Dear Darla Diaries

never google pain

I thought it made sense to search the world wide web for topics related to the upcoming surgery. (Ahem, in July, one can never be too prepared.) Palm face. Stupid stupid stupid idea. Comment upon comment was posted concerning horrible experiences with healing, swelling, excessive pain, scar tissue and shitty surgery hack jobs. The pictures. Holy mackeral. Even worse of an idea. Blood, muscle, bones and the like. My brain started hyperventilating and my toe tried to crawl back inside

And it's not even July yet!

So I thought I should distract myself a bit.

 

well that explains it ... sorry TWIN!

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don't we all?

 

 

I have ever intention of making these into flash cards for my post op. Honey can't you read? It's a level 9. FFFFUUUUUU

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smart ass monkey!

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and this one made me snort milk all over the library computer ...

 

trust me kid ... i totally understand!

source : unknown

surgery you say?

What can I say I'm a sucker for happy titles, ruining suprises, letting the cat out of the bag, predictable physicians and my favorite: therapy.

I went to the doctor because I have a small tailor's buinion that has been flaring and sending shooting pains across the top of my happy yarn tattoo and down the left side of my foot. Exercise is good, not being able to walk on it after, not so much.

What I took to need minor surgery has turned into a major multi-purpose event that will leave me on crutches for a good 6-8 weeks. Period. Along with swelling, aches, scars and possibly ruining the entire piece of ink I have been very recently proud of. Now don't get me wrong, I'm all about fixing it, but it does make me a tad melancholy about the ink.

 

A little something soon to be like this!  Sort of, not exactly.

image source

 

Let me clarify a few things. At the ripe age of 16, exactly 17 years ago to be precise, Twin and I both had bilateral bunionectomy's  (i.e. both feet.) This is when they readjust that huge nobby prominence next to the edge of the big toe that gives some of us an awesome hobbit foot look. It was fairly minor and we were up and about after the weekend and I was back on the basketball court within 3 months of both surgeries. We were young and it healed and all seemed fine.

Things can change with time.

After reviewing my xrays for the protuberance on the opposite side of the foot from the original surgery site it was confirmed that I do have a Tailor's Bunion (shocking) and that surgery could be an appropriate route. A few other things were also brought into the light.

First off, a second bunionectomy. The original surgery needs redone. The old procedure was to fix the bump of the foot to make it 'prettier' if you will. The current technique, and second procedure,  is to repair it at the root of the problem to correct the duck like splay of the toes and adjust for overall posture. (Sadly my former podiastrist died in a horrific accident within days of the original surgeries and cannot be consulted.) This is called a Lapidus Bunionectomy.

The third and fourth procedures are a like Hammertoe Correction to adjust the misalignment of the baby toe from the Tailor's Bunion and a Tailor's Bunionectomy.

All in all a one day procedure with a much longer recovery time and far more swelling. The physician was so super efficient that she not only took xrays on site, and reviewed them in a my first and only visit to see her but she tentatively scheduled the surgery for July 20th.

 

Like hell you say?!

Image source

Of course it is never as easy as just a surgery.

Starting with work, summers at the hospital can be hectic. Our patient load is completely unexpected, since we are dealing with the wounded from a war and it's not a very polite one at that. As the sun comes out the injuries usually double. As the cold creeps in the terrorists hide a little deeper out of site.

Our house is also bit inconvenient. It is a 4 story monstrosity with our bedroom being on the 3rd floor, full baths on the 3rd and 2nd floors and couch and kitchen on the main floor. We will have to look at setting up a spare bed in the living room or moving some food into the MILs room so we can have a sleepover.

The poor MIL is also in a bit of a bind. Her Crohn's is having small complications and between that and a surge of heart, pulmonary, internal medicine and GI clinic appointments she is also having to be carted to and fro at the drop of a hat. If the cards keep falling where they may we both may be recupping from surgery at the same time.

Have I mentioned my husband is an active duty military member? They don't usually grant 3 month respite leave for him to care for his mother-dependent and wife-dependent. Normally we take care of each other.

And the cherry to this little cupcake is that I get a HUGE blessing in October. (No, I'm not pregnant.) My parents get to come for a two week visit! One of the reasons why I'm not balking about the summer surgery or trying to reschedule is that I will have ample recovery time to be in the rehab stage post first foot surgery. I should be able to walk and tourist and play with them versus having to be coddled in a wheelchair and housebound.

