The Story of Achilles: Almost 90 degrees in the shade

This morning after taking the dogs out I did Ab Ripper X. No breaks, all the way. Stay strong!

I can almost touch the ground with my heel already. I can stand without the crutches but still can't put any serious weight on the right leg, much less even take a step, but the flexibility is improving noticeably with every stretch / massage / exercise session I do - and I do that at least three times a day on non-therapy days. I've been substituting heat therapy with muscle rub out of convenience/laziness. Sometimes while stretching I wonder what it looks like from the inside. I iam not sure if it is my imagination or reality, but I believe I can feel the tendon grasping onto the nylon sewn in place and its own repairing fibres. Unnerving.

This morning I saw some of the veins running across my calf and shin again ... sign that they muscles are alive and breathing again.

The Story of Achilles: Therapy Begins

Today was the first day of physiotherapy. My right leg is wasted, inflamed, numb, somewhat atrophied. I couldn't wait to get the ball rolling.

Ultrasound

Heat wrap

Massage

Stretch

Exercise

Life's Little Pleasures

- bending a knee when sitting

- turning over in bed without having to wake up

- wet grass underfoot

- taking a shower and feeling that cold water run down from head to toe

Clean and clear

Freedom Friday

They told me everything I need to do, when to do it, and how. But didn't tell me anything in terms of what to expect:

"Your skin will be dry - clean it and keep it moisturised."

It didn't flake. It didn't peel much. It was so dry, when the first drops of water touched my skin, a cream appeared. My skin had disintegrated into a fine dust held fast by the cast. After ten minutes of scrubbing the muck, dried cotton and dead hair follicles off my leg and foot, a layer of dermis below started to flake and peel. Another 15 minutes of cleansing, and a half cup of baby oil later, my limb is presentable enough to wear shorts in public.

"You need to massage and work flexibility back into the tendon. It will be stiff."

Understatement of the day.

Stiff is what your neck feels like after falling asleep on someone's lap. Stiff is chewing gum you saved to eat dinner, then thought you could use again after dessert. Stiff is not what your Achilles tendon is after six weeks of immobility. My tendon is as hard as glacial packed rock. My first massage made my finger tips tender and seemed only to help remove some more dead skin.

"..."

They didn't say anything about the soreness in my knee. Common sense told me the joint would require some getting used to the freedom, but this much internal restriction should be cataloged somewhere. The massaging helps, but I see proactive exercises for the thigh and knee in the very short future.

"Have a good weekend."

Okay, that one works for me. You too!

*UPDATE*

Three hours and at least five massages since coming home and the rock hard tendon is giving way to the stiff one I was told to expect. I can now move it side to side. Progress faster than I could have imagined, but not hoping for more than I receive.

Tomorrow

The perfect clip from one of my favorite movies as a child, rediscovered recently as an adult. There's no better way to describe how I feel today.

Where are you?

At random moments throughout the day I find myself down long pondering trips and wonder where I was that I needed to be found. So I came here, only to lose what I thought was worth keeping from my wandering wondering.

. . . 42 . . .

I thought you would be excited, not as much as I am of course, but at least a little, as this will be a good event. But instead you found something to be worry about. I am having a hard time keeping up the positive attitude. I am sure you notice that more and more, I withdraw and leave it be, rather than deal with whatever. I still can't tell if this is harder or the easy way out. It isn't my nature, but neither is living under this ominous cloud, constantly battered by unpredictable turmoil. And don't think for a moment I don't understand the turmoil, or can't appreciate it. Nature played different games with us, and we learnt to face the storm differently.

Monkey

Despite the fact that I always say this to multitudes of situations, "The monkey said to" finally made sense to me today. It means, "Why ask why?" There is no reason or purpose behind the line other than to be. That's it. It's not a question. It's not an insult. It isn't directed to any person, animal or thing. And there are no monkeys involved.

Example:

"What are you doing?"

"I thought it might help"

"How could you think doing that would possibly help??"

"The monkey said to."

Get it?

Sometimes, what we do is bigger than us - clear to one, lost on another. Sometimes, you just do what you do because it is what you do for the greater good. Sometimes, there's no reason that will be understood because it applies to something else, but this one action in life affects so many others unknown to us. Sometimes we just find ourselves stumbling along a path we have no recollection finding in the forest of our minds. Sometimes we stay on, following it through. Sometimes we realise, just in time, we need to get off. And sometimes when we try to think back of why or how ... sometimes, there is no reason.

