three years, two surgeries and one bad snow day

Today I put a shoe on my left foot for the first time in 11 days. Today I rode my bike for the first time in a month or so, though it was attached to a trainer. Today I had the stitches removed. Today I drew a happy face on my big toe. And Kathryn drew a surprised face on the next toe, and a sad face on the middle toe, an angry face and a sleepy face on my ring and baby toes.

So... here is to happy bones covered by our new addition... cartilage! The acupuncturist's instructions: drink lots of chicken or turkey soup stock and do everything your PT tells you. What my surgeon tells me: ride a stationary bike 20 minutes a day, work on full range of motion, don't put any pressure on your ankle, take an aspirin a day to prevent blood clots.

Three years ago I was telemarking in Alta, Utah. It was one of those days when I decided to go skiing not because it would be fun due to all the fresh tracks and face shots you will be getting, or all the fun super-G turns you'll be making down the groomers when it hasn't snowed, but because I wanted to ski with my dad, my sister and my uncle while I was in Utah. My sister and I took an alternate route down what looked to be a nice fluffy patch of snow... apparently the only one on the mountain! I hit a soccer-sized ice ball halfway down, felt my knee start to fly out of place, so I flexed my quad. My ankle gave instead. I did some flying superhero flips that I'm convinced looked pretty damn cool from a different perspective. It was more like a blizzard from mine. The second I did it, I was convinced something was wrong, but thought, as usual, it will probably just hurt for a couple of days. Then I tried to put weight on it. I collapsed. I, being the stubborn me that I am, skied down to my dad, uncle and sister on one ski. I thought I had just broken my ankle. I had only ever broken my baby toe, even after 15 years of skiing, 10 years of gymnastics, the hurdles, and many ill-advised adventures on horseback through the woods on an unbroken horse. I refused to let them call ski patrol, so I skied down the rest of the mountain on one ski.

The next couple of days looked hopeful. I had no insurance, and could walk on it, so I figured it would heal itself. I found myself not able to hike, run, mountain bike, or ski without pain. I had my first surgery in the spring of 05.

This next short paragraph is only for those wanting the gory details. The Talus (the bone your tibia articulates with) has a dime-sized patch of cartilage missing. Doc Jones cleaned up the rough edges, eating the excess tissue with a mini- tissue-eater. He then poked tiny holes in the bone to access blood supply: the future nutrient supply of the cartilage-to-be. What grows back is fibrocartilage: A softer version of articular cartilage. It takes six weeks of non weight bearing crutch time, 6 more weeks of no uneven terrain, running, jumping, hiking, dancing and 9 more months before I'll be back to full-play-mode.

The things I learned from surgery, and life with crutches:

· You feel tough after surgery... until your anesthesia wears off.

· anesthesiologists are usually more sociable than your surgeon during surgery.

· ankle parts look very large on the TV screen

· injured ankle parts are actually very small

· disappointment sets in when you realize you only have two tiny scars for all the effort and pain.

· The world is not meant to be navigated on one leg and two pegs with no available arms to open doors or carry food to the table.

· There is a door into Huestis hall with a giant handicap symbol, a tiny ramp and no way to open the door.

· shiny, waxy floors are slippery, you have to wipe your crutches at the door.

· some doors seem to like to shut on you while you're opening them. You have to fight them off with your peg legs.

· some people have experienced crutches and are very very helpful

· some people have never experienced crutches and don't realize that you have to crawl or hop if you want to carry things in your hands. (I used to be one of these people)

· you remember how to crawl. And hop.

· you have a different perspective of the world when looking up from 3' off the ground.

· taking a shower requires a lot of balance and a stool.

· My mom makes great chicken soup and a mean turkey dinner.

· My dad is no good at taking care of people, but I love his company enough to not care at all.

· Jerry-dog is confused by crutches.

· pain medication makes me ill. I'd rather be in pain.

· everyone calls you 'gimpy', which sounds a lot like 'shorty' or 'pede', so I don't mind it.

· I still hate it when people open doors for me.

· I hate it even more when they don't.

· fabulous friends send you fabulous things to do while laying upside down on the couch.

· rolly chairs are very handy for moving things around the house.