My Life With Seashells

When I first started this blog the main purpose was to use the medium of writing for a creative outlet.  I could put my thoughts out there for all the world to see, wear my heart on my sleeve, be as real a possible - of course, all the while working on those creative thoughts and processes that are always going through my mind.  


Why would anyone really want to ready about me - a forty something chick who lives in Florida, collects seashells, has a bum ankle and likes to read?  What do I have to offer?  So, I trudged along like I always do, and when the transition from an old year to a new year came around I decided that I actually DO have something to offer.  I'm a forty something chick that lives in Florida who loves to read, who has a bum ankle, and I collect seashells.  Wait?  What?  Didn't I just say that not three sentences ago?  Yes, yes I did.  


I sat around for almost a month and wrung my hands and clutched my pearls with worry that I wouldn't be able to pull it off.  I thought that I would just let this blog fade away and swirl down the toilet bowl of where blogs go when they die.  I second guessed myself, then third guessed myself, then asked myself "what do I have to lose"?  Nothing really.  Either I go for it and succeed or fail or never go for it and that in and of itself is a failure without even trying.  Then I would kick myself in the tush for not giving it go.  More hand wringing, more pearl clutching, then a eerie sense of calm.  Nike said it best - "Just do it"


I've often thought of going to all the blogs I stalk follow and stumble across and asking in the comments section, what motivated you to start blogging?  What was your creative inspiration and desired outcome for having a blog?  Did it change part way through?  


Here it is:


I read.  I read a lot, probably a lot more than many people.  Besides searching for the end of the Internet,  reading is my main source of entertainment.  I don't have cable television, so the day-to-day drama of reality television and commercials escapes me.  While the books that I read aren't profound, and most of them are picked up in an extremely economic way - they are entertaining for me and give me a way to escape daily stress.  I actually do read a lot of Indie books that I pick up as freebies on Amazon, and what better way to give back and say thank you to the author of that book than to give them a true and honest review of their labor of love?  The Internet is powerful and through the mediums of blogging and Twitter and Goodreads and other social media I could possibly help these authors out by reviewing their work and letting the communities that I follow know.


I have a bum ankle.  For my entire adult life I have dealt with the worsening progression and disability of my right ankle.  I have belonged to a couple of communities of other people who share a similar plight in their lives, but as someone who craves information, I know that the more information there is out there, the more calming effect it has.  I believe that I can provide that information as a historical summation of how my ankle problems started and how I have been able to maintain a pretty active and normal lifestyle while losing a part of myself in the process and not going [totally] insane.


I collect seashells.  I've always had an affinity for rocks and the little things that the earth leaves us I see as gifts.  I am not really sure why, but I keep my eyes to the ground when I am walking, because I never know what I might stumble upon and be able to pick up as a treasure.  I've collected a lot of rocks and seashells and sea glass and shark's teeth along the way, and I would like to share those trips of finding such treasures with everyone.  They are special and have meaning to me.




So, that's the 2012 "Attainable Goal" for My Life With Seashells.  I hope that you will enjoy some part of it, give me honest and truthful feedback, and come back again and again.

Put One Foot In Front of the Other

I was given the clearance to start the walking process on Monday - holy hell is it ever a process.  I guess after not putting any pressure onto an appendage for over 10 weeks that it would take a little while to get used to the walking thing again.  
I do okay with the crutches and a little weight - not enough to really hurt, but enough to know that I'm putting some pressure down on something that is completely different than it was a couple of months ago.  I keep reminding myself that it's not going to happen overnight and continue being patient.
I am so anxious to ditch the crutches, because there are so many things I want to do.  I want to dig out my sewing machine, I want to photograph my flowers and the beautiful tortoises that hang out in the front yard every day, and I want to walk my wee little furry friend Murphy.  It's been so long since we walked together - longer than I can remember.  
I want to stop looking like a dummy at the thrift shops with hangers hanging on my crutches.  I want to get back to making my bed every day and helping the love of my life with house chores and dinner.  I want to drive again and I want to stop my daily fight with the restroom door at work. 

