Progress: It's a Beautiful Thing

I saw orthopedic doctor No. 2 on Tuesday morning about my ankle. Judging by that visit, he is vastly different from doctor No. 1. For starters, he has something every MD should have but does not: a clue.

Doctor No. 1: I have never seen this before.
Doctor No. 2: I've seen this plenty of times.

Doctor No. 1: The MRI shows some fluid. It's just... there. I don't know why.
Doctor No. 2: The MRI shows a significant finding. There's fluid in the subtalar joint. It also feels warm and I can see the swelling. This could be caused by lyme disease or rheumatiod arthritis, but I think it's from when you twisted your ankle.

Doctor No. 1: I have no idea what it could be or what to do next.
Doctor No. 2: Let's do a bone scan. We'll figure this out.

So, we have progress, in the form of a bone scan on Monday and a follow-up appointment next Thursday. I hope there's a solution and that it won't involve a needle being plunged into my my joint. But, hey: I've given birth to three babies without drugs. I can take it.

Anyone want a pair of wedge-heeled clogs, size 8?

The Ankle Saga Continues

The cast didn’t work.

A few weekends ago, Brian and I went to see the Bodies exhibit, sans kids. Yes, it was heaven (with dead bodies!), and my ankle felt pretty good. The next day I drove an hour and a half to a baby shower, sat and stuffed myself with yummy treats for a few hours, then drove home. By Sunday night my ankle felt like it did when the pain started. In other words, ouch.

By the time I went to the orthopedist last Friday, my ankle hurt every time I took a step. The cast just aggravated it. Kind of like how the staff at my orthopedist’s office affected me. They sent me to the wrong location for two of my four appointments, without apology. ("Well, I don't know what to tell you.") Friday, they topped themselves by calling to ask that I come in at 10 am instead of 11 am, which I did, so I could sit in the waiting room for an hour and see the doctor at… you guessed it… 11 am. So fun! Especially with a two year old to entertain!

All the waiting just to have the doctor tell me he’s never seen anything like this before, has no idea why it’s inflamed after two months of rest/advil/ice and then immobilization, and he cannot help me. He did recommend me to someone else, who I see in a few hours. God, I hope he can fix my ankle. This sucks.

If I sound like I’m feeling sorry for myself, you are 100 percent correct. But I’ll say this: I will never take exercise for granted again. So many people have diseases that keep them from exercising. Believe me, I’ve been Googling, and scaring the shit out of myself.

How hard it must be to listen to all the experts say again and again how exercising increases physical and mental health. And all the people who can’t do it for health reasons say “What about me? I can’t exercise. What do I do?”

Speaking of scary illnesses, I Googled myself into the hospital last Monday. At WrongDiagnosis.com, I discovered that leg/ankle pain can be caused by deep vein thrombosis, which is essentially a blood clot. DVT can cause death by pulmonary embolism, a leading cause of death in healthy young people and the third leading cause of death in the country. So, I told Brian, in case I died through the night, to just remember that I love him. Then I called my regular doctor in the morning to make sure I’d been evaluated for DVT.

The nurse assured me that the MRI would have caught that. Then she called 15 minutes later to say that, no, it wouldn’t have, and I should come in. By 2 that afternoon I was at Beverly Hospital having a vascular ultrasound, which came up negative. I was relieved, but I’ll say what I always end up saying when dealing with health care professionals: Why did I have to think of that?

If you have a minute, will you please send some prayers up for my ankle? Thank you. A few more months without exercise and I'll need a Prozac prescription. And bigger pants.

My Pain Amuses

Me: You know that job I did last week? I wrote a (blank) for a high-level (blank). And he hated it.

Mother in law: *laughing* Really? *more laughing*

~~~
Me: I did a job last week. I wrote a (blank) for a high-level (blank). And he hated it.

Niece in law: *laughing* Really? *more laughing*

I know neither of them meant it in a bad way, so it must be something in my delivery: My angst comes across as stand up. Maybe I should start performing.

~~~

I have a new review up of Karen Voight's new workout DVD series, The Six Pack. It will kick your ass. The DVDs, not the review. The review do nothing to your ass.

Also, don't forget: You have until Sunday to enter my giveaway for a copy of the fantastic book, Suburban Mom, by Meredith O'Brien, aka The Boston Mommy.

