Three Steps Backwards and Five Steps Forward

I haven't posted in three weeks, even though a great deal has happened since I started physical therapy.  Having taken a turn for the worse and being back on my recliner, I started to write a travel memoir and writing two pieces seemed overwhelming.  Also, and even more importantly, I was in so much pain that I didn't want to put down my thoughts until I knew my recovery took a turn for the better.

My physical therapist, Stephen, gave me four exercises to do that were not challenging.  He observed that I was walking with my right foot out, so he suggested that I concentrate on keeping it straight.  I was given the green light for water aerobics, and was walking Zora twice a day. I was very happy.  Walking was not without pain, but I was walking and the last time I did water aerobics I actually was able to walk and push off of the wall rather than doing the dog paddle, like I did the first few times.

Then it all went bad. The pain came suddenly, and it was worse than anything I had felt since the beginning of my recovery.  It hurt all the time.  I couldn't sleep; the consistent throbs were worsened by nerve spasms. The doctor prescribed gabapentin for the nerve pain, but it didn't seem to do much. When I went back to the physical therapist ten days after my initial appointment, I was in tears.

Stephen was surprised by the level of pain.  Most of my appointment was spent on a medical massage of the ankle and foot.  It felt so good.  Since the pain was keeping me up at night, I jokingly asked if he could come do a massage every night to which he replied I couldn't afford it!  He also wrapped my ankle with kinesthetic tape, showing me how to do it myself at home.  He told me to stop doing the lifts, but to keep doing the other three exercises.  He suggested I walk Zora once a day rather than twice. Nothing got better; in fact, the pain became so bad my walking became almost impossible.

At my wit's end, I sent an email to my doctor, who is not very communicative.  In addition to telling him about the pain, I shared my frustration and asked if what I was experiencing was normal.  This was the response: "Stop physical therapy for two weeks."  So that is what I did.  I stopped walking the dog and stopped water aerobics.  I iced my ankle every few hours and soaked it in warm water with Epsom salts. I cried. I complained. I was scared.

I was supposed to go to Virginia on July 27th to see most of my old friends from the DC area.  We had plans for brunch with book club, dinner with Maryland friends, lunch with Robinson friends, coffee with Burke buds, and dinner with our ladies group.  Cancelling that was disappointing, but imperative.  I was driving and I was bringing Zora, which meant walking her each time she had to go, even if it was just to the doggie area in front of Anita's building. The decision was made when the day before, on my way back from the bank, I got a shooting pain up from my ankle through the calf, and I almost lost control of the car.  If I were smart, I would have stopped and waited, but I continued to drive spouting expletives until it stopped right before I got home. Driving four hours in 85 and 95 wasn't a smart move for me or the others I might hurt.

On top of that, my second toe on the same foot as my prosthetic ankle was swollen; it hurt so bad that   I couldn't keep my light blanket on the top of my foot. I had cellulitis a few years ago, and I knew it could be dangerous, so I went to Duke Urgent Care.  This time the diagnosis was Paronychia, an infection of the tissue by the nail.  He drained the pus and prescribed Doxycyline; he examined me carefully to make sure that the infection wasn't spreading toward the ankle.  Dr. Nunley suggested I make an appointment with his podiatrist to make sure there was nothing else, especially an ingrown toenail.  That is coming up this week. 

I knew that an infection was dangerous. I had a dental appointment the previous week, and just as I was pulling into the parking lot my sister texted me. When I told her I couldn't talk because I was at the dentist's office, she told me that when she went to the dentist the past week they wouldn't work on her.  She had a hip replacement last week, and she needed to take antibiotics before any procedure in order to prevent infection.  Nobody ever told me that!  When I checked in the receptionist told me that was correct.  The hygienist took photos and the dentist checked me out, but the cleaning will have to wait until the next time when I take the antibiotic two hours beforehand.

My community is composed of some of the most caring, friendly people I have known.  When they see me, they always inquire about my recovery, and I usually thank them and tell them I'm doing great. Now, I started to show my fear and anger. I started writing a book to keep my mind off the pain and my ankle off the ground. 

Then three days ago something startling happened.  The pain basically stopped.  My ankle seemed to flex more, and the steps seemed more natural. Before I started physical therapy my pain level was usually between a 1 and a 2.  That pain rose to an 8 for three weeks before returning to a 1, just some discomfort, when I stopped all activity.  I will start physical therapy again in a week, and I will take it more slowly this time around!