is "less than jake" a monkey?
It started out as the usual 5:40 Am run. Jack and I headed out the door to greet Becky, who had just pulled up. As we walked down the driveway, I was amazed at how warm it felt. I didn't anticipate the patch of ice at the end of the driveway, nor did my right fibula. I went down, thinking "oh shit!" My right foot hyper extended and I heard/felt popping, pinging and other not so good things to hear/feel inside one's ankle. I fell on my back with my foot bent at a not anatomically good angle under me. I sat up and repeated several times "Son of a bitch!" My dad would have added "Cocksucker" like he did when he would be all settled in his recliner and realize he forgot to put his false teeth in. I could hear my mom saying "Jesus Christ Donna, I told you that you are too old to be running!"
Becky got out the car. Her nose was bleeding for some reason. She helped me hobble back into the house - a fine pair we made, her dripping blood, me hobbling and swearing. Jack wondered why we were going back in. I gave her Kleenex for her nose. She lead me to the chair and suggested ice and ibuprofen.
I did the ice and ibuprofen and sat there til Bruce got up. I knew this was not going to be something I could just ice and elevate and then it would be better. Not with all the popping and a feeling that something was unstable (besides my frame of mind).
We ended up going to the ED and a few days later, to the orthopod, who gave me the news "surgery and 4- 6 months not running". It seems that that my fibula fractured and a chunk of it was floating around. Thankfully the ligaments and tendons held on for dear life and weren't part of the popping I felt.
I shed a few tears before my Midwestern upbringing came into play. "Some people have it a lot worse" I heard my mom tell me. "I could have been buried under rubble in Haiti" I thought. I posted the news on Facebook and got 48 comments and well wishes. For a while I hated my Pollyanna nature and just wanted to be pissed and feel sorry for myself. It almost seemed like that is how people expected me to react. I felt apologetic for my good attitude and then I realized I was going to be in the same predicament no matter how I reacted. And who wants to hear a whining person who feels sorry for herself. So...I decided to go with my upbringing and think of people "who have it a lot worse". Like my friend Bob, who got a diagnosis that ended in no running and death. I am sure he is up there somewhere just smiling his kind smile and saying "You will be out there again". Bob always saw the good side even when he was lying there not able to move anything.
Anyway I had the surgery - plates and screws. As surgery goes, it was a good one. I felt good - no nausea like after my hysterectomy. When doped up on morphine after that surgery, I asked my son, who was wearing a T-shirt with Gorillas on it that said "Less than Jake" (a band he liked at that time) "Is less than Jake a monkey?" My kids still laugh about that.
So when the surgery was finished, I sent a text message to my kids asking again "Is less than Jake a monkey?". Interpreted that meant "I survived the surgery".
I survived and sit here, a little blurry from Lortab, in my chair. I will not apologize for being positive. But I will allow myself to be bummed a bit about not running...however isn't it better to not be able to run in the winter than in the summer? And I will save money on not being able to go shoe shopping. My one fear is that I will get fat - the doc says in three weeks I can use a stationary bike.
I will get through this and am lucky I am (if not young) healthy enough and have such great support from friends and family and a husband who won't baby me but will be here to help me shower and drive me around and keep me from getting a fat ass! And he will probably tell me if it does start getting big! Some people have it a lot worse. And maybe Less than Jake is a Monkey. And as to the 4 to 6 months off running? We'll see about that!
Becky got out the car. Her nose was bleeding for some reason. She helped me hobble back into the house - a fine pair we made, her dripping blood, me hobbling and swearing. Jack wondered why we were going back in. I gave her Kleenex for her nose. She lead me to the chair and suggested ice and ibuprofen.
I did the ice and ibuprofen and sat there til Bruce got up. I knew this was not going to be something I could just ice and elevate and then it would be better. Not with all the popping and a feeling that something was unstable (besides my frame of mind).
We ended up going to the ED and a few days later, to the orthopod, who gave me the news "surgery and 4- 6 months not running". It seems that that my fibula fractured and a chunk of it was floating around. Thankfully the ligaments and tendons held on for dear life and weren't part of the popping I felt.
I shed a few tears before my Midwestern upbringing came into play. "Some people have it a lot worse" I heard my mom tell me. "I could have been buried under rubble in Haiti" I thought. I posted the news on Facebook and got 48 comments and well wishes. For a while I hated my Pollyanna nature and just wanted to be pissed and feel sorry for myself. It almost seemed like that is how people expected me to react. I felt apologetic for my good attitude and then I realized I was going to be in the same predicament no matter how I reacted. And who wants to hear a whining person who feels sorry for herself. So...I decided to go with my upbringing and think of people "who have it a lot worse". Like my friend Bob, who got a diagnosis that ended in no running and death. I am sure he is up there somewhere just smiling his kind smile and saying "You will be out there again". Bob always saw the good side even when he was lying there not able to move anything.
Anyway I had the surgery - plates and screws. As surgery goes, it was a good one. I felt good - no nausea like after my hysterectomy. When doped up on morphine after that surgery, I asked my son, who was wearing a T-shirt with Gorillas on it that said "Less than Jake" (a band he liked at that time) "Is less than Jake a monkey?" My kids still laugh about that.
So when the surgery was finished, I sent a text message to my kids asking again "Is less than Jake a monkey?". Interpreted that meant "I survived the surgery".
I survived and sit here, a little blurry from Lortab, in my chair. I will not apologize for being positive. But I will allow myself to be bummed a bit about not running...however isn't it better to not be able to run in the winter than in the summer? And I will save money on not being able to go shoe shopping. My one fear is that I will get fat - the doc says in three weeks I can use a stationary bike.
I will get through this and am lucky I am (if not young) healthy enough and have such great support from friends and family and a husband who won't baby me but will be here to help me shower and drive me around and keep me from getting a fat ass! And he will probably tell me if it does start getting big! Some people have it a lot worse. And maybe Less than Jake is a Monkey. And as to the 4 to 6 months off running? We'll see about that!
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