Slow and steady, push myself, but know my limitations, right? 


I think I'll sing some Chubby Checker this week when I practice!

19 More Days

I had my 7 week post-op, sub-talar ankle fusion appointment today.  I have had a couple of good days of playing my favorite game of "What If", and had all kinds of scenarios going through my head.  What if I had a failed fusion?  What if the incision didn't heal correctly?  What if I had little blisters all over my heels and sides of my foot?  What if my foot fell off when they took the cast off?  Yeah, I know, that last one was kinda dumb, but when you aren't sleeping well, the imagination can be a scary thing.
The doctor seemed extremely pleased with my progress so far, and liked what he saw on my x-rays.  At this point I was beginning to relax and scold myself for playing too much "What If".  The he says he's going to put me in a boot (YAY, big ugly boot), but he wasn't quite ready to let me walk on it just yet.  WTF?  Talk about being deflated, though the full impact of that didn't truly hit me until a few hours later.  
I'll head back down to see him again on July 11th for more x-rays, and then take it from there.


My thoughts on this are kind of scattered right now.  What if (yes, I know...) my fusion is going to fail?  He never mentioned anything of the sort, but I do know from my vast experience with my ankle that putting some pressure on it will help solidify the fusion.  Then the love of my life (who is truly the most rational person I know and doesn't feed into my hysteria) mentioned that he just thinks the guy is being ultra conservative in his care.  That actually makes the most sense (see, I told you he was rational).  My surgeon is a pretty straight laced guy, and has been pretty laid back and conservative in all his treatment since I've started seeing him, so this is more than likely the main reason.  
So, I have 19 more days of the crutches, the knee walker, being taxied to and from work, laying around and not being able to help myself do much.  


The good in all of this though, is that I do have the boot, which gives me some feeling of freedom.  I am finally able to let my foot air out which is a very wonderful feeling.  Once the dead skin and bohemian look is gone (tomorrow - I don't think I can stand myself for much longer with this hair, I mean, I can practically braid it and bead it like they do in the Caribbean) I will post some more pictures.  They gave me a disk with all my x-rays on it too, which is so cool, and I can show ya'll where I got screwed!!!!


19 days isn't that long is it?

Random Stuff

I hate tomatoes.  They are vile and make me gag.  I will pick out the smallest piece of chunk tomato in my spaghetti sauce.

I love sushi.  I will try any type of sushi at least one time, and the only thing I have found I don't like is salmon roe - *shudders.

I wore a shirt with a hole in it to work today.

I have an obsession with making sure the toilet lid is down.  I am getting better at it, but used to go behind my house guests and put it down.

Toilet paper has to come over the top.  I've found myself changing it in public restrooms before.  I don't change it at friend's homes, though the temptation is HUGE.

Even after 20 years, I still get butterflies in my stomach when the love of my life kisses me.

I really want to live on a sailboat someday.

I have the BEST idea for a book, but I just can't get it out on paper.  

I have two friends that I have never talked to or met in real life.  We are closer in many ways than some of my real life friends.

I worry way too much about how other people view me.

I can be really, really lazy sometimes, but like to brag about how productive I am.

I have had a meltdown in Dillard's shoe department.

I hate shopping in department stores, but love to troll thrift stores.

I always walk with my head down so that I won't miss a penny to pick up or a really cool rock.

I think my dog is better and cuter than everyone else's dog.

I can live the rest of my life and never eat another bite of chocolate and be okay with that, but please don't make me go without french fries and Whoppers.

Sometimes I just wish the love of my life and our little dog could just leave the rest of the world behind and go far, far away.  Of course, I would want to at least have the Internet so that I can blog, Facebook, and Tweet about it.

Since having ankle surgery, I really hate taking a shower.  I wish there was a magical way I could get clean.

I love to play the "What If" game.  But I only really like to play it with bad thing and outcomes.  It makes it much more fun.  Sometimes, when I'm in a good mood, I like to play "What if I win the Powerball".

