Keyboard Legs

Trying to make the best out of an uncomfortable situation. This stupid boot is uncomfortable enough, but trying to sit and type with your foot elevated off to the side is simply not possible. If I have my foot out and elevated (because I can't fit it under my desk to prop it up), I'm wrenched sideways trying to type. Not so good on the back. If I put my foot down under my desk to sit forward, then it's not elevated and it swells.

In November 2013 they did an Ergonomic Evaluation of my workspace. It was determined that I needed a keyboard tray, a footstool, some sort of standing clipboard for papers, and a wireless ergonomic mouse. I also was eligible for Reasonable Accommodation for a special chair that fits my body size: TINY. I couldn't fit in regular chairs because my body frame is too small and my legs dangled over the side and I couldn't touch the ground and couldn't sit back properly in the chair. Also, the arms of the chair were positioned so far out that my shoulders hurt and my hands would fall asleep. Somehow, I got the $1,400 chair in no time flat.

In approximately April 2014 I finally got the wireless mouse. We "found" a footstool at a cubicle that was uninhabited so we never pursued that part. But I really wanted that keyboard tray. Then I could stand up from time to time as well...which is ergonomically recommended. But alas, I never got it, and everyone seemed to drop the ball stating that "well, it's the state...you know how they work." SIGH.

Fast forward to preparing for surgery! My doctor wrote a note stating that it was mandatory for me to keep my foot elevated as often as possible. So they (my work) were to order a special stool for under my desk. I took this opportunity to remind them that I never did get that keyboard tray. Then of course, everyone is pointing fingers. 1) Did the paperwork get filled out? Turns out it did. 2) Well did Procurement get it? I have no idea. 3) Did you ask someone to install it? Um, how could I ask someone to install it when it never arrived?  And so on. My boss basically says, "All I can do is fill out the forms." Which is true really. I probably sound like a whiny brat, but seriously, I can't work like that!

I never did get the stool either. Not sure where that is in their priority order. So, here I sit. I don't even care who comes by and sees it. I do have a doctor's note after all. And if they don't accommodate my medical (ADA qualified by the way) need, then this is what they will find! I just wish it was a little more comfortable.

Throwing in the towel

I quit. I don't think I'm cut out for this mom thing. I've got two kids who practically refuse to do their homework and are failing a few classes. Not because they are struggling. NOPE. Because they just don't want to I guess. Even the kid in Honors classes. Here's the catch...if he's NOT in Honors, he fails out because he's too smart for regular classes and becomes a behavior issue because he's bored. But in Honors, he just chooses not to do it. Go figure.

So I blow my top on both big kids (17 & 12) and turn into psycho mom ripping them a new one. Yet I continue to work on essays, which are now late. This is painful. How much easier would it have been to just DO YOUR DANG WORK when it was due. Then, no trouble. Ever. I would really have nothing to get mad at.

But then there's my 8 year old, who only accepts perfection. The teacher's pet. He brings home his diorama project, which he and daddy worked so hard on together and says "I got a 3" and then starts pouting. In elementary school, they give out numbers instead of letter grades, 1-4. 3 is basically as good as it gets. This specific teacher says she doesn't give 4's unless the child is doing work equal to that of a 3rd grader. So 3 means A.

And Mr. Sensitive decides that "everyone else's was better than mine." Of course, I know that no one said a word to him at school. It was a good project and they did a great job on it. But somehow, in his mind, it's not good enough. WTH? So I try, and try, and try to convince him his whole life that no one is perfect and we do not expect perfection out of him. He did his best and got a great grade. Why stress? He stresses over everything. Which makes him cry. If I haven't told you before, I LOVE watching him cry and throw a fit over stupid stuff. I do....NOT. It's the worst thing I've ever seen and I want to pull my hair out.

So I say, "Guess what? You're not perfect. Guess what else? You'll never be perfect. And guess what else? No one else is either."

It's true. But did he hear any of that? NOPE. He screams, and bursts into tears, "AND THAT'S SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?"

Ummm...yes. Actually it was supposed to make him feel better. Instead, as he recounted to hubby later, "She called me a dummy." Wait, what? That was your interpretation? Oh my gosh. I quit. There is no winning with these kids. I have two that don't care and one that cares too much.

So, there. Where do I file for unemployment?

Get them stitches out!

