I spent today with my apparent new best friend of 2014: Advil. You see, Advil has been a pretty crucial part of the past month of my life. Despite the fact that I don't like taking medicine as I consider myself to be very tough, sometimes things like broken elbows or fevers require me to take medicine.
(Fun fact: I've had a bottle of 80 Advil that I purchased the weekend I fell. I have 49 left (discovered this today when the bottle spilled...)--which means I really haven't taken very much medicine anyway since I'm allowed to take 9 a day).
This morning, or if I'm being really honest, nearly this afternoon, as I was lying on my couch, I briefly got a little angry at my body. Seriously? You are just getting over a broken bone and think that now is an appropriate time for me to get a fever? I disagree with you, body. I issue a strong statement of dissent.
The moment quickly passed, and I found I was reminding myself of something I know but maybe sometimes forget: my body does a lot for me, and I should really be grateful for it.
Now don't get me wrong, my body and I have our disagreements. I will often push my body to its limits, because I think I'm oh-so-tough. I often don't give my body a break when it needs it. For example, I still remember being offered a wheelchair when I needed to have some lung test while I was going through chemo. Let's be honest: I probably wasn't looking so great if I looked like I needed a wheelchair. I refused, however, and felt a little bit upset--really, body? Can't you keep it together?
I also have moments where I get distracted by things and people around me, and the words "juice cleanse" seem intriguing. Though my pant size is a single digit, I'm no longer as little as I used to be in high school; I know, it sounds so awful (sarcasm marks), but hey, sometimes it's hard to ignore the allure of new diets and trends.
However, in time, I've come to realize my body is pretty damn strong, and I ought to give credit where credit is due (instead of getting sucked in to a world of skinny jeans and feeling down on my appearance). Sure I have a few scars, and yes I'm not always stoked to take a day off from work, to admit I'm not feeling well, or to feel like my body at any point is limiting me, but if I look at all the evidence, well, it's in favor of my body being strong and useful--and in fact, not limiting me.
My scars are reminders that 1. My body can handle cancer. Win., 2. My body can also handle my clumsiness and failed attempt at using a steak-knife to cut a plum when I was 10, and 3. Shark bites happen (I kid. It was the crazy tumor--but I like referring to it as my shark bite).
Each day, I get to wake up, make breakfast, walk to my car, drive somewhere--my body allows me to travel, to sleep well, to move, to walk, to dance, to talk, to write. If I'm thinking really big picture, my body allows me to live.
Sure, perhaps today there wasn't a lot of dancing happening, but maybe, just maybe, instead of getting angry at my body for failing to be healthy 365 days a year without a break, I should cut myself some slack and rest. Take care of my body after all it does for me. So in the spirit of being grateful that in a day or two I'll be good as new (and being patient with my body as it gets back to 100%), I'm heading to sleep early. Thanks for being awesome, body, for putting up with fevers and scars and still coming out on top. It may be time for a self-five.
♥a
Monday, March 24, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
.JPG)
.JPG)
Monday, March 10, 2014
The Elbow Diaries: Challenge accepted.
Roughly 3 weeks ago, I decided to get a bright and early start to my day. Early bird gets the worm. Plus, I've read all these articles from Harvard Business Review about how the most effective people start their days early and get work done before other people even begin. So at 6 a.m. I gleefully skipped off to Starbucks. Okay, I didn't skip. I walked and walked carefully at that.
However, my careful steps were ineffective. I slipped on some ice and very gracefully landed on my butt. A kind person crossing the street called out to me, "Are you okay?"
...and I replied how every human being does unless your bone is poking through your skin: "I'm fine!!"
When he reached the other side of the street, this kind man actually crossed back over to me. "You haven't gotten up yet so I actually don't think you're fine." I had planned to rest a little on the ice/didn't actually know if I could get up just yet, so I was taking a break.
"Yes, it kind of hurts a little," I admitted. Fortunately, he helped me up, and I very appropriately answered his question when he asked if I fell on my hip. "Nope, just my butt. Y'know. Good stuff." He waited with me till I assured him again, "Thanks so much--really, I'm fine, but thank you."
(By the way, Julie pointed the following out to me...
...it's likely this kind sir was married...and not as cute as he appeared given the spots I was seeing, but hey, a girl can dream of living out a rom com.)
At this point, I was on my feet and approximately 250 feet away from Starbucks, if that. (I only live about 400 feet from it--clearly this was a long trek.) Sure, my vision might have been a little blurry, but I didn't hit my head so I wasn't very concerned. As long as I made it into the 'bucks without passing out in the crosswalk I would be okay.
Challenge accepted.
Once in Starbucks (yes, I made it), I let my vision return to normal, so I could see the beauty that was my drink, and I walked, even more carefully, home.
