I've always been a very independent girl and this activity-halting surgery was a real slap in the face. I mean, I was informed of how my recovery would go and the things I was prohibited from doing, but still. It was mentally worse than I ever thought it could be. I hated life for about ten weeks. Not to mention, the first two weeks I was forced to wear the ugliest boot known to man, then for the next three weeks, I wore another really ugly shoe-like contraption. I was no fashion statement, I tell you. It was a long, unattractive and painful ten weeks. The pain was not that intense, but it was the kind of pain that would not go away. I'd pop an 800 mg ibuprofen and surf through the next four or six hours pretty painlessly and feel, for the most part, okay. Then, you guessed it! Here the pain would come again. I don't deal very well with pain. I never have, and I probably never will. I'm a complaining, weepy, over-reacting wus, to be more precise. And the scar! Oh the scar! It's awful. I would have endured another few weeks of pain if I could've avoided a scar. It's really ugly. But my bunion is gone and my big toe, despite the swelling that still lingers, looks great.
So, I had my surgery and I sat on my butt through two (or was it three?) blizzards. Chrysanthemum and Rose were out of school for a solid week, plus a day or two here and there, and you know who was home with them. Yup - yours truly. We spent about a week baking cookies, cakes, pies, and I happily hoovered any other sweet things I could get my grubby hands on. I gained eight sloppy pounds. I was miserable. I was very angry with myself, but felt powerless to change things. We were stuck in the house! Literally! The only activity I got for a while was shoveling snow. It's a pretty good workout, in case you hadn't heard. We got so much snow it blanketed everything, including my mood. Don't get me wrong, it was wonderful having the extra time with my Flowers, but it was not joyous to be forced to sit on my rapidly-spreading butt for weeks at a time.
Finally, on February 8th, I got clearance from my Podiatrist to begin slowly exercising again, with strict orders to take it easy. I did the happy dance out of his office, with plans to break a sweat again ASAP!
Sixteen weeks later, I'm running/walking again, I'm back up to three miles at a time, I've been reunited with my beloved Stairmaster, I've lost five of the nearly ten pounds I put on, and I'm so very happy to be active again. I never once in life thought I'd become the kind of girl that becomes miserable from being forced to be inactive. Seriously! Me???!! Who woulda thunk it?
I can't take all the credit, I've started seeing my therapist again last month and I'm working on some of the issues I've been dodging for about thirty years. Better late than never, eh?
I still battle with my weight. I still overeat and occasionally binge on something I know is no good for me. Oh yeah, I dropped out of Weight Watchers the last time around. I'm a WW drop-out again. Like Oprah said, 'I can't believe I'm still talking about my weight!' I'm currently reading Women Food and God by Geneen Roth and I'm actively seeking insight into my quest for self-destruction a la food. Learning to love myself completely, despite my extra body weight and my other miscellaneous shortcomings has been a repeated theme with me. I'm still a work in progress!
The most exciting news of all for me is that I've enrolled in a graduate program. I'll start pursuing my M.Ed (Masters degree in Education) in June. I feel very strongly that this program is going to be a good fit for me and I have high hopes for myself. I want to do well and learn a lot. I miss researching so much! If I could afford to be a professional student, I would do it in a heartbeat.
Anyhoo, I'm alive, life is good. I hope to be back real soon.
In the meantime, keep on runnin', yall!
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