Lies Flylady Told Me

Don't get me wrong. I love FlyLady. I've been "flywashed" for more than six years. I rely on her. I don't read the emails or follow along on the zones so much anymore. But I do maintain a morning and evening routine, and I've mastered the home blessing so I can clean my house top to bottom in about an hour. When I look at a huge mess in my house, I try find 15 minutes to start attacking it, rather than scheduling an appointment with a divorce lawyer.

Keeping the house clean used to create serious resentment in me toward Brian, and while it's not all gone, it's much better than it used to be. I've become more zen about the dirty clothes on the floor:

Me: ... like that pile of clothes that's on the floor by your side of the bed every day of my life ...

Him: I don't leave clothes on the floor.

Me: I'm sorry, you what?

Him: I don't leave clothes on the floor. I pick them up every day.

Me: Oh, are we in Bri-Land again?

Hmm... that doesn't sound very zen. In the past, though, this conversation might have devolved into me shouting "You've never loved me!" and stomping off. Instead, we decided to move the hamper within shooting distance of Brian's side of the bed. I doubt it will matter, but frankly, I don't even care.

What I do care about are the two concepts I clung to most dearly when I started out with FlyLady that have turned out to be false:

1. You can maintain your home in 15 minutes a day.

Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe she meant "You can make a small dent toward decluttering your home in 15 minutes a day." I have tried to tackle problem areas by spending 15 minutes per day and it's like treading water. I spent the entire month of November on my basement storage room, for example, and you can still barely walk across the floor. I've spent all of January on our office and I'm still too embarrassed to leave the door open when we have company. I think sometimes you need to spend 15 hours a week on a cluttered area, not 15 minutes a day.

And let's be honest. When you look at FlyLady's emails she's instructing us to do far more than 15 minutes a day. Every day there's the 27 fling boogie, the five-minute hotspots, the five-minute room rescue, and the routines which inevitably for us moms include laundry, meal prep and clean-up, and picking up 3,532 toys. These items take way more than 15 minutes and they do not even include the decluttering. Even to scratch the surface, the idea of keeping house in 15 minutes a day is a Big Lie.

2. When you keep a clean, decluttered home, with a smile on your face, your family will follow suite without you having to nag.

Brian simply has a different concept of clean and decluttered than I do. Clutter doesn't bother him. Dust and dirt do not bother him. When I ask him to please, please spend five minutes a day decluttering the desk in the office, he claims that he already does. But he's referring to opening mail. Opening mail is not decluttering.

I know that I'm responsible for teaching my kids how to pick up after themselves and keep their rooms clean. However, no magical shift has happened in Brian after 6 years of me following FlyLady and generally maintaining the home without bitching about it. Well, without bitching about it as much as I used to. Brian's still the absent-minded clutter-blind lug I married 14 years ago. And I'm fine with that. But man does FlyLady annoy me by fluffing off women who live with clutter-bugs or who, if they want to see their house decluttered, will have to declutter for others for the rest of their lives. It's hard! It doesn't just magically happen! And sometimes, you have to nag. I'm sorry, but nagging can be very effective. Especially if you smile while doing it, which is really hard to do, I admit.

