I do not feel good

Possible causes for my current headache, which I would describe as "splitting" (I mean, it's been awhile since I literally thought my head might split in two, but I would say I am about there now):
--the sides of my brain are fighting a civil war, and one side is trying to pull away from the other.
--sinuses
--monsters
--regret for times gone by
--little children who have been given pick-axes are running around in there
--I clench my jaw too much
--someone has made a voodoo doll of me and is sticking all the pins in the head
--I can read Lord Voldemort's mind (ala Harry Potter)
--stress over my job and my life
--my ponytail is too tight
--the angels are bowling in there (although I think that explains thunder)
--accidentally hitting myself over and over with a frying pan while making breakfast this morning (that one's a trick because I don't cook!)
--a gang beating that I do not remember

That's all I got. I was caught in a moral dilemma this evening, because I do not like blogs that complain. But I am also trying to blog every day in August. But I can barely see because of my head. I can only hope that this list will suffice.

Goodbye old friend

Before I completely lose the cane, which I hope happens in the next day or two, I must share some of the affectionate nicknames and daydreams that walking with a cane has inspired:

Nicknames:

• Co-caine (This is the one that I spread around the office which I think led to some confusion for people, who didn't hear the whole story, yet kept hearing "Molly" and "cocaine" used in the same sentence)
• Candy Cane (To be used instead of the above, if children were present)
• Sugar Cane
• B-c-ane of my Existence

Daydreams:

• I twirl it, like a baton
• I walk down the street, and then suddenly break into a musical number. This daydream had many variations; the variations usually involved what kind of hat I was wearing. Top hat, bowler--these are good kinds of hats for singing and dancing with a cane. A baseball hat is not a good hat for a musical number fantasy. The most common motif on this theme involved me being a male in England, with a bowler and a handlebar mustache, walking all jaunty with the cane and possibly being in a Monty Python movie.
• Remember in the original Willy Wonka movie, where Gene Wilder comes out with the cane, and the kids are getting all bummed because this man is old and slow, then he falls! but no! it's just a somersault and the cane is but a mere prop? I would think about that a lot.
• The end of the cane could be magic, and would really contain an umbrella, or confetti, or one of those cloths that just says 'bang' and I could pop out whatever I needed to create a humorous situation.
• Beating people senseless with the cane. I mean, people are not all that nice to people they don't know who are injured, and when you are holding a natural weapon, the thought crosses one's mind to do violence to these people. I am not proud of this daydream, but I won't pretend that it didn't cross my mind from time to time.
• I smuggle things in the cane, for the good of my country.

I'll just slow you down

Tonight was another National Geographic lecture, this one featuring Borge Ousland, who does things like trek to the North/South poles and across Antarctica, on skis. His most recent expedition was to the North Pole in the winter, aka in complete darkness. This lecture kind of made me feel like a chump, because this guy can ski in the coldest places in the earth, pulling sleds of supplies, while being chased by polar bears, IN THE DARK, and I can't even make it down one hill without throwing out a knee. I mean, as Borge put it, things like frostbite were just cosmetic setbacks, and things like a polar bear trying to eat your tent meant a day's delay. I twist a knee and I'm gone for three weeks.

But Borge also wove into his account just how much of the trip is mental, just knowing you can do it and having a passion for it and putting one foot in front of the other. So that is what I would like to think I am doing.

Speaking of putting one foot in front of the other, I had my first physical therapy appointment today. My therapist was great--very much into the tough love, which I like. She made fun of the way I walked for awhile, but that's good, because she's been the first person who said, okay, stop protecting it and start making it strong again. Except I kind of can't remember how I used to walk before. We also worked on bending it and again, I got the go-ahead to keep on bending it even if hurts, wheras before I was concerned that pain might be a sign to stop.

So I give myself a little less than a week before I better be perfectly healed. I turn 25 on Sunday and I better not look like a gimpy old lady.

I finished the magic pizza for lunch today

Since I last wrote, Miracle Healing Weekend has been going grrreat! I have done lots of reading, watched Nacho Libre and Saturday Night Live, ate chocolate-covered strawberries, iced AND heated the knee, etc. The kind of thrilling lifestyle one leads when one is undergoing a Miracle Healing Weekend; I am sure it is very similar to living in an ashram or attending a spiritual retreat.

