It’s official, I’m old. When I was dating The Mechanic, who was 32-33 at the time, he used to say that once he hit 30 his body started falling apart. I always laughed and called him “Old Man” like it was a joke, but now I realize he was pretty serious. He had a hurt wrist, sprained ankle that refused to heal, and some other random hockey or skiing related injury I can’t recall. While watching TV, he would use his exercise band for physical therapy on his ankle. I used to chuckle to myself about that. Well guess who’s laughing now?!?
On my 29th birthday, I hiked the backside of Mount Sentinel starting at around 9:30pm. I was “hard-core” and didn’t want to use the headlamp until I absolutely needed it…about 15 minutes into the hike I rolled my ankle when I stepped on the edge of a small hole I didn’t see because it was freaking dark out! The headlamp was securely on my head, turned off. It took months to “heal.” I couldn’t even do lunges at the gym for at least 5 months, and I’m not exaggerating. Stupidly, I assumed it was “no big deal” and never went to the doctor. Now, almost 2 years later, it’s still bothering me with shooting pains if I step on it wrong or twist just right.
A few weeks ago, after starting a swing dance class, I realized I was in need of some professional help. I went in to see a doc, who proclaimed it sprained, and scolded me for not coming in when it first happened. In hopes that it won’t become a chronic issue, she recommended some exercises that include an exercise band. Huh. I wonder if The Mechanic still has his that I could borrow…. I also checked with my cousin Cody who is working towards his doctorate’s in Physical Therapy and he had more specific recommendations that include weird standing postures in which you balance on the hurt ankle while swinging your other leg at differing angles & degrees. As odd as they seemed when I read it, they do work. Thanks Code!!
My how things change, my cousin Stephanie and I tried to teach Cody how to swim when he was practically a toddler. Now he’s teaching me about PT…. I really am old.
Anyway, back to my ailments… Not only does my ankle bother me a lot, but I’m also still experiencing issues with a blocked tear duct in my right eye. I had ‘minor surgery’ once, which included numbing of the eye and a doc poking a needle into the tear duct repeatedly. I never felt a thing, but damn it’s hard to hold still when someone’s shoving a needle towards your eyeball!!! Clearly his barbaric tactics didn’t work because I still have to carry a tissue or hanky in my pocket to dab the tears because they won’t drain like they’re supposed to. My Grandma carries a tissue in her pocket all the time. When out in public, people often think I’m crying because I’m constantly dabbing at my eye so it’s all red and puffy. Another sign of old people; they explain their ailments to you in great detail, even when you haven’t asked. Everyone and their brother in Missoula knows about my blocked tear duct.
After explaining my health issues, I told my friend Jen tonight that I’m one ailment away from AARP. And you know what’s worse?!? The damned Mechanic was right, my body did start falling apart at 30.
2 comments:
Oh my God Mel! It would be really funny to read, except that it is so sad, because it's true. I can not tell you how happy and lucky I consider myself to be, having a body that only started to fall apart when I was in my LATE thirties, doing almost the SAME thing than you did. Twisted ankles!
It happened during mud season in 2007, when I wanted to feed my calves in the morning, walking through mud up to my ankles. The first few steps were fine until I got to a spot, where the mud was so deep that it kept me sucked to it. My upper body, being in the forward movement motion, kept going forward, only to painfully realize that the mud had kidnapped my foot, which stayed stuck upright two feet behind me! The result was comic, had there not been the excruciating pain! Falling forward, trying to brace the fall with my hands, splashing myself with shitty water all over, I hit the ground! On all four in the mud, crying (yes, tough girls DO cry with pain, when nobody is watching), I realized that I didn't have my phone on me, to call anyone for help, because by now, my hands were sucked up up to the elbows and my knees halfway up to the thighs in wet cow and horse shit, too!
Slowly crawling through the cold mud, crying with pain, I made it to the gate, looking like something out of a horror movie, I was sure, while my calves abused the situation and licked my face with their wonderfully exfoliating, abrasive, 50 grain sandpaper tongues. While I was wondering, how in the world I would get the gate to open, the horses now came as well to look what was going on, chasing away the calves, which I was grateful for. Casey missed stepping on my hand by an inch, while eating my hair! Now THAT's what I call true luck!
So, I pull myself up to open the gate, not being able to put ANY weight on my foot AT ALL. After I have closed the gate securely behind me, I fall down again, crawling the rest of the 50 feet walkway to the house, trembling with cold, soaked through with mud and no skin on my face (made salty tears sting even worse!)to the house. Not caring how cold it is, I strip bare naked in front of the door and crawl into the house and into the shower, passing two mirrors that depict something that I would run away from as fast as I could as far as I could, only thing is, I can't. Yeah.
Then I sit on the floor of my shower, trying to find the right temperature for the water with our "easy-to-regulate-temperature-one-handle-faucet", exposing my muddy skin to ice-cold and scalding hot water, until I find the happy medium. For ten minutes I just let the water run over me, until I'm finally able to pick up the bar of soap.
I look at my ankle. Well, it doesn't look all THAT bad. It ONLY has swelled up to TWICE the size of the other one. No need to see a doctor, right? RIGHT!
Now, you might think: "Oh my GOD!, what a terrible event! The once-in-a-lifetime-ultimate bad day! And you'd be right, except, I went for a reapeat on my OTHER ankle two weeks later, trying to take it easy on the first ankle!
Part two...
For the first few months, I walked like 'on eggs', going "ouch, ouch, ouch, OUCH" with EVERY step I took! Getting on my horse was a torture climbing on a five gallon pail, before I could gently and slowly lift my leg over the horse, because I couldn't turn the ankle to stand on my toes! Walking up and down the stairs took twice the time, because - depending on which foot hurt worse on that given day - I would step up (down) with the lesser hurting one and then drag the worse one after. I felt like I was 90 and even considered to make use of the Walmart chopper, that I always bitch about obese people riding around in, causing taraffic jams in the isles. I am happy to report that I didn't, though, giving yet ANOTHER proof of my stubborn stupidity, because frankly, THAT would have been a great time to use it!
To make the long story short: I can STILL feel the ankles hurt, when I walk up a hill or down a hill, I think my left big toe was broken somewhere in the process, too, but never bothered to go to a doctor YET, because I was scared he'd slap me in the face, calling me STUPID.
Last year, I was FINALLY well enough to go skiing with the kids again! I now feel that I can do anything I want to again, but will still always keep my ankles in mind. And really, the ONLY time it hurts anymore, is when I try to do YOGA, doing the butt-in-the-air-legs-stretched-arms-stretched-head-down-position. I call that definite improvement!
So, Mel, I hope that made you feel all better! And while we're at it, founding a college for anger management classes, we might put "History of smart women doing REALLY stupid things 101" on our curriculum, which should brighten up the day of anyone trying to suppress anger issues by making them laugh their asses off! What do YOU think?
Love, Silvia
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