Despite these complaints, like I said, I still follow FlyLady, using my routines and my timer to get through the household chores. How about you? Do you use any particular system for keeping up with your house? Does it work for you? Inquiring minds want to know...

~~~~

Which Boston mom blogger has published an awesome collection of columns? How do you win a copy? Click here and find out!

Let me tell you about the pain in my ankle ...

Some ailments make me feel old. Like, ones involving joints. They say the joints are the first to go.

My ankle hurts. It started in early November, though it took me several weeks to tie it to the morning that I twisted my ankle while wearing my former-favorite pair of wedge-healed clogs.

At the time I said, “Oh, THAT was close,” because it didn’t really hurt but seemed like it should have. Heh.

After a few weeks I got an X-ray. It showed nothing, which made me happy until the nurse cut me loose to an orthopedic specialist. The first one I called could see me in four weeks. “Four weeks?!" I replied. "What is this, Russia? I hurt my ankle!” I have no idea where my kids learned to whine the way they do.

I freaked because I didn’t know whether I’d ripped a tendon or some such. I didn’t know if continuing to walk 20 miles a day all over this house and the grocery store and the park would doom me to a lifetime of pain or help it heal.

At Thanksgiving, I grilled Brian’s Aunt as I sat with an ice pack on my ankle. A nurse practitioner, she assured me that I wasn’t damaging it further by walking around on it, and that it was probably premature for an MRI anyway. The orthopedic agreed. He diagnosed posterior tibial tendonitis and told me to ice the crap out of it and take Advil until my stomach bleeds. Well, he didn’t say that exactly but, three Advil three times a day? My stomach soon felt like a hollow drum of painful bogosity.

The ice and Advil didn’t work. I switched to Aleve, which resulted in heartburn over Christmas, which mixed well with the chocolate, take-out Chinese and Mexican, batter, French fries, cookies … I think I breathed fire at one point. Even though I had to call Brian to pick up extra strength Mylanta on his way home from work, I was optimistic because the pain was almost, almost gone. I could attempt to exercise.

I completed a 30-minute, beginner, jogging-based workout. About 36 hours later, exactly three hours after I canceled my appointment with the orthopedic, the pain come back. It persisted through the next week as I waited for my new appointment. It persisted even though I'd resumed icing it and taking Advil.

The day of my appointment finally came, it had been six weeks since I saw the doctor. Six weeks without exercise. Six weeks resulting in the pants that I'd just begun fitting into again going back into a bag in my closet.

I got up early, made the boys’ school lunches, got Ava up, dressed, fed and happily watching Dora. I had an extra 15 minutes before we had to leave, enough time for a coffee and some computer time. I was so on the ball that I remembered to go outside and start the car like Brian had warned me to do. It was about 15 degrees outside.

I looked in the basket on top of the fridge for my car keys, looked on my desk and on the kitchen counter before I remembered that I had them attached to my belt loop the night before, and left them with my clothes for the next day, in a pile in the upstairs hallway.

They weren’t there. I spent the next 30 minutes searching the entire house before calling to reschedule my appointment for another week away. The keys turned up that evening on the floor of Ava’s closet. I haven't cried that much since I had the baby blues after John's birth six years ago.

Last Friday I got my MRI. It’s not tendonitis. It’s not a stress fracture. It’s fluid. Random, lonely fluid sitting on the inside of my ankle, near the heal. Making my life hell. Tuesday I got my lovely walking cast, which I will wear for four weeks. However, the doctor said if it doesn’t work in 10 days, then it won’t work. The next step in that case? “I don’t know.” That’s what he said. Can you believe it?

Since he's not the best at explaining things, I called Brian’s aunt again. She said it makes sense that twisting your ankle could cause some renegade fluid build-up, and a walking cast is a reasonable thing to try. She said the next thing will probably be to use a needle to get the fluid out then give me a cortisone shot.

While writing this, I remembered that I found a tiny, lentil-sized lump on my shin of the same leg. So my latest theory is that I have cancer and the MRI wasn’t high enough up my leg to see it. I also have a chest cold and my period. Great week, let me tell you.

My next appointment is next Friday. By then we’ll know if the cast is working, and I’ll try out my cancer explanation on the doc, which he will hopefully debunk.

In the meantime, I’ll try not to think about the C Word, or all those leftover church window candies in my freezer. I will, however, be buying some fat pants.

When there's a deadline, there's a nor'easter

I have a deadline on Monday.

First I didn't get my interview until Wednesday evening. Then, the weather guy predicted, correctly, downpours on Friday so my mother couldn't drive here to babysit. Friday morning I had to get an MRI of my ankle early in the morning, so I couldn't even work for a few hours before Brian left for work.

Saturday we had John's party at the local indoor sports place, then had four adults and three kids over to watch the Patriots. During John't party, I found out that the predicted 6-12inches of snow on Monday would again prevent my Mother from babysitting for me. When I got home, I realized I'd come down with the chest cold that Ben and Ava have had for two weeks.

So I napped, drank beer, woke up with a kink at the top of my left shoulder blade. Went out for a much-needed and long-overdue visit with a good friend. Then I worked all day today, finally finishing a draft in time to help put the kids to bed.

For most of the winter, I've warn my thick, terry cotton bathrobe every night without a belt because I'd lost it. To avoid freezing to death, I had to hold the thing closed. A few days ago, I found the belt, and tonight I finally picked it up and stuck it back through the two belt loops.

With this important deadline hanging over my head, it felt like such a simple comfort, to get that silly belt back on. I was glad I met with my friend this morning too. It felt like I was finally managing to work under a deadline while still taking care of myself. With the temperature outside falling ahead of the impending Nor' Easter, I pulled the belt snug and headed downstairs for a piece of leftover pizza.

Then I went to the bathroom, and my belt fell into the toilet water. Then I checked the weather, and realized the boys will have a snow day tomorrow. Deadline day.

So now I'm going to bed to dream about a magic, free babysitter fairy who shows up on my doorstep in the morning, with a snow shovel, so that I can finish my article on time.

"Mom? Are you ... Wonder Mom?"

The other day, Ben appeared in the kitchen, his eyes wide.

"Mom? Are you ... Wonder Mom?"

I'd left the computer on with my Web site up. He was trying to get to Lego.com. My cover was blown.

"Yes, son, it's true. I'm Wonder Mom, and I've got some super powers that you haven't learned about yet."

I don't know if it's a testament to my prowess as a mom or the limitless imagination of a 7-year-old boy, but he didn't question me furthur. He just nodded silently and ran off to play.