So there you have it. I have to be even more dedicated to do double workouts for the next 7 weeks and not sway from the diet plan because surgery and recovery is not the time to want to gain excessive weight due to sheer laziness and availability.

That's right! (image source)

home grown therapy

Somehow finding a gel flexible cold pack in this country is damn near impossible. It really is the little things that you miss when you relocate into another country. When without work it out.

When discussing (whining) about my misfortune Husband had a brilliant idea. Have you ever made one before? Um ... no? Ya it's super easy. Isopropyl alcohol and water. Just ask Google! So I did.

Homemade Flexible Alcohol packs
1 part alcohol to 2 parts water

So:
1/2 cup alcohol
1 cup water
Place in gallon zip lock bag
Place that bag within 2nd bag
Chill and use

Voilá! Why buy for $5 for what you can make for less than $1.

(If you prefer a fancier version I did see a recipe involving water, food coloring and vodka. It seemed silly to waste the liquor though!)

gone and done it

I have finally thrown down the gauntlet around here. After getting flack for the umpteenth time for having borderline blood pressure issues (see the past 4 years doc), along with one too many portraits with a double chin, I made a decision. Weight is getting cut back if I have to carve every bit of sugar and toxins out of my diet to do it.

Twin did it. She lost nearly 50 pounds and has maintained it for a year. A YEAR.

 

Before (April 2010) - Now (April 2012)

 

Damn Twin. I am SOOO proud of her. Every time I've hear myself bitch and moan about my lack of desire/want/drive/ability to do what she did I have to slap my own face. Twin did it. Her life is self admittedly far busier than mine, and she's a mom of two boys doing a full time job as well as custody sharing. What's my excuse? That's right ... a little bit of bullshit.

Twin's plan. The BeachBody diet combined with the daily bits of exercise and the weight sort of fell off. I tease her and call her SkinnyTwin but she swears by two solid points (1) follow Michi's Ladder (eat food) and (2) workout. And damn if it didn't all fall off within 6 months. She didn't starve herself and she didn't do more than 50 minutes of workouts a day and they weren't always 7 days/week either. She ate real burgers, avoiding the fries, and drank water like a crazy person.

So. I'm doing it. I'm 2 weeks into it. 10 days ago the scale said (cough) 207 at the doctor's office. This morning it said 200.1. It better keep dropping. I'm on a very determined mission to have drastic changes in 30, 60 and 90 days.

The plan: The beachbody dietary lifestyle combined with lower sodium and daily exercise. Essentially eat 5 small meals a day, beginning with breakfast within an hour of waking up, from the 'outer edges' of the grocery store. Fruits, produce, lean meats, lower salt, no soda's, minimal fruit juices and Stevia in lieu of sugar. I've cut out processed foods and greatly limited all basic carbs in my diet, with minimal complex carbs. It's Tiers 1 and 2 foods and morning workouts. As the weather gets better there is going to be some afternoon workouts to boot.

I want this. Not skinny. Ripped and healthy. Muscles and madness. Strength.

I won't lie. It was frustrating to bust my ass over and over doing madness like THIS and not lose weight. I may have become super-ripped but I wasn't losing weight because I justified my crap eating, monster-italian-sodas and desk job sedetarian life with I Am Doing CrossFit! After a little life distraction and coming down with the horrid HepAof2009 the gym kind of fell by the wayside. I still can't believe I fell off the workout wagon nearly 2.5 years ago.

One thing has remained true over the last 11 years of marriage, when I'm working out I feel so much stronger! So back to it I go. This time with a purpose. There will be a change, come hell or high water to do it.

Encouraging website suggestions for those diving into the same adventure.

• Michi's Ladder
• Roni's Weigh In (Twin & I's favorite)
• The Picky Eater
• Kath Eats Real Food
• Skinny Taste

        ** The last 3 I just found. Tastes may vary.

I will continue to post more healthy eating blog recommendations as I come across them.

photo source, source and source

he thinks my barbells are possessed

Fat boy kitteh isn't sure what to make of this new 7a work out routine. He's convinced that chest flies are attacking him and stretching is a participation sport.

faith for the weary

Being a Christian isn't always for the weak or faint hearted. There are Those that have these stereotypical mindsets that Christians should be perfect and strong and not hyprocritical. Christians are humans that bleed and have emotions and feelings and faults. The main difference is they should strive for love and sacrifice and believe in eternal hope. That isn't too say we aren't weak or make mistakes or forget.

