn’t healed yet. I waited a day.

My first shower was actually a little painful. Water on the foot hurt. Trying to balance on one foot hurt, but trying to put even just a little weight on the bad foot while I was barefoot in the shower? That hurt. It was exhausting. It was back to bathing with the foot propped on the edge of the tub, although at least I could wash it and rinse it under the tap. Those Tortuga bags could be used for something else.

So life without stitches continued on a lot like life with stitches. I reviewed my journal from the first surgery and indeed, I had waited at least four weeks post op to go swimming.

Another two weeks of hobbling around, gradually putting more weight on the foot, and I was sure I’d be ready to swim. I was still in the post op shoe, which made my foot feel safe and protected, but was also very bulky. I managed to spend more time outside. I was feeling a little more confident about getting back inside in case I needed to go to the bathroom, but rarely made the trip back outside again. One trip up and down the stairs in a day was enough.

Next step, x-rays and maybe it would be time to venture into the pool? Oh, how optimistic I was!

 

 

 

Resident Diving: Another bonus!

As if living in a place with perpetual summer isn’t enough, we have “resident diving”. Resident diving is this wonderful option of diving on a Sunday morning with Red Sail, and maybe other dive operators do it, for half the cost of a regular dive. In fact, as a resident, all my boat dives are half price.

I signed up for resident diving last year, but I wasn’t able to take advantage. I finally gave it a try when our daughter was here.

Every week I receive an email from Red Sail with an update on their resident specials, and an invitation to the Sunday resident dive. They always tell me where they expect to be diving. I look forward to the North wall dives. Having done most of my early diving here in the summer and on the north and east side, I didn’t realize that they aren’t always the best choice at certain times of year.  Sometimes it’s just too rough, so the West wall is the place to be. I still have that attachment to some of the North wall dives, though.

This week there is a lion fish cull. If you aren’t familiar with the Caribbean and our lion fish problem, you might wonder why they want to cull the beautiful and striking lion fish. I remember being so excited to see lion fish in the South Pacific.

The lion fish is an invasive species. They eat native fish at an alarming rate and have thrived in the Caribbean.

Personally, I really like the taste of lion fish. I find it is expensive here, though, so don’t always feel inclined to order it when it’s on the menu.

This is one resident dive I’ll be missing, but I’ll be cheering them all on! Catch those lion fish and cook them up!

http://voices.nationalgeographic.com/2013/07/19/top-5-myths-about-lionfish/

 

 

Post op in Paradise; adjusting to the pain

After my first surgery, my doctor told me after about 3 days that I could probably stop taking the acetaminophen/codeine combination. It made me drowsy and one of the complications is  constipation. Besides, the ibuprofen was a strong dose, and it also helped with the swelling.

I thought I would follow the same protocol this time, but again, I underestimated my pain level this second time around. I woke up on day 4 and decided I wouldn’t take any Co-dydramol. By midday I broke down and took my dose.  At bedtime I decided to skip it again. The next morning I was back on it, but I only took one instead of two. Tapering off in this way, I think I had stopped taking it by the end of Day 5.

Meanwhile, I was trying to eat fruit and fibre. Co-dydramol really can make you constipated.

I started feeling more alert, which gave me more incentive to use my brain and planning skills. I went to work on some of  my projects. I could read without falling asleep!

I still experienced a lot of swelling. My foot swelled up when I was sitting. It swelled up if I stood too long. It fell asleep sometimes when I had it elevated. I started feeling cramps in my foot. My back and knees started to tighten up due to the awkward sitting positions and lack of exercise.

For the first two to four days, there was a lot of pain and swelling, but doing nothing at that time is easy. It’s the next 2 weeks that are difficult. Bathing or showering without getting the dressing wet is exhausting. Sitting with the foot up while trying to type something on the computer is very uncomfortable after about 30 minutes. Depending on someone else for your meals is frustrating, and humbling.

I started making the morning coffee after about one week. I wake up before my husband and I need my coffee. I’d given up having an omelette for breakfast, although he does cook eggs. I started eating cereal, or yogurt and scones or croissants, which were a nice treat.

One week post op, I ran out of the prescription ibuprofen, so I started taking my own. It was half the dose, so I noticed a difference in pain control. I also noticed that it was really hard on my stomach. I took the regular, over-the-counter ibuprofen for a day, then I stopped. After that I had to pay more attention to what my foot was telling me; to sit down and elevate it!

At this point, I started noticing the large pile of laundry, the dirty toilets, the dust on the furniture. I don’t have a cleaner, or a helper as they call them here. My husband finds it challenging to do all the cooking, errands and grocery shopping as well as his work. I started trying to do a little each day. The first day, I probably overdid things. The next day, I was sore, swollen and exhausted, so I did very little. I try to do one chore each day now.

Household chores remind me of what it would have been like to have surgery in the winter in Canada. Our house with two staircases wouldn’t have worked. I’d have had to set up in our living room. I wouldn’t be able to start going in and outside so easily on the treacherously slippery sidewalks.

Here, I can relax on the deck for the entire morning, eating breakfast, doing puzzles, reading and surfing the internet. If I’m energetic I can hobble down to the pool and relax on a recliner. It is either blissfully quiet, except for the sound of the sea, or I am entertained by the goings-on of the island.

That is how my recovery has been going. One day, I feel great and think I can do more. The next, I need to rest, which is pretty easy when you can sit outside and enjoy the sound of the waves.  The next day I have a better idea what I can handle. My next big step would be getting the stitches out.

