Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Dr. T fixes my toe

Well today was what I expected and then some. I woke at 8:30 (slept in on purpose) and got ready to head up to Bethesda for outpatient surgery. Typical when I want to avoid something, I poked around and pushed my timetable to the point of almost being late. Let's be honest, you probably wouldn't be rushing out to get your toe sawed on either - man, this is going to hurt.

My anxiety starts to rise as I approach Constitution Ave and realize, I've been sitting at this intersection too long I'm not going anywhere soon. Traffic has this city at a stand still. I need to change my game plan. What is that? Smoke...holy shit that guy's car is on fire...what do I do? what do I do? There's no where to go I'm stuck behind this flaming inferno AND I'm about to be late for surgery! Leaving my car with Amir and taking metro, I've got to get out of here or I'll go mad. Screw it, I don't care if we're in a snow emergency, I'm parking on the street. I park and start to run to the metro stop as the fire trucks and ambulances start to arrive - this is not a good omen. Calm, calm, and take a deep breath you can't think about what you can't control.

So I arrive, a little late, but the team is so kind and accommodating I immediately start to relax. Dr. T took advantage of my tardiness and grabbed lunch so I know I'm not dealing with a cranky hypoglycemic with a saw thank goodness. I'm in the surgery suite, one shot - shit that hurt, two shots - holy hell isn't this supposed to go numb at some point, third shot - are you shitting me? Maybe I should have let them knock me out. 15 minutes later it was done.

So here I lay hours later, 2 Vicodin and one still numb club foot (exaggeration) - too scared to go to bed cuz' I know I'm going to bang it on something in my sleep, but hoping to pass out of exhaustion soon enough.

So why am I writing this entry? I don't have a clue, but felt I needed to write about my anxiety and how unfounded it was. I needed to put on paper (or should I say cyberspace) me fears about how long this is going to take to recover. How I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to get around in this snow filled, ice sculpture of a town on one size 6.5 foot. How I have no idea how I'm going to respond to the post surgery pain and to do so will I become addicted to Vicodin? Brett Favre did, do I have greater will power than him? That part was ridiculous, I don't really think I'm going to become a pain killer addict - but well I did worry about it for a nano second. How in the hell am I going to shower with this thing on my foot? Man I've got nothing but questions, and no good answers Argggghhhhh!!!!

Well there was one bright spot out of this whole thing...when the nurse measured my height I found out I'm actually 5'3" - HOT DAMN!!! Things are lookin' up.