When I got home, I went to pick up my coffee with my left hand and discovered a dilemma: my hand did not appear to work. I couldn't pick anything up/hold anything, and so I ended up taking off the day and enjoying House of Cards with a stack of peas on my arm. I ordered sushi and eventually caved and took some painkillers.
Fast forward to the following week: I have been showing off my arm's strength and flexibility to my roommate on a regular basis. Look! I can carry my phone! I can hold a dish! WOW--I can almost touch my face with my hand!
My arm decides it does not want to work? Challenge accepted. I will make you work. I will will you to be strong.
At trivia on Wednesday night, a week since my fall, I proudly showed how my arm was nearly 97% straight (though Emily said it was only 95%). I managed to put on eyeliner that day, because MY HAND COULD TOUCH MY FACE. My willpower worked.
I did agree with friends and family that if my arm still would not straighten by the weekend I would go to the doctor. While I think straightening my arm is important, I still cannot figure out for what purposes I need to be able to do so. Sure my professional gymnastics career is now out, but other than that, will a crooked arm impede my future?
Friday finally arrived, and I sadly trudged to an immediate care center to get my arm checked out. I will spare the details, but I cried and swore a fair amount during my x-rays. This did confirm that it was a good thing that I went to the doctor; I'm not a crier, but ouch. I went home with a diagnosis of a bad sprain and a suggested small fracture on my elbow. The technician outfitted me in an ace bandage and sling which he attested made me look tough and cool.
So I took it easy and followed up with the doctor come Wednesday. I should note here that I am actually not a terrible patient, but I do need clear parameters on what I can and cannot do.
For example, if a doctor tells me, "You can move your arm a little," I hear that as, "Rhythmic gymnastics and frisbee are okay."
If a doctor says, "Wear your sling as often as possible," I hear that to mean, "Your sling looks great on the doorknob, but you should maybe wear it sometimes."
I don't do "gray" when it comes to doctor directions. Give me black and white. Give me directives. Tell me what to do.
Wednesday's call took away the gray. While I stared at my sling sitting on my dining room table, the technician told me, "You should be wearing your sling pretty much 24/7 and not moving your elbow." Clearly, I had intended to put it back on...
"...Oh, so stretching my arm and elbow, not a good idea?" It's not like I was stretching my arm or anything...
"Nope. You have a fractured elbow. It needs to be still."
"Mhmm...so I should go back to the doctor then soon?" You mean, I can't will my arm back to normal?
"Yes, you'll likely need physical therapy, and the doctor will need to check your arm out."
I drank wine in bed and felt a little sad the next day.
Okay, okay, I see what you're saying.
I need to be a big kid and go back to the doctor.
Challenge accepted.
(The quotes from my mom above also reminded me not to be such a baby and make an appointment.)
So I went back to the doctor today. The weather is beautiful which means I finally was able to make this sling look a little cool (ignore my dirty hair).
We're hitting the 3-week mark, and I still can't straighten my arm.
I think it's a cool character trait. The crooked arm girl.
I relayed my story to the doctor (and a brief medical history)--she laughed as I hoped she would, and when I finished she said, "So what I'm gathering from your story is that your assessment of pain is extremely inaccurate."
I admitted, that yes, perhaps my understanding of pain is somewhat skewed. I can always rationalize my pain. One arm hurts? Well it could be two--or both my arms AND my legs.
Also, on a scale of 1-10, when cancer was a 3, nothing ever is that bad.
So, on Wednesday, I head to an orthopedic surgeon, and well, I just hope I really don't need surgery. I made a comment a couple weekends ago about how I sometimes have a "dark gloomy cloud" effect on life. While I try 99% of the time to be sunshine-y, that damn cloud sometimes follows me!
However, dear gloomy cloud, challenge accepted. I know I'm not good at admitting I'm in pain or being patient with myself when I'm sick or hurt. I also know I suck at asking for help, so, challenge accepted. Although, really if we could bypass anything involving needles, that would be great.
So, do what you wanna do lovely little cloud; I'm going to spray some windex on my arm and drink half a bottle of brandy.
♥a
P.S. I started drawing too. (You can click on them to see them bigger--if you really want to see my artistic non-skills.)
.JPG)
However, my careful steps were ineffective. I slipped on some ice and very gracefully landed on my butt. A kind person crossing the street called out to me, "Are you okay?"
...and I replied how every human being does unless your bone is poking through your skin: "I'm fine!!"
When he reached the other side of the street, this kind man actually crossed back over to me. "You haven't gotten up yet so I actually don't think you're fine." I had planned to rest a little on the ice/didn't actually know if I could get up just yet, so I was taking a break.
"Yes, it kind of hurts a little," I admitted. Fortunately, he helped me up, and I very appropriately answered his question when he asked if I fell on my hip. "Nope, just my butt. Y'know. Good stuff." He waited with me till I assured him again, "Thanks so much--really, I'm fine, but thank you."