Anyways, the big event of today was my knee popping. At first there was very bad pain and I thought that things were suddenly worse, but now it appears to be better....I can walk, bend, sit, with pain in only one spot right now. It is a big improvement.

In celebration, let's do some spam, the Miracle Healing Weekend edition:

From: Santiago Y. Philip
Subject: Nothing gets people motivated to exercise like seeing their position on the board slip as others get out there and work up a sweat!
Tell me about it, Santiago! I would actually kill to be able to do some exercise right now, but I have not been able to do anything except lay around. Now, that might sound ideal to some people, but I honestly do enjoy exercise, and I've done enough lying around, as evidenced by my bed sores.

Here are some physical activities that are motivating me to get better:
-Walking
-Yoga
-Sitting down without major exertion
-Playing soccer
-The elliptical machines with the DVD players at the gym
-Skiing (just checking to see if you are still reading)

From: Diaz
Subject: For how to use it: start with a hand on each grip and kneel down with both knees together on the floor.
I got this one on a day when I was feeling particularly sorry for myself, and it was so out of the realm of remote possibility, that I nearly cried.

From: Eddie Torres
Subject: Can't find high-property prescriptions?
Normally, spam about prescription drugs is a dime a dozen. But when you're nursing a sprained knee with nothing more than Advil, you start to pay a little more attention to them.

Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm

The first few hours of Miracle Recovery Weekend have not been going great, mainly because the pain has shot up my entire leg. I am trying to be okay with it, because I think it is due to my stretching out my leg a little bit last night. But man oh man.

If I could send a message from post-injury Molly, to pre-injury Molly, excepting of course any message like, hey don't go on that ski run, it would be, "hey, pick up all your fucking shoes before you leave, because if you get injured, you're going to trip over all of them constantly, and you're going to be unable to bend over to pick them up."

In the many hours of television watching that have already occured, I saw a commercial for Advil, where a woman who was a boxer or an athlete or something where she habitually had many aches and pains, goes, Advil takes care of all my aches and pains. It works where I need it most. Then there was a graphic of the Advil swooping through her body to help with her arm or her neck or whatever. But let me tell you, as someone who sadly was prescribed no painkiller other than ibuprofen, that the Advil is having a hard time making it to my right leg.

Miraculous Weekend of Healing

Around Wednesday, I came up with the Miracle Weekend of Healing (little c, circled, copyrighted and trademarked). It seemed like I was coming home for about 15 minutes before I fell asleep. I’d wake up exhausted no matter how much sleep I got. I realized I needed mass amounts of time to lie down, sleep, etc. This time, I quickly identified, could be accomplished during a weekend.

How it works: All I will do for the next two days is watch tv, read, listen to music, and only do things that can be accomplished in a horizontal position. I will eat pizza for the whole weekend, and by Monday morning (when I have a follow-up doctor’s appointment) I will be completely cured.

So the miracle weekend has started. It is Friday night, and I am not ashamed to say that I will not be doing anything that involves leaving my apartment until Monday morning. The pizza has already been ordered, and two slices consumed (the pizza was key to the weekend, because ordering a pizza represents convenience and comfort, and pizza is the only food that I like heating up over and over again) When I finish blogging I will ice the knee for a bit. I am watching all the television I taped over the week (Daily Shows, Colbert Reports, Lettermans) which will make me laugh. Still, I will probably be asleep in about 45 minutes.

Anyways, I hope to blog quite a bit in this weekend of solitude and healing. Hopefully I will finish 5 books and have like 6 witty observations or something. Whatever can be accomplished without leaving the apartment.

Week in Review

Monday started off pretty great. The knee had felt instantly better with the immobilizer. I had some black pants that fit over the knee brace. Clair gave me a ride to work, and the story was interesting to tell, oh, the first five times.

Then things kind of went downhill. I got sore sitting in weird positions that were not too comfortable. I got sore from the crutches. Basically I have been constantly sore since.

I learned that people in Seattle are mean. Monday afternoon I took the bus home and no one stood up to give me a seat for quite awhile. Then I had people stepping on my leg. I mean, I know the immobilizer was hidden beneath the pants, but if someone is carrying crutches, and they are sitting in the handicapped seats, and they have their leg sticking out in the aisle, maybe you should consider that they can’t bend their knee, or that there might be an injury involved.