I really want to get a hole-in-one.

Solitary Confinement

I've spent the last three days in what I have called solitary confinement to the couch.  While I am not alone in the true sense - I have the wonderful love of my life with me and my little dog too - I am making myself stay on the couch with this blasted foot jacked up on a stack of pillows, again.  I started back to work on June 1st with a run of three half days.  I figured that would be enough to gear me up for a week of full days.  Was I ever wrong!  I made it to Thursday, never being able to complete a full day, and had to call in sick to work on Friday.  It was truly another low point for me in this recovery.  I have only called in to work sick one other time, and I wasn't able to open my eyes due to a headache caused by chemicals in the workplace.
I can't really keep my foot elevated the way it needs to be at work.  I tried balancing it on my tower for a few days, but knocked that over on my good big toe and decided that was a bit too dangerous both for myself and office IT equipment.  So, we tried a box with two pillows on it.  This helped some, but I still can't find a comfortable position.  The only time that I am truly comfortable is when I have my foot jacked up on my desk.  This is a very uncomfortable position to actually try to work in, and it's not very professional.  I limit this to a few minutes every couple of hours, mostly when I know most people are out of the office and not walking around.  
So, I promised myself if I stayed home I would keep my foot elevated the majority of the time, and so far I have kept my promise.  Not that there is much else for me to do.  I can't go shopping (not that I would, because I really dislike shopping) or to the beach or out to dinner or really anything else.  
I'm going nutty as well.  I've had a few crying jags over the last couple of weeks.  These seem to strike out of the blue, last from a few minutes to a half hour.  I know that this is normal, but hate to break down in front of co-workers.  At home is one thing, alone is best, but at work is just not cool at all.  Then yesterday I had the total opposite.  I laughed uncontrollably; side splitting, hard to breathe, tears streaming down my face, bladder bursting laughing.  I tried to share what I was laughing about with the love of my life, and he just did not find it even chuckle worthy, so I laughed harder.
Between the laughing and the crying - today I am feeling more on the weepy side, I have come to the conclusion that solitary confinement is not for me.  Tomorrow is Monday, and I am heading back to work.  I think I am feeling strong enough after this little break to work the full days.  I think that I was both physically and emotionally unprepared and not ready for full day work when I thought that I was.  This is not the first time I have underestimated healing since this journey started back on May 5th.  
The best part about tomorrow is that I can finally say that I am getting out of The Pink Monstrosity next week!  This is enough to make a girl practically giddy, though I am keeping the emotions in check and not letting them show too much.  I may very well be going back into another fiberglass prison.  I'm really, really hoping for the big, black, ugly boot though.  Really!  


Tomorrow starts the official countdown to June 23rd!

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...

A Working Convalescence

Tomorrow I am heading back to work after being off since May 4th.  Seems like a lifetime ago at times, then other times just like yesterday.  I've had a successful surgery, an uneventful beginning to my recovery, and am getting my strength back a little every day.  Going back to work is going to be difficult at times, but it will definitely be good for me emotionally.  Have I changed any?  Have they changed any?  Will they look at me funny?  Will they even care or will they just look at me with pity?  

I'm going to work half-days this week, then reassess and see how I feel on Monday.  If I'm feeling good, then I'll go back full-time.  If I start to feel bad, I will leave early.  I am very grateful that I don't have to do any walking for my job and that my desk and office will be my refuge.  I know that it will not be easy, but not everything is.  It's going to take a lot of time to get ready in the morning, and hobbling around with crutches and a knee walker isn't a walk (ha!) in the park.  I will have to constantly remind myself that I have to go slow and not try to be a show off at work as to how tough I am.  Who am I kidding?  When it's come to this surgery, I am far from tough and even through a relatively easy recovery I get scared and nervous and apprehensive over little things.  I just have to remember that when surrounded by my colleagues.  I'm human too.  Let a little of the shell break.

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?