**Semi-Graphic Pics included of my stitched foot. View with caution.**

Today I got to get my stitches out. WOOHOO. I've been LONGING for this day because I could take that stupid cast off. It was so heavy and hot. And the medications were no longer working anyway, so it made it that much more uncomfortable. So I arrange that my sister (who had the day off) come and pick me up. We find a spot, miraculously, in the parking garage at the Kaiser hospital and I hop on my scooter and she loads up my almost 6 month old niece in the baby backpack thing. Naturally, we end up coming out of the garage at the top of a hill. Take a minute to soak that in. Lady with one good leg, on a scooter, having to go down a hill. And my assistant? A 100 pound woman carrying a baby on the front of her in a pack. Imagine the possibilities...

So, as carefully as possible, I use the brake to start descending down the hill. Then I notice a little walkway area that goes down behind some potted plants and it looks closer and less steep. **LIGHT BULB** I suggest we cut through, and wrangle my scooter through the plants. Seemed like a great idea, honestly. And the hill itself wasn't so bad. The whole while, my sister, who has been witness to many BAD IDEAS of similar situations, suggests that I be very careful so we don't have another, what we refer to it as, "Wagon Incident" (I'll detail that incident at the end of this blog, just in case you want to laugh at me more).

I assure her that I have everything under control. I begin to coast down the hill, its maybe 10-20 feet. I didn't use the brake properly, unfortunately. So I may or may not have raced down the hill on my scooter. I didn't fall or anything, but once I applied the break fully, I came to a full stop. My natural instinct was to plant my feet down on the ground to steady myself. Big mistake. My cast foot landed flat on the ground and I felt my calf muscle tighten and a weird sensation run through my foot. My sister's eyes are HUGE and I turn and tell her, "Well, that probably wasn't the best idea!" But it didn't hurt too bad. I assumed I was fine and in the clear. No one saw but us. Phew.

So I get inside, and Nurse Rana greets me and gets me prepped and begins cutting off the cast. Just then, a friend from HS, who is also a nurse, Jeni-Bean (HS nickname), comes in to say hi. So the 5 of us (2 nurses, my sister, my niece and I) are all laughing and watching the cast come off. Just then, Dr. Soulier comes in. In case I haven't mentioned before, he's SUPER nice and reminds me of Ricky Schroeder. I say, "This is the party room, WOOT, WOOT!"

Without missing a beat, he says, "Yeah, I saw your little party outside!" My heart sank in my chest! How did he see that?! He then tells me how he watched the whole scene outside because apparently, I came roaring down the hill, right towards his office. Of course I did. LOL. How was I supposed to know that was his office? We were all laughing so hard. Well, he was nervous laughing and was ready to take me to the ER if warranted. So, he cleans me, takes out stitches, sends me for x-rays and I get a new boot. Still no weight for about 2 more weeks.  Pictures below.

Nurse Rana removing the cast

Right before trying to clean me up

My mummy wrap

New boot. Way more comfy than the cast!!!      

The Wagon Incident

We, my siblings and I, used to always walk the March of Dimes 5K marathon in Downtown Sacramento. I borrowed a wagon from my cousin because my youngest was too old for a stroller, but I knew he'd struggle to make it the full 3 miles. 

We got to the underpass of the bridge between Downtown and Old Town and I remembered that, when we were children, we would ride my metal red Radio Flyer Wagon down our driveway and I would use the handle to steer us. I would take my sisters and brothers on rides down the driveway. We would have hours of fun. And I wanted to recreate that fun for my youngest (who was maybe 4 years old at the time).

The hill is steep but no one was around. What could possibly go wrong? So, my sister Sarah, my brother-in-law Ethan, my daughter and her BFF, went ahead of us and my son, Raul, and I got in the wagon. I sat in front to steer, as I always had as a child. I don't know why, but he stood behind me in the wagon (look, I never said I was a good mom. Obviously this was about as irresponsible as one could be!) Nonetheless, we start sailing down the hill. I was having a blast. Then I felt like we were going too fast, and instead of dragging my feet, I planted them square on the ground. Raul and I both went flying through the air.

I landed on my hands and knees directly in front of the wagon. Raul flew over the top of me, kicked me in the head, and started rolling. He didn't have a scratch on him, but turns to me and yells, "This is all your fault!". Both my knees were torn out of my capri pants, my knees and hands were skinned and bloody. It smarted. It smarted BADLY. But I couldn't let anyone else know how badly it hurt. They all came rushing at us. They were all laughing hysterically. Then my daughter's BFF says, "Poor Raul! He looked like a hot dog rolling away!" To this day, I still don't understand that part. I think my brother-in-law laughed the hardest. At least my sister tried to see if I was OK, and attempted to stifle her laugh. LOL. 