Get your move on. Now.

I think the ratio between time and tolerance is exponentially inversely proportional. By the time you digest that, I will be six million to the 24th power as impatient as I was just thinking about it when I wrote this. “Freedom Friday” is just over 66 hours away.

Yes, I am counting down.

And yes, I am down to 66 hours.

And yes, it is excruciatingly slow after the unbelievably rapid past five weeks, three days, 16 hours.

Most people don’t realise that the cast removal is only the first step - no, “step” is really inappropriate at this stage in getting back on my feet. Walking will be yet another countdown away. But we will ... *sigh* why can I only think of the lamest action metaphors right now?

Enjoy your movement while it is still yours to enjoy.

He's not heavy, he's my cast.

Only one more week left in the cast. I can't get comfortable enough to sleep more than an hour at a time, but now it is because the knowledge that I am so much closer to freedom makes the constriction almost unbearable. Physically, not much has changed, but mentally it seems the cast is a ball and chain, a burden I cannot shake off soon enou...*

# sudden realisation #

Physically, something HAS changed - drastically. The five weeks of inactivity have affected my left leg. My thigh is visibly slimmer, I can fit my hand all the way past my knee now. But it never occurred to me that my entire limb, not just the tendon, is also significantly weaker.

The burden is real.

The dog days are (almost) over.

The little one had surgery - removal of an abscess and neutering. Our house has been uncharacteristically calm and not so smelly for the past two days. I wait, not holding my breath, to see if the changes last.

The older one's ears are being treated for who-knows-what. At least he isn't scratching the life out of them for the moment. And again, the house is not so smelly for it.

The little lady in the middle remains the constant in our pack.

Office Day

Today is the fourth day in the office after starting my new job ... five weeks ago. It's ironic how having the cast - which signifies an injury - makes most people move very cautiously around me, when the very cast makes me more invulnerable to injury than anyone else around.

The Story of Achilles: Open Mouths and Pelau

Four weeks down, two more to go.

The padding in the cast, especially around my knee, is wearing thin. In less than a week I have mentally moved from apprehension to impatience towards the day the cast is removed.

I dream about taking a long, full shower. I can’t wait to float and soak in the ocean. I want to bend my knee and get back on my motorcycle, wearing my new helmets.

I have no false fantasies about running, jumping or even walking yet though. One step at a time. I really just want this cast off.

The inevitable loss of size in my leg is now glaringly evident as my thigh floats in the mouth of the fibreglass shell. My knee cracks frequently having more lateral movement available instead of its nature-intended flexions. Overall however, I am glad I have not fluctuated more than two pounds. Push-ups, pulls-ups, core exercises ensure I maintain some form and frame.

I’m having pelau for lunch.

The Story of Achilles: Fight Back

Since the stitches were removed last Friday, I have begun to come to terms with the impermanence of the cast. I made a commitment to aggressively wean myself off the painkillers. The lowered defense is most noticeable at night. Between the frequent awakenings to find a comfortable compromise in repose, and forced surrender to sheer exhaustion, I manage to meet each dawn.

Last night I dreamt about the morning after the cast was removed. In that dream, I awoke and could actually see the tendon, as though my skin was transparent. The tendon was not seamless and smooth as portrayed in medical illustrations, but more a crude experimental creation of Dr. Frankenstein - alive and functional, but by no means beautiful. I could stand firmly on both feet, but didn't try to walk. I just stood there.

Staring.

Waiting.

- - -

I am determining how to manage going back to work (physically, in the office). Sitting with my leg elevated constantly for two hours puts a strain on my lower back that requires at least half an hour of lying down to relieve. While moving around intermittently, rather than sitting continually, lengthens how long I can sit, it also means longer periods needed to rest when I do eventually succumb. I have been coping with plying my trade from home, being that the nature of my work allows telecommuting, but there is something to be said for the value of community and proximity that cannot be understated.

Perhaps this battle with the painkillers may have to be more diplomatic than militaristic.

- - -

Tomorrow will be four weeks since the day of the rupture.