(By the way, Julie pointed the following out to me...
...it's likely this kind sir was married...and not as cute as he appeared given the spots I was seeing, but hey, a girl can dream of living out a rom com.)
At this point, I was on my feet and approximately 250 feet away from Starbucks, if that. (I only live about 400 feet from it--clearly this was a long trek.) Sure, my vision might have been a little blurry, but I didn't hit my head so I wasn't very concerned. As long as I made it into the 'bucks without passing out in the crosswalk I would be okay.
Challenge accepted.
Once in Starbucks (yes, I made it), I let my vision return to normal, so I could see the beauty that was my drink, and I walked, even more carefully, home.
When I got home, I went to pick up my coffee with my left hand and discovered a dilemma: my hand did not appear to work. I couldn't pick anything up/hold anything, and so I ended up taking off the day and enjoying House of Cards with a stack of peas on my arm. I ordered sushi and eventually caved and took some painkillers.
 |
| I love our pillows. |
My arm decides it does not want to work? Challenge accepted. I will make you work. I will will you to be strong.
At trivia on Wednesday night, a week since my fall, I proudly showed how my arm was nearly 97% straight (though Emily said it was only 95%). I managed to put on eyeliner that day, because MY HAND COULD TOUCH MY FACE. My willpower worked.
 |
| Does this look like the face of someone in pain? #sixdegreesofselfie |
I did agree with friends and family that if my arm still would not straighten by the weekend I would go to the doctor. While I think straightening my arm is important, I still cannot figure out for what purposes I need to be able to do so. Sure my professional gymnastics career is now out, but other than that, will a crooked arm impede my future?
Friday finally arrived, and I sadly trudged to an immediate care center to get my arm checked out. I will spare the details, but I cried and swore a fair amount during my x-rays. This did confirm that it was a good thing that I went to the doctor; I'm not a crier, but ouch. I went home with a diagnosis of a bad sprain and a suggested small fracture on my elbow. The technician outfitted me in an ace bandage and sling which he attested made me look tough and cool.
 |
| You should see the other guy... |
So I took it easy and followed up with the doctor come Wednesday. I should note here that I am actually not a terrible patient, but I do need clear parameters on what I can and cannot do.
For example, if a doctor tells me, "You can move your arm a little," I hear that as, "Rhythmic gymnastics and frisbee are okay."
If a doctor says, "Wear your sling as often as possible," I hear that to mean, "Your sling looks great on the doorknob, but you should maybe wear it sometimes."
I don't do "gray" when it comes to doctor directions. Give me black and white. Give me directives. Tell me what to do.
Wednesday's call took away the gray. While I stared at my sling sitting on my dining room table, the technician told me, "You should be wearing your sling pretty much 24/7 and not moving your elbow." Clearly, I had intended to put it back on...
"...Oh, so stretching my arm and elbow, not a good idea?" It's not like I was stretching my arm or anything...
"Nope. You have a fractured elbow. It needs to be still."
"Mhmm...so I should go back to the doctor then soon?" You mean, I can't will my arm back to normal?
"Yes, you'll likely need physical therapy, and the doctor will need to check your arm out."
I drank wine in bed and felt a little sad the next day.
Okay, okay, I see what you're saying.
I need to be a big kid and go back to the doctor.
Challenge accepted.
(The quotes from my mom above also reminded me not to be such a baby and make an appointment.)
So I went back to the doctor today. The weather is beautiful which means I finally was able to make this sling look a little cool (ignore my dirty hair).
We're hitting the 3-week mark, and I still can't straighten my arm.
I think it's a cool character trait. The crooked arm girl.
I relayed my story to the doctor (and a brief medical history)--she laughed as I hoped she would, and when I finished she said, "So what I'm gathering from your story is that your assessment of pain is extremely inaccurate."
I admitted, that yes, perhaps my understanding of pain is somewhat skewed. I can always rationalize my pain. One arm hurts? Well it could be two--or both my arms AND my legs.
Also, on a scale of 1-10, when cancer was a 3, nothing ever is that bad.
So, on Wednesday, I head to an orthopedic surgeon, and well, I just hope I really don't need surgery. I made a comment a couple weekends ago about how I sometimes have a "dark gloomy cloud" effect on life. While I try 99% of the time to be sunshine-y, that damn cloud sometimes follows me!
However, dear gloomy cloud, challenge accepted. I know I'm not good at admitting I'm in pain or being patient with myself when I'm sick or hurt. I also know I suck at asking for help, so, challenge accepted. Although, really if we could bypass anything involving needles, that would be great.
So, do what you wanna do lovely little cloud; I'm going to spray some windex on my arm and drink half a bottle of brandy.
♥a
P.S. I started drawing too. (You can click on them to see them bigger--if you really want to see my artistic non-skills.)
