A limpy Gimp
Is Gimp a bad word? I hope it isn’t. If it is, and someone is offended, then please accept my apologies and let me know so I can change it. It was the first word to come to mind to describe my current situation. Yesterday, while working outside, I tried to step over the gate at the bottom of the stairs and came down hard at an odd angle on a 2″ stone. It hurt like heck and I hit the ground and grabbed my foot. Turns out that I would be doing a lot of this particular maneuver over the next 24 hours but more on that later.
The pain subsided with just some general soreness as I went about my day. That evening, I noticed that it looked a little swollen but I could still walk with a little pain. I got started painting downstairs again. I had to go in to my newly organized garage where I ended up stepping on a nail on the same tortured foot. Hit the ground manuever #2 was born. The nail broke my skin but thankfully that’s all.
Fast-forward to the next morning. I should have known that it would be a bad day when I woke up and got out of bed. Like most folks, I innocently assumed that I had the usual two feet to walk on and I didn’t think twice about putting my full weight onto both. [Insert hit the ground manuever #3].
While on the floor holding the offended foot, I looked it over and couldn’t really see any major swelling or grossness and so I didn’t understand why it was hurting me. I tried applying pressure with my hands and it did NOT feel good. I decided to accept my predicament. Then panic set in.
HOW, I asked myself, was I going to tend to a toddler all day? Clean the house? Get the much-needed groceries? Catch up on laundry??? Folks, you just have to understand that general lameness does NOT go well in my particular line of work. Toddlers do not understand that they need to get whatever they need while you are up on an hurting foot to fix them a drink. Indeed, they will happily wait until you hobble your lame self back onto the couch before promptly demanding something to eat. Repeatedly.
Then came lunch. Oh the joys of lunch. By this time my repeated trips to tend to the toddler left me hurting way more than a foot should hurt. This is when Nathan decided to kick the high chair tray. The tray fell onto my good foot and I got to hit the floor in pain for the fourth time.
By this point, I was ready to scream at no one in particular to STOP the vendetta against my feet! Or cry. I would have settled for crying in the miserable state that I found myself in. Did I mention that I had a UTI? Any of you girls ever have one? I get a few whopper UTIs a year and do not particularly like the bladder/kidney pain, dry heaving, nausea, lack of energy, and so forth. My body was just not a very nice place to be, yesterday especially.
So I hobbled back onto two offended and bruised feet and hauled the 30 pound boy to get ready to go to the doctor. I rigged a support-conraption using a roll of socks tucked into a slipper sock to allow me to keep pressure off of the worst parts. I got him dressed and while I opened the car door he tried to run away. I had no choice but to hobble-chase him down and by this point my foot was screaming in pain at me. I carried on with my Supermom self and got him safely strapped into his seat. Off we went.
The doc came in and Nathan decided he didn’t really like him. He made this evident by telling him repeatedly to go ‘bye-bye.” I tried to play it off as to not make the dr feel bad. I told him, “Oh, he gets his ‘hi’ and ‘bye-bye’s mixed up sometimes.” Which would have worked great except for that the nurse came in and he got his hi and bye perfectly. Oops. I guess he liked the nurse.
They couldn’t get an interpreter that soon so I was unable to understand much. He said something about inflamed tendons and to take a steroid. The conversation was a bit like playing charades:
Doc: ?????? inflamed tendons???????? foot???????don’t think broken.
[Nathan: bye-bye doctor! Doctor smiles at Nathan]
Me: Oh thank goodness! I can’t afford a broken foot in my line of work.
Me: um…so what do I do? For my foot I mean?
[Nathan: bye-bye! Doctor bye-bye!]
Me: A shot? A shot of steroid in my foot?
Baffled Me: No shot because it got spilled?
Annoyed Doc: Pill…..I will call it in ???????????????????
Me: OH! Ok. I understand now. I have to take a steriod pill to help the inflammation for my foot.
[Doc nods, ignores Nathan’s next few round of bye-byes]
I told him thank you and was glad to leave. Next, since I was in the building and knew that I needed to stay off of my foot, I headed down to the Reproductive Endocrinologist’s office to get my blood work done. My RE, the fabulous Dr. D, wants to check my blood for common causes of repeated early miscarriages. I just started the process of bleeding from this last (3rd) pregnancy.
Here is some math for you: I have been pregnant constantly for the last 5.5 months with the exception of 3, 2-week intervals between the pregnancies (6 weeks total of not being pregnant in almost 6 months of time). Of these 6 weeks not being pregnant, I’ve spent 5 weeks total cramping and bleeding to lose the pregnancies naturally and going through all sorts of hormonal mayhem. I needed a break. Needless to say, I’ve been (mostly) a trooper with a few mood-swing hiccups which my hubby has been largely understanding about. So, this month I asked my RE for some birth control (for the love of everything good) and I am to start on them soon. At least we know now that all of my plumbing works!
I will have to say that I am still finding this whole ‘being fertile’ thing weird after a whole marriage of infertility. Four plus years without birth control of any sort, and only one baby (via IVF) to show for it. Then I have 3 back-to-back pregnancies. It’s weird.
Speaking of fertility, do you know about the record for the most children born to one woman? Feodor Vassilyev (1707-1782). a peasant from Russia gave birth to sixteen pairs of twins, seven sets of triplets, and four sets of quadruplets. That’s 69 kids! Yikes. Even though these babies were born in pre-NICU days, an amazing 67 of them survived infancy.
Ok…so I got WAY off topic. Where was I? Oh right, going in for blood work. I waited around and they were able to squeeze me in so I wouldn’t have to make a second trip, toddler in tow, on a hurt foot. I went back for my ‘teensy little’ blood work job. I sat down in the chair and used the diaper bag and a book to both block Nathan’s view and keep him occupied. I read to him about dinosaurs while she pulled out a few vials to fill. I sighed with relief that there were just a few. Then she turned around and pulled out another handful of vials, some of them huge, and proceeded to line them up in a very long row. Stinking vampires, those folks are. Sheesh.
Anyhow, I left with my very sore arm and we headed to the elevators, where Fate decided to remind me to count my blessings. In the elevator stood a woman and her daughter. The daughter looked to be around age 8 and she was very proud to be helping her smiling mommy out. The woman looked around 32 years old. She stood on two plastic legs. The plastic legs (what’s the term?) nestled two leg stumps cut off just below her knees. She smiled and laughed with her daughter. The amazing thing is that in addition to not having legs, her arms were both amputated, one above the elbow and the other just below her elbow. Despite this, she made casual conversation with me and Nathan. I wished I would have asked her for her contact info as she seemed like an amazing woman.
On the way home, I thanked the Good Lord for letting me meet this woman without arms and legs. I thanked God, with tears in my eyes, for having two arms. I thanked him for letting me have two perfect legs and feet for me to injure ever now and then. Then, I asked Him to please never let me forget this amazing woman. Let someone tell her how inspirational she is too us all, and to keep her light shining bright in this world.