A New Quest

I've always wondered what it would be like to have 6 pack abs.  I've had a flat-ish tummy before, and while I'm not nearly a full or pony keg, I'm a bit too soft in the mid area.  I definitely would not be caught in public with a bikini though, but I can't say I am hideous.  Well, I could, but I'm working on self-liking this week rather than self-loathing.  It's only Monday though.
Once I get through my recovery and can start actually doing something more than crutch to the bathroom and lie on the couch with my foot jacked up over my head, my goal is to get back into shape.  I turned 40 a few months ago (there!  I said it!), and have realized in just the past month that the older I am getting, the harder things are, like healing, staying healthy, and not going soft around the belly button.  I know that once I am able to walk and move around without the constant nagging pain of my ankle grinding, I will be able to concentrate on getting back into an exercise routine that consists more of actually doing activity than pretending to do some.


So, I'm willing to put in the time, the pain, and even give up sneaking snacks to try for the flat tummy.  I would even be happy with a 4 pack...

Crashing My Own Pity Party

First of all, I will admit that I am a huge fan of pity parties.  I think they are necessary and can be very therapeutic.  I have two rules for my own personal pity party though.  First and most important, pity parties cannot last more than one day.  Any longer than a day is more likely a trip down the proverbial rabbit hole and stronger measures must be taken.  Second rule is that I don't invite people to my pity party.  These things really are better left to just one person.  Bringing someone into the mix can lead to broken friendships, more sleepless nights, and if done on a frequent basis relationship issues.  


I am fine admitting to those around me that I am having the pity party.  Most people will steer clear and leave me to my darkness.  Some people try to be cute and cheer me up, which sometimes will help, but more often than not is just not what I am wanting.  I want to bask in self loathing and misery and sadness and, well, pity.  I want to do it and get it over with.


Today was the perfect day for a pity party, but thanks to the love of my life, I was actually able to crash that party.  Today mark three weeks since my ankle surgery for me.  I've not been able to do much of anything, but lie on the couch, lie in the bed, sit in the chair, crutch or knee walk to the bathroom.  Each activity is tiresome, can oftentimes be cumbersome, and takes enormous effort.  Said love of my life had a paperback in hand, asked me if I needed anything, and was headed out for a couple of hours in the pool.  I just shook my head no and proceeded to settle in for the duration of the pity party.  
Then he asked me if I was enjoying my pity party, to which I answered, "of course!"  He then asked me if I wanted to join him outside.  It's too hot, my cast will feel miserable, and I retorted (okay, whined) my litany of reasons to stay inside and sulk.  My nifty little Xerosox won't be in for a few days, so I'd just tough it out in the nice air conditioned house.  
My beloved gave me an alternative and questioned my "toughness", which was basically a challenge to live up to his offer to help me through my dark day.  So, I bucked up, went with his creativity, and had total trust in him and was able to spend a glorious hour in the pool.  


Sure it would have been easier to stay inside and wallow away, but how often does one get to crash their own party?

Cabin Fever

Today was the first day, almost 3 weeks into this journey, that I have felt really confined.  I am tired, I am cranky, and I am on the verge of a pity party.  I know that I can contribute a lot of it to not sleeping well.  I'm uncomfortable and in discomfort that borderlines on pain.  Finding comfortable position while wearing this pink monstrosity is a joke.  There isn't one.  
Then you add that there isn't much a girl in my position can do since walking is out of the question for at least 3 more weeks.  I've been reading, watching some Netflix, reading, and that's really about it.  I go from the bed to the couch and back.  I can't sit outside because, well, it's summertime in Florida and who knew fiberglass was such a conductor of heat.
I did order a Xerosox this evening.  It's a latex "sock" of sorts that has an airtight seal that will enable me to get into the pool.  I think being able to enjoy the sport of lying on a raft for a few hours a day will cheer me up some.  At least the Vitamin D will do some good.  I'll do a full review and link once I get the product and try it out.
I am heading back to work a week from today, and that will help my disposition a lot as well.  It will be nice to get out of the house.  It's going to be a pain in the rear hobbling around, but I have a couple of really awesome co-workers who have agreed to be my personal servants as long as I need them to.
As I've mentioned before, I've been through the ankle surgeries before, but I don't recall feeling this way.  This time it seems different and harder.  I can't put my finger on exactly what it is.  