A letter to my daughter: thank you, I think

Dear Daughter,

As I child I was very sensitive and I found that quite painful. I was told I might need to develop a rhinoceros hide to survive in the world  I slowly developed my hide, but my suit of armour was more of a shell.

If I hadn’t had the shell, I would not have survived high school, university, and my internship. Even though I said F.U. and I transferred to a different program I really did survive internship, because I made my shell even harder and more impermeable. My shell got me through.

I remember my younger self as a slightly self-centered person who didn’t let people in. Sometimes that came across as anger. No one could see under my shell, my armour, except my very closest friends. I sometimes took it off when I was alone in my safe place where I could cry myself to sleep. I didn’t even take it off the first time I fell in love. I mean I was really in love but I couldn’t let him know that, could I? Obviously that relationship didn’t last. No one was allowed in.  I wanted to be a nice person and a good person, but not soft and emotional.

I’m not sure who I was kidding. I couldn’t read “Love you Forever” without getting all teary-eyed. Movies still made me cry. I just didn’t let people get too close. I let your dad in. I let him see who I really was, although it took years.

My darling daughter, you changed all that. The minute I learned I was pregnant, my shell grew to protect both of us. I had only really let your dad in before that, and some very close friends.  When you were born, I was totally vulnerable all over again. I didn’t even realize it was happening, but my shell was becoming porous.

You are such an open, loving and giving person. You live and love with passion. You demanded my love and complete devotion from the moment I laid eyes on you. Quickly, my shell began to dissolve. I tried and succeeded to keep it around us for a few years.

Your brother came along and finished the job. I couldn’t protect all of us from hurt. I could protect us in so many ways and take care of all of us, but our hearts were open and vulnerable.

I am no longer protected by armour. I am completely vulnerable to the world. I  think it’s from living in a hot place.(I jest.) My heart is easily won. I care about everyone around me. I worry about everyone, including people I’ve only recently met. I feel protective towards anyone who would dare to embrace the world with your passion. I meet people who have a shell like I had, and I want to pass along my strength. Their shells need to dissolve in their own time, but I understand.

I thank you for helping me to open up again and let people see my love and hope and vulnerability. I rarely feel anger. I feel despair and I feel hope.I feel caring and compassion. I feel what others feel and it is scary. I feel sadness and happiness. I feel love, and it sometimes hurts, but mostly it feels good. Most importantly, I feel okay about letting people see how I feel, and if it really is anger, it’s aimed at injustice, stupidity and insular thinking.

I miss you! Thank you for letting me in.

Love Mama

Recovering in Paradise: showering with Tortuga and keeping my feet up

With two different prescriptions for pain medication filled, I fully expected another easy recovery from this second bunion surgery, at least from a physical point of view. I was surprised then, to find that the pain and swelling the first day were significant.

First of all, I had to take the medication with food. That meant waiting for my husband to make breakfast, as I was supposed to do absolutely nothing. I was also experiencing a headache, probably from caffeine withdrawal, having had my last cup of coffee at 6 am the previous day.

Usually I wake up and make the coffee in the morning, then either I eat cereal or I make an egg dish. That way I have some coffee in me before I start cooking. I’m grateful that my husband made breakfast for me, at least for the first few days, but that first day my head was exploding by the time I got coffee. I’d waited for breakfast to take my pills, so they still hadn’t started working. When my doctor called later for an update, my pain was down to a 3 or 4 on a scale from 1 to 10, but I estimated it at a 5 or 6 when I first woke up.

I was relaxed enough and comfortable enough by the time the meds started to work. I updated my Facebook, Snap chatted with my kids and read. I started doing Sudoku and crosswords again. The first two days post-op I was instructed to do nothing, to keep my foot elevated above my hip, and to only get up to go to the bathroom.

After my doctor called, I peaked under my elastic bandage and realized that my gauze dressing was soaked through with blood. It was dry to the touch, so must have bled the night before. I emailed him and he replied that I should come in the next day, which was only a day early, for the wound check.

The printed instructions from the doctor said I could take a shower the next day, as long as I protected my foot with a plastic bag. We find that Tortuga Rum Company bags are very sturdy and make a good cover, and my husband had made a serious effort to collect several in the time leading up to the surgery.  The taping is the tricky part. If you aren’t careful of the folds in the top of the bag, there could be an unseen opening for the water to seep in. For that reason we double bagged my foot and my husband taped it up so tightly I thought he was making a tourniquet.

That first day I kept the shower very short, being unable to put any weight on my bad foot.  I was still in good shape then, so it wasn’t too exhausting to stand on one foot and try to keep the other one as much out of the shower as possible.

We visited the doctor and he cleaned up the wound. He noted a lot of bruising and said the bleeding was good. It shouldn’t be trapped in the wound. He poked and tweaked at my stitches, which was a little bit painful, but more of an irritant to my foot. Once the foot was all wrapped up again, he got me a wheelchair to get to the front door and instructed me to keep the foot elevated.

Wow! I had a shower and a visit to the doctor in one day! What with going up and down the stairs to get in and out of the apartment, I was tired at the end of the day. Maybe I wasn’t in such good shape after all!

Once we got home, I played some computer games and emailed family to let them know how things were going. After dinner I had an early night. I planned to continue my  focus on rest and healing. My next couple of days my goal would be to taper off the pain medications.