The Story of Achilles: Chapter 3

I was supposed to have physiotherapy yesterday. When I checked the appointment card before leaving home, it didn't have a time, but rather a note to call. So I called.

The therapist and I had a brief banter about my leg and my activities and she concluded that I could continue at home as there was nothing we could do at therapy that I could not do (better) at home. Ultra-sound was the last aspect (for the pain and nerve damage) and that was now obsolete. "Congrats and keep up the good work," she said. When I started therapy a few days after taking off the cast, they told me it would be six to nine months before I could use the leg with any real significance.

It has been four months and 11 days since surgery.

Tomorrow will be just three months since taking off the cast!

And here's the magic news... I actually jogged yesterday. Yes, there was something of a limp in every stride, but it was surely much more than walking quickly! My initial goal was to be running again by the end of the year, but it seems that will not even be a consideration. Perhaps I need to aim even higher... like climbing the Pitons again before the end of the year. Hmmm... We'll see how it goes after carnival which happens in a hair's breadth over a month from now.

Funnily enough, a friend approached me to join our parkour movement yesterday. I guess time really doesn't wait. Why should I?

The new chapter begins.

The Story of Achilles: The hare and the tortoise

12 weeks post-op. Two weeks ago, three weeks into physiotherapy, the therapist said I should start experimenting with putting weight on my injured side (although I had already taken a few unassisted steps and started riding again). Today, five weeks into therapy, she is frustrated with the doctors lack of follow-up attention and prescribes I use one crutch for the next two weeks, on stable ground - it's still raining although dry season has technically supposed to have begun. I can see the need to remove the crutches as soon as sensibly possible. I am already highly dependent on them if only for the sake of efficiency and fun, but at the cost of development. It is much easier and faster to use two crutches and one leg, than one crutch and two legs. But that means it would take twice as long for the recovering leg to learn it's basic functions again. To move faster tomorrow, I need to slow down and move steadily today.

I clearly have not stuck to the photo project.

The Story of Achilles: Get out, get down

I’m losing count of time again. Daybreak. Sunset. Moonlight. Repeat. I have tangible physical progress with my Achilles tendon, but with only abstract relation to previous benchmarks. February 2nd between five and six in the evening is the start, and since then every moment has been registered in history by the moments prior to it rather than by date. Days, weeks and months have lost their respective order. It is disconcerting only to the end that my goals are becoming abstract concepts of the future instead of a linear path of achievement.

I started riding again [recently].

I finally visited the origin of this particular journey [recently].

It’s Holy Week leading up to the most important event in my faith.

The Story of Achilles: How deep is your sole?

I’ve been dedicated to the strict regimen of therapy, and obsessed with getting off the reliance on crutches as soon as possible. I have become so accustomed to them, they are now accessories, toys, play things, getting more in the way than helping me along the way.

Progress.

Three insoles in my sneaker. One deep breath.

The Story of Achilles: Therapy Works

Two months post-op and I believe I've gone quite far along the road back to normal.

*sudden realisation*

Until I typed those words, it hadn't tangibly occurred to me just how long I've been sidelined. I have been simply facing each day and planning the next. This state of constantly striving for millimeters of flexibility, muscle control and abstract strength is my normal. Hmm.

I can stand completely unaided (almost, depending on wind conditions) and can now walk (hobble Quasimodo style) with only one crutch. The swelling still occurs when I forget to elevate and use the warm water bottle during the days at work. The nerve damage caused by the cast on the top of my foot which makes my toes tingle is subsiding, which indicates the ultrasound is doing what the therapists said it would. I need to remember to start a weekly photo-journal.

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.

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.

The Story of Achilles: 21 days and counting

This day was inevitable. Today, my sanctuary was violated. My cast was rendered assailable.

A dull rotating hand saw carved a crude window in the fibre-glass shell, exposing my wound for the first time in three weeks. Evenly sewn stitches were removed one by one from parched, tender flesh. Flesh that had found a sense of peace in its undisturbed solace of inactivity. Although gentle and amiable, the nurse had no concept of the massive, psychological security breach she initiated.

I need this rupture healed - yet - I want this joint to live in greater safety than I have provided - yet - I need to be stronger than before - yet - I want the strength of the cast - yet - I need to be free of this crutch, and these crutches - yet - I harbour conflict within: a desperate fight to step forward, somehow without stepping out, just yet.

I am constantly aware of the tendon, convinced that what I feel with every passing second is it slowly binding itself together, at a molecular level. It is equally fascinating as it is disconcerting. It commands me to rest, while preventing me from sleep.