One of the hardest struggles of faith for me is maternal. I don't question love or salvation or many of the core elements of Christianity. I truly believe we should help each other, and live as a community. I believe that Christians screw up. A lot. 

I was raised believing that God Can Do Anything! But it was tempered with He Won't Do Everything. God will answer your prayer the way He sees fit ... which isn't always our hearts desire. I've also been raised to believe that God can answer any prayer. It's such a juxtaposition. The whole will He?/won't He?/why? struggle. The struggle we deal with over death, cancer and limb loss. The struggle we deal with when life seems to be going full speed ahead in the wrong direction.

I know I believe that at the end of any destination is God. He is always standing with us, bearing with us and helping us forge through even the ugliest things in life. Life doesn't always make sense and it's not always ours to understand.

All of that being said, it doesn't make it easier. When I'm wrapped up in my husband's arms and the words are tumbling out in a flood of tears it doesn't make any sense. I don't understand why God has given us such a heart for kids, with totally unexplainably poor working ovaries. Our families, by definition, created the term 'fertile mertile.' I can wax on for days about our kin filling every type of stereotype of who should/shouldn't/could/couldn't become parents and did otherwise. We have Jerry Springers, Teen Moms and dysfunctional wrapped up with a bacon bow tie. And yet, Not Us. We are the anomaly.

I'm told wait for the still small voice. You'll hear it. And I do. For some things. I don't ever doubt the confirmation that my husband was The Right One. I don't doubt that the military and Germany weren't the right decisions. I just don't understand this. I don't understand prophetic friends and family feeling at peace that This Month! or This Year! or This Week! God will answer your prayers. I get so frustrated by the fact that after nearly a decade I still get caught up thinking 'Am I a week late?', 'Could these be pregnancy symptons or just PMS?', 'Should I google these symptons?' and my favorite 'Is it worth it to take yet another pregnancy test to confirm that it's not true and thus disappoint me regardless?'

I want to cling to the faith that Mary was given a virgin birth, miracles happen and people get pregnant every day in ways that completely and utterly define science ... and it could happen to me. I want to NOT believe that our lack of parent status isn't attached to our faith. I want to believe that this time the still small voice isn't me telling myself that it could be true. I want to be able to dream what it could be like to be pregnant, just once, and talk to my husband about it and him not be utterly heartbroken because he knows how utterly heartbroken it makes me.

I just want one baby. One pregnancy. One life. I don't want a million dollars, a fancy home, the perfect job, the perfect pet. Bring on the 'morning-sick-all-the-time.' Bring on bed rest, gestational diabetes, blood pressure and prayer. Bring on something besides my barren womb craving a fetus and the irritation I feel around the plethora of baby spawn makers at my job (which are not the same as Friends! edible babies! nomnomnom!)

As my husband and I seek to renew a healthy and hopeful relationship with God and mend many broken fences that have happened as a combination of life changes and our infertility struggle, we are trying to start new habits. We are starting with communication. This week we are purposefully and deliberately praying for the same topic. Sunday we hope to discuss the scemantics of Adoption, not just the theory. My hope is that one way or the other God can show us direction so that each month I don't try to salvage my weakening faith with a band-aid created by the theory of something instead of it's reality.

I can't imagine struggling with this same issue and not being Christians. I know that without Faith and Love our 11 year recommitment would've been divorce paperwork and a shack by the sea. I hope that if any of you are dealing with this you can be surrounded with the love and support we face. I much prefer the well intention and yet often misguided support than the lonely bitter pill I'm great at hoarding and swallowing.

inked: hooker style

Studio: Cute and Ugly. Trippstadt, Kaiserslautern, Germany.
Website: CuteandUgly.de
Artist: Sarah Bauer
Victim: ME!

 

Rough Sketch

Stenciled on

Let the pain begin

Just a few pin pricks. bzzzzzzzzzz

I think I need to crochet Sarah something as a ThankYou! She is AWESOME. The husband better limit my fundage because I would sponsor that shop. Singelhandedly. I blame Uncle Sam.