This too shall pass.  I will give myself one day of a pity part and move on!

Capture the Flag - Curse of A Lifetime

I have the worst ankle of any person I know.  I have had 5 ankle surgeries, and have spent countless hours of my life dealing with the pain and issues associated with ankle arthritis.
It all started back at Fort Drum Day Camp when I was probably about 10 or 11 years old.  We were playing a game of capture the flag and my foot found a nice hole and over it went.  Now, I was never a graceful child despite my mother's trying for me to be.  I took ballet, I tried out for Little League (that's an entire other post and a bottle of wine), played some sports, but I always ended up getting hurt, most specifically my ankle.


My first surgery was at the age of 15.  I was able to lead a fairly normal life after that, with some high school sports (but always getting hurt), time in the Navy (again, ankle rears it's ugly head), and a fairly long career at nursing, all of which combined together made for a pretty crappy ankle.  


I have had two ankle fusions in the last 6 years.  An ankle fusion is where two bones of a joint are pinned (screwed) together to keep any motion from happening.  The first fusion was the big ankle joint - the one that makes your foot go up and down.  The second fusion was the joint just below the big joint, in normal people, it's the joint that allows your ankle side-to-side movement.  
So, now I am in total lock down mode of my ankle.  

My most recent surgery was about 2 1/2 weeks ago.  Having this surgery has made me realize a few things.  I'm not as young as I used to be, I'm not as strong as I think I am, and I have to come up with a really good story soon to explain the massive scarring on my foot - ankle surgery is just too boring, and my mangled paw deserves to have some fun with this.


Who would have thought an innocent child's game of Capture the Flag would change the course of my life?

Box of Rocks

I moved a few years ago from Arkansas to Florida, so I looked at that as a time to clean out the boxes that were gathering dust in my attic. I found items from my childhood, diaries from when I was a teenager, study manuals from Navy boot camp, but the most interesting thing I found were rocks. In the bottom of several boxes, there were rocks. There were funny looking rocks, rocks that I clearly suckered a parent into buying me from an overpriced museum gift shop, and rocks that I had not the slightest clue as to where they may have been picked up. There were a few seashells rolling around in the bottom of those boxes also.

I sat in my garage in the sweltering summer Arkansas heat and thought about rocks. I've always been the type of person that when walking along, keeps one eye on where I am going, but also one eye on the ground, because you just never know when you will see something that should be picked up. I guess I've had this fascination with the fossils of the earth since I was a kid. I had never really thought about it before, but then I did recall that trip to a castle in Wales. I was wandering around the grounds of this perfect Welsh castle and there was a pile of rocks. I remember looking left, looking right and plunking a piece of that castle in my purse. That rock sits today on my home office desk with a picture of the castle.

Now that I live in Florida I obsess not only over the rocks, but the seashells! I have glass containers of them all over the house, I think it's a requirement for living near the sea. I'm borderline selfish when it comes to shells also. My mother came to visit this past Thanksgiving and we took a stroll on the beach one day after lunch. I brought my trusty bucket and proceeded to barge ahead of the group to be the first person to get all the great shells. Only later did I realize that was kind of selfish, and I gave up a portion of my loot to my mom. I did keep all the sharks teeth and sea glass though.

Even though My Life with Seashells was born today, out of the land of Blogger, My Life with Seashells began a few decades ago. I've recently hit the first significant milestone in my life that has made me step back and think about what is most important to me, what matters most, and what I want the next few decades to look like.

As the sea shapes and smooths the rocks and the glass and the shells, I will shape this next and new exciting chapter in my life.