~~~~

I've got a new review up here on a video game that will help convince my boys I'm a superhero by sending me secret emails about their progress. The game is JumpStart World First Grade, and it's unique enough to make it worth a look.

Begin Again, Again and Again

This morning, I looked at my New Year's resolutions from last year. Here are my 2007 goals and how I did at meeting them:

• Keep evolving as a mom; stay involved with the kids.

Check. I keep trying NOT to be involved, but like mosquitos in my net, I can't get away from these kids. Seriously, though, the thing that hurt me the most at this time last year was that I was so sad and out of shape and unhealthy that I was missing out on my kids. That has changed.

• Get into better shape: eat better and exercise more.

Check. I'm an official exerciser, and if you don't count the week between Christmas and New Year's (or, was it a month?), I eat like a vegan monk. Minus the vegan part.

• Figure out what I want from my blog. A hiatus, a division into two blogs, or a new, anonymous beginning may be in order.

Erm, well, I'm waffling on this one. I made some decisions and have a vision of my future Web site, but nothing's happening yet.

• Have another baby or give away the baby stuff.

Check. I have populated my niece's basement with strollers, a breast pump, and hundreds of itty bitty pink outfits. *Sob*

• Pick up some paid writing work.

Check. This came about by sheer luck, but I have picked up a semi-regular, well-paying client who is thrilled with my work. Thank you, God!

• Hang pictures, and add furniture, pillows, etc., to make my house feel more like a home.

No, I didn't make it this far. That's what next year's for, right?

Speaking of which, here are my goals for 2008:

• Declutter my house down to its cold, naked bones.

• Decorate, adding furniture, wall hangings, etc., as necessary. (Key word: necessary.)

• Deal with the family photos. Get some up on the wall, others into books, and all of them organized. This should only take about 12 years.

• Eliminate unecessary spending and, in particular, do not buy books. Not even one. My psyche is screaming "Unless! Except if!" And I have to say to my psyche, "There is no 'unless' or 'except if'! Only 'don't'." With what I own now, I could open four different libraries in developing countries, so I have to stick to this one. I'm scared. Hold me.

• Keep working and growing as a writer. Squash all negative thoughts that arise when I read the fab bios of ultra-successful writers all over the interwebs, the ones that make me look like a wannabe hack in comparison. (See? There I go again.)

• Play with my kids every day. Take pictures and video of them and make entries in their journals every week.

• Become a more loving person, which sounds kind of "out there" and subjective, but in reality, it isn't. "Love" is a verb, man.

These are all ongoing projects and I've got to just keep plugging at them. I think I'll make good progress if I keep my one resolution for 2008: to keep building on the good habits I created in 2007.

I didn't acquire all that many, but each had a big impact on my life. In March I started walking 2 miles a day. In June I started eating well. In August I cut my beer consumption way back. In September I began getting up early every day. In November I began eating an apple a day.

Christine Kane inspired me to come up with my word for the year. I think I'm going with "attention," to myself, my kids, my responsibilities, my dreams and, yes, even my to-do list, which still has items on it from 2005.

Bring it on, 2008. I'm ready.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've got a new post up at my other blog on Heidi Murkoff's new book, "What to Expect Guide to a Healthy Home." You don't want to miss it because I share the story of my biggest gross-out at the hands of another mom, ever. It gives me the willies just thinking about it. C'mon, the willies can be fun!