Bunionectomy Buddies

Today I had a group of teachers over to my house to work on curriculum writing.  Since it's a committee formed from all over the district, there are some teachers I don't know at all.  One of them rang my doorbell, saw me answer it on my knee-walker, and exclaimed, "Oh!  What did you do?"  I replied, "Foot surgery."  She immediately kicked off her sandal and said, "Me too, in February!" I looked down and saw the characteristic bunion scar and a nice-sized bunion still hanging out on her other foot.  I then kicked off my right sandal and said, "Here's mine from November!"  All of which launched a long discussion about surgeons, recovery times, going back to work at a school on one foot, our mothers' bunions, on and on.  We had an immediate bond.  Bunion buddies--we know one another by our stigmata.  Great club.  Sorry dear readers, not all of you can join!

Bunion sufferers--we are likely to kick off our shoes and show them at any provocation.

Hop, hop, plop

It's easier to compose a cutesy title for this post now, but last night the event in question felt pretty tragic.  I was trying to take some bottles and cardboard from the kitchen to our garage recycling area.  I got as far as the laundry room on my scooter, then had to abandon it to get out the door to the garage.  So, with recycling in hand, I hopped on one foot to the door, opened it, and proceeded to hop out to the garage.  Unfortunately, my hopping foot landed smack on the raised doorjam and my ankle twisted, sending me down.  I guess I instinctively put out my surgery foot and ended up landing with all my weight on the newly fixed big toe.  I did not have my protective surgical shoe on (I know, I know--believe me, I've gotten all the scolding I need), so my toe bent pretty far backward before I finally crumpled to the ground.  I just sat there in disbelief that it had happed, crying with the pain and so afraid that I had messed up Dr. B's good work.  I gathered myself, answered the questions of everyone who came running, and slunk off to bed, knowing that my 7:30 in the morning appointment for stitches out would include x-rays.
When I told the tale at Dr. B's office the next morning, they were none too happy with me.  But Dr. B gave the x-ray an extra close perusal and proclaimed that no damage had been done.  I was so relieved!  My foot is SO VERY TENDER after that tumble.  I've definitely learned a lesson and am being much more careful now.
Here are today's pics (Day 13 after surgery):

I ended up on Dr. B's bad list a second time today when I asked him to write me orders for physical therapy.  He agreed but never did write them out.  So I chased down his nurse and asked her for them.  She and I had to wait until he came out from a patient room, then when she asked him, they had a big pow-wow.  When she  got finished writing up the orders he had given her, she gave them to me but said, "He's not happy about this.  He had me print out your surgery report to attach to the orders.  And I'm writing gentle extension of the joint on the orders."  When I questioned her further, she said, "You just had surgery. He normally would wait for 3-4 more weeks before sending you to therapy."  What's the rush, you ask?  I scheduled my surgery for the last full week of school in order to minimize personal days taken, but also early enough that I could get all my follow-up visits to Dr. B and physical therapy in before my insurance rolls over on July 1st. When that happens, I'll begin a new $700 deductible, and since my employer is switching to a new insurer, we have to do a 2-month gap plan.  So on September 1st, an entirely NEW $700 deductible starts again.  My goal is no medical expenses between July 1st and September 1st.  Ah, the insurance game, don't we all love it?

A great tip and some not-so-great grammar

On Friday, I had a writing workshop to attend at a local school.  When I arrived at 8:20, I had to park far down the street from the school.  Thank goodness for my scooter!  When we got in and sat down, we were told that we should all go out and move our cars, because cars parked along the street are frequently ticketed (bad signage).  Having already made the commitment to keep my foot propped up as much as possible (see http://melancholytoes.blogspot.com/2011/06/one-step-forward-two-steps-back.html), I was annoyed to have to get right back on my scooter and go check on my car.  It reminded me that I wanted to get my handicap parking tag before the tax office closed for the weekend. So on our lunch break, I drove all the way down to the tax office, parked at the back of the building, hopped to the back of my CR-V to lift out my scooter, scootered in, found out the tax office was the next building down, scootered out, reloaded my scooter, drove next door, repeated the process.  I arrived at the front of the building to a very long long, snaking all through the tax office and out the front door and down the sidewalk.  People were standing in the 99 degree heat in a 2-hour long line.  As I debated whether I could do it or not (yes, I was actually considering it, even though my foot was already hurting), a kind man told me that if I was waiting for handicap parking tags, I didn't have to wait in this line.  There is a window set aside just for me, and I could take a number and sit down to wait.  I could have kissed him!  But didn't.  