We walked down the street to Starbucks where I went to the bathroom and washed up my knees. Boy did they hurt. And they scabbed so badly that I couldn't even lean on my knees for over a month without a LOT of pain. 4-5 years later, I still have scars. But at least we all have a hilarious story. I can laugh now. And clearly, when it comes to me and free rolling objects, we don't mix!!!

Bionic Toes are boring!

So, one week and two days ago, I underwent a bunionectomy, which included reconstructing my big toe bone, complete with hardware. In addition to the fun noted above, they also went in and sewed up my torn tendons in the pad of my foot, did something (not quite sure what) to straighten my second toe, and made an incision in my calf to go in and extend my achilles tendon. So, now that I'm off the Norco and no longer living in a drug induced fog, I will share my experience with you.

The surgery itself took just around 4 hours. It came complete with a 3/4 cast which encompasses everything but my calf, but is wrapped snugly with ace bandages. It's quite the fashion accessory! The humdinger is that I can't put weight on it for 4-6 weeks. So, in lieu of a functional foot/leg, I have a handy little medical leg scooter, borrowed from a friend. It even has a basket in the front. WHEEEE.

I remember waking up from the surgery and my mom coming in. She's awesome. I vaguely remember coming in (via scooter) and being tucked in to bed by my hubby. The next few days are fuzzy. Hubby was kind enough to set an alarm and wake me every four hours, on the dot, to make sure I take my Norco. Man. That stuff is potent. I didn't even feel one ounce of pain for about 24 hours after surgery. Then I started to feel some pangs and burning feelings. But the Norco helped, a lot. Unfortunately, it made me feel like someone ruffied me. WHOA. I'm talking, head lolling, eyes drooping, no focus, sick to your stomach spins. This is what "drugged" felt like. I had to double up a couple of times because my foot was really hurting. That was not smart. I felt like I was breathing too shallowly.

So I email the doctor and he sends in a prescription for Tramadol. Cool. Hubby takes that. So my amazing BFF picks up my new prescription...oh yeah, no driving for at least 6 weeks either! But, after several doses of Tramadol, even coupled with ibuprofen, I don't notice one difference. So I email him again, worried he will think that I am some sort of weird junkie trying to get her hands on all the narcotics she can. So he calls in a prescription for Tylenol with Codine. Guess what, NOTHING. Apparently with my weird body, it's all or nothing! There is no in between, contrary to what the doctor seems to think is an "in between" drug.

So I sit, day in and day out, with my leg elevated because if it swells too badly...and you're going to love this...it will explode. Not like cease to exist, but the skin will burst open. That doesn't sound pleasurable AT ALL. So, I sit. Elevated. But with a slight bend in my knee so as not to do...God knows what to it. Yeah, it throbs and sometimes I get a few sharp pains, but the worst part is that it feels overheated and suffocated. I hate that feeling. I wear open toe shoes and tank tops because I hate being covered up. This sucks. And we're only at day 9.

On the plus side, I spent 8 of those days in ONLY night gowns. I felt that shorts, pants and/or underwear would be a hindrance to me. No thank you. Because going to the bathroom? Ha! That's my adventures for the day. Imagine this if you will, you roll out of bed, put your knee on the scooter and adjust yourself so that you are comfortable. Then you wheel yourself around the side of the bed, open the door carefully so as not to hit the scooter, and wheel out into the hall, round the corner of the bathroom, pull up to the tub, push the door closed behind you (if you're feeling frisky), swivel around and carefully lower yourself onto the toilet, while propping your leg up on the scooter. Deep breath. Then you adjust so you are sitting as comfortably as possible on the toilet in this weird position.

So, business is done. Somehow it takes longer in this position with your leg up. Don't ask me why. Then you carefully grab the handle of the scooter with one hand, and push yourself up with the other, on the counter, and swing yourself around so that you are once again kneeling. Then you flush and wheel back slightly to reach the sink and wash. Then forward again so the door will open. Then you back out and go back to bed, or the living room. All the while, you are balancing yourself on one leg periodically while turning corners or trying to sit. It isn't exactly a workout, but it's the most I get to do. And if you know me, you know how often I make that trek.

My foot is heavy and hot. My toes don't wiggle. There are pins/screws inside my foot. I'm practically a cyborg. Well, a pre-cyborg since I can't DO anything yet. And I'm as bored as can be. There's only so much Facebook, Netflix and Basic Cable one girl can take. As my dear friend at work said to me today via text, "You think, oh man I'd love to lay around and lounge all day. But then when you get to do it you're like...This s**t sucks!" I couldn't have said it better myself.

That's just the recap. Stick around for more fun adventures of Bionic Toes!!!