Other mean things I have experienced: people watching me try to open a door and not helping (I don’t mean that everyone needs to hold a door, I’m talking about the people who make eye contact/definitely are watching someone on crutches struggle with a door and don’t do anything. Those people exist). Also there are people, who again, I have made eye contact with, that won’t veer just a bit to one side of the crosswalk or other, so that I’m the one that has to go around them. C’mon people.

That’s not to say I haven’t had plenty of people offer to help me out. For starters, Clair gave me a ride just about everywhere once I realized the hell on earth that is taking a bus with crutches. Also Emily gave me rides as well, and she fetched me lunch and candy many times, and other little things that were a big help, despite finding out this week that her elbow has been broken all this time. Strangers as well---one woman helped me when I kept dropping my purse (before I learned that you gotta carry a backpack) and many people in the office who I haven’t even spoken to before are asking about how I’m doing and holding elevators and whatnot.

But overall, I give Seattleites a mean score. I think if I had this injury in the south, things would have been easier.

Also, only in Seattle will people think that a skiing injury is cool. When I told my dad, who has gone through a knee replacement himself, what I did, I admitted, “this is a pretty stupid way to hurt a knee,” and he agreed. But when you tell people in Seattle you got hurt skiing, they actually get excited! They want to talk all about what skiing they’ve done recently, and they want to talk about good places to ski and when can I go skiing again. I will tell you now, that based on a week of pain, I never want to go skiing again. You shouldn’t tell someone who is struggling to get around skiing. They kind of hate it.

General observation: Crutches make your clothes smell. It’s not that your crutches smell like your armpits, it’s that your armpits smell like your plastic-y industrial crutches.

One morning, while hobbling around, I broke my phone. So my phone is gimpy too.

I am so tired. I think I have said that. But I am worn out.

Urgent care!

Clair took me to Urgent Care. The wait was not that long and was a bit frustrating just because we were trying to find the crossword in the New York Times and could not find it no matter where we looked.

Then I went back. The nurse took care of some basic info and whatnot. He said the doctor would be there in 15 minutes. An hour later, he came in and said the doctor had seen my chart and it was time for some X-rays. We took a trip to radiology. Now, this Urgent Care visit occurred on Sunday around 7 pm, so the hospital was not very bustling. So it was fairly eerie to be wheeled through empty corridors into semi-darkened rooms.

The guy who did the x-rays was pretty creepy looking and also a mumbler so I could not understand much of what he was directing me to do with my body. But eventually we got the x-rays, and I went back to my well-lit room.

A nice physician’s assistant told me that I did not have a fracture and likely strained some ligaments. They were going to wait to anything with the ligament stuff because the knee was swollen and I was in pain. So I got a knee immobilizer, crutches, and they told me to take lots of advil. Then Clair got me home and settled. Thus concludes the account of urgent care. Big ups to Clair for taking me to urgent care.

My sad tale of woe

Perhaps you’ve been wondering to yourself, hey, why has Molly not been making any cute observations, or reading any books, or putting up semi-funny spam? Why did she not attend my Risk Party on March 16? Well, I can tell you. It is a tale of woe.

It did not start as a tale of woe. It started as a perfectly lovely trip with some co-workers to go skiing in Whistler. We left on a Friday afternoon. We had some laughs on the way up, and we had salami and wine when we got up there. We played Apples to Apples, which is probably one of my favorite games of all times. Saturday was lovely as well. Two people went snowshoeing. One person went snowboarding. Four people, including myself, went skiing.

Perhaps you are saying to yourself, hey, Molly has always been very anti-skiing, ever since she busted her head open in a tragic middle school accident, on the first time (and until recently) last time she went skiing. But the thing is, the people in Seattle are c-c-c-crazy for the skiing! Apparently it is really good here and I’m supposed to do it more often! Okay! I said. Time to ski!

Well, at Whistler, it was amazing. Even a novice like me could tell that this was pretty incredible snow, and for several hours, I was doing pretty well. I fell, but not that much. I was into it.