When I got inside I found this miraculous news to be true.  I was number 93, and they were currently serving number 91.  I chatted with the hip- and knee-replacement patients, got my tag, and was gone in 15 minutes, mission accomplished!

Okay, here's the not-so-great grammar part.  See the sign below.  Are any of those hyphens necessary?

One step forward, two steps back

Thursday was supposed to be a great day, but was not.  I was counting the days, in fact, until Thursday, because that's when Dr. B told me to make an appointment to come back.  I thought that meant stitches out, which I remember with such fondness from last time (see http://melancholytoes.blogspot.com/2010/12/starting-off-on-new-right-foot.html).  I couldn't wait to get the bulky dressing off and just have a little bandaid to manage.
I suspected something was up when they didn't take me straight in for x-rays.  And I further suspected that my hopes would be dashed when the Cast Room Guy removed the dressing and cleaned up my foot but did not take out the stitches.  Then I waited, lined up with a bunch of other bunionectomy patients, for about 45 minutes for Dr. B to come in, say "looking mighty fine," and REWRAP my foot in all that bulky dressing, topped with Ace wrap.  Apparently 8 days out is too soon to remove stitches.  I was SO disappointed.  I have to go back in on Tuesday.  I groused a bit about spending 4 hours of my day for what amounted to nothing being done, but I did have to admit that getting the bloody surgical dressing replaced with a clean one and getting a glimpse of my foot made the trip downtown almost worth it.
I always look for reasons to be grateful, and I found them on this trip in two places:
1) The other ladies lined up on the tables in the cast room were all previous bunionectomy patients.  Their first surgeries had been botched by podiatrists.  Dr. B had done corrective surgery to fix some of the damage done.  One woman came close to losing a third of her foot, because of an infection that set in post-surgery and was not caught by her podiatrist.  Hearing their stories, I was grateful all over again that last year, after I had chosen a podiatrist to do my surgery, a few people, including my daughter Stephanie, told me to not make a final decision until I had at least consulted with an orthopedic surgeon.  I'm grateful for my very skilled surgeon.
2) I asked Elizabeth, who's considering a medical career, if she would like to come with me, see the phenomenon of the cast room, and watch them take my stitches out.  She came along and it was wonderful to spend that time with her.  She's such good company, and we had a lot of chat and a lot of fun.


After returning from the appointment, I went back to work to pack up my stuff and move it from my instructional coaches' room to my new classroom for next year.  I guess that going back to work so soon after my surgery and also going for this follow-up appointment made me feel like I was farther along in recovery than I really was.  Also, this foot has not been nearly as swollen and bruised as the other foot was, so I had a false sense of its ability to tolerate activity.  I scootered all around the building on my knee walker, packing and moving boxes.  I had some help, to be sure, but also stayed a few additional hours and transported boxes on my scooter.  By 5:00, I was exhausted and went home and fell into my recliner.  When I went to get up a bit later, I immediately regretted my over-activity.  My foot had that burning stinging throbbing feeling that I remembered from the other surgery but had not yet experienced with this one.  Shoot!  My foot was definitely not ready to be hanging down that much and had swelled way too much in the course of the day.  So now I'm doing penance, staying in my recliner all weekend, trying to return it to the path of healing.  As Elizabeth said to me this morning, "PATIENCE."  It's not my most prevalent virtue. Here are the pictures of my briefly unwrapped foot.