Now begins the tale of woe. I like to keep the blogs semi-anonymous, but I am about to use someone’s real name. This person is my co-worker and she probably would not like to be in a blog but she must get credit because, as you’ll eventually see, she saved my life. This person’s name is Elizabeth.

So Elizabeth and I were trying to replicate an easy run that the more experience skiers had taken us on earlier (the more experienced skiers off having a challenge for once, deservedly so). But I guess we took a wrong turn, because we got to a point where we could go left, or we could go right, and either way was going to be a blue run. We were trying to do green runs. Anyways. We just randomly chose a blue run.

Basically on the first hill, I fell, but more than fell, I somehow twisted my leg over my body somehow. I felt my knee immediately. I knew I was sunk. Elizabeth sat with me and I kind of calmed down, and I was moving my knee a bit. We heard it pop back into place, and it didn’t hurt anymore. So I thought I should keep going, just to get to the next lift (we were very near the top of the mountain, but not near enough to walk back up). So I got back up and tried to ski. I could tell I was not putting any weight on the hurt leg, because I was going the wrong way, and to go the right way, I was going to have to put weight on the hurt leg. So I did, and I immediately fell again. It hurt even worse. But there was no one else around, besides Elizabeth, so I figured I had to get to the bottom of the hill. So we went through the ordeal of putting on my skis one more time, and trying one more time. I am sure you see where this is going. When I fell the third time, it felt like my leg was going to snap in half. I was convinced I had broken my knee.

Elizabeth helped me get off to the side of the mountain, and she staked her skis in an X around me so I wouldn’t get hurt. She kept me calm. We debated about whether she should leave me, and go try to bring help back, but eventually more people started coming down the mountain, and a ski instructor radioed for help.

Ski patrol showed up, in the form of a kind foreigner named Andres. Elizabeth said later that she thought Andres was high as a kite, but he was nothing but perfectly nice. He loaded me up on a toboggan. I guess the idea of being tobogganed off the mountain is mortifying to serious skiers, but to me, it was actually pretty cool, except for the whole being hurt part. If you are unfamiliar with the concept, you lie on your back on a sled. They strap you in and put a tarp on top of you, and they rope your skis on top. Then the ski patrol guy skis down the hill with you behind. I got to go down the hill really fast.

The one bad part is that Andres told Elizabeth to ski beside him, but he had to leave her behind in order to get me to the bottom faster. I spent a lot of time feeling bad about this, since Elizabeth refused to leave me, and we were in a strange town where we didn’t know our way around, we didn’t have a cell phone between us, etc….all the kinds of things were present where you really shouldn’t be leaving people alone.

Andres stuck me in a van with two other injured people, one of whom was just a kid who had appeared to be tired of skiing. The kid was in the front seat of the van and wouldn’t move the seat up when I was trying to get in the back, and by this time my leg literally wasn’t moving. So I had some hatred for that kid.

Then we get to the clinic. They put me in a wheelchair. The other two people in the van with me were Canadian, so they got all sorts of nice treatment, and they were in and out right fast. But they told me, that as a foreigner, that I was probably looking at a $700 bill, and that if I had any sort of ability to put weight on the leg at all, that I should try to wait til I got back to Seattle. I said I’d wait til my friends showed up, and then I’d decide.

Then began the long wait. I didn’t mind sitting there, but my mind was full of all the steps that had to be taken…Elizabeth had to get down the hill and figure out how to message the others. The other people had to get down as well. We had left a message for some people earlier to meet us in a different place than originally planned. A lot of logistics were very poor, and I didn’t have anyone’s number. When I heard the troubles they all had meeting up later, then I felt even worse, and thought it was even more amazing that we all found each other. It was an ordeal, but I’ll save you the details, because this blog is all about ME.

Eventually everyone showed up and we went back to the condo. Everyone was terribly nice to me and brought me beverages, food, helped me walk, took pictures with a camera phone of the Scrabble board when we were playing games later. I still had a great time, but I knew something was wrong.

The weather was crappy the next day, so we packed up and left. The ride home was fun. We stopped for nachos and other pub food in Bellingham, and we stopped for Dairy Queen in Stanwood. We made it back to Seattle and Clair (another friend who is losing her anonymity in this account) took me to Urgent Care, which shall be the topic of the next post.