Almost done. Only almost kicked her in the face, pure reflexes, once twice four times? I admit nothing. She kept giggling and my KindleAp wasn't quite distracting me.

Finally literally hooked.

sick again, imtolditsjustaviralthingy

Monday. 03 Oct

Off to work as normal. The dwarfs and I. It's a German holiday so I am left without a coworker and my own devices. I meet-an-greet, do my shopping and end up home as the sun goes down. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Feels like a Monday.

 

Tues. 04 Oct

I have to bypass my excitement and anticipation of our weekly women's bible study group in lieu of hanging near my phone. (We're doing a very interesting study of the respect = love = respect dichotomy between husbands and wives.) I'm on the prowl for my event team that has flown in from the states for a party at the hospital I work at. I get the privilege of spending 8 hours on my normal day off driving them around the area shaking hands, introductions, tourist destinations, hotels and base passes with a flurry. (I call them mine because they were so cool. Ironically I was merely a tool in their master plan. They paid for it all. Brought it all and did it all. Mostly.)

Always available for morale boosting and nap support.

Wed. 05 Oct

The big party day. I woke up with a slight nudge in my throat and fully attributed it to my lack of sleep. When I'm a little backlogged my body can get very fouled but nothing a 12 hour nap doesn't cover. The event went off beautifully. Mark and I provided muscle, nudges, phone calls and delivery services for the day. The wounded warriors felt appreciated and the party throwers got their under-the-radar happy glow they were trying to provide. It was a marvelous success.

Warning flag. After the falderal I was getting remarkedly peaked by the minute. I had to sadly bow out of the evenings festivities so I could regain some energy in the form of my couch. At one point my sick brain was so clogged I forgot that the MIL was busily cooking lasagnas for the weekly Wednesday night couples study I attend. I thought it was just a cold.

05:45p. I handed the baked italian fare to my friend to deliver in my absence. I stumble onto the couch and wake up near 10p. The sore throat, throbbing head, fever, severe fatigue, piercing ear pain and vertigo feel like they are crushing me. I stumble to my room, up the endless stairs and crash until morning.

The MIL brightened my sick-couch view a bit.

Thursday night through Saturday morning pass in a blur. Sleep, drink, cough, lubricate, sleep, stumble downstairs, move to couch, doze through multiple seasons of NCIS, attempt a few bites of food, sleep some more, text the husband, nap, move to bed, sleep, grumble at the unrelenting head pressure and lack of useful drugs and repeat. I told him I would visit the ER after the 72 hour mark. No one likes a sick-faker. I'm a big kid. It's probably just a flu. Or a cold. Or the stupid HepA viral scare again. I hope to God not that.

Saturday afternoon, 08 Oct was a big day. I was able to sit upright on the couch without wanting to hurl. The headache had lessened a little and I was visiting the ER. My trusty Go.o.gle was thinking I was clogged up with Strep and possible Ear Infections. My vote was that the sinus drainage was causing near pain but not necessarily infection. I hate being right.

After roping a friend into driving me (I hadn't been able to stand without collapsing for nearly a week, I was most certainly not attempting driving) we headed out. 90 minutes in the waiting room because whatever I had didn't rank on the priority scale. I know how ER's work. It was the same hospital I spent 4-12 hours a working day at.

When finally ushered back to the lovely Maj Doc I wasn't that suprised. It was Viral they said. Not sure exactly how or why but their prescription sounded faintly familiar: Rest and Hydrate. (The doctor almost gave me a sick note for Monday until I assured her it was a federal holiday and was already slated off. She also agreed that we work in a very sick environment and it was ok to blame my work on The Bug.)

Go team. Husband, Twin, Buckwheat, parentals, MIL and local family friends were all of course pleased to hear I hadn't contracted something Dangerous and am on the mend. Husband actually said 'Of course it's a Viras!' being as how that seems to be my record in the last 2 years with medical professionals. (I get this one more time before he returns in 8 weeks and I will stay in that place until they give me a legit diagnosis or a super antibiotic that can return to me my former fairly impregnable immune system!)

Sunday I am pleased to report gave me 12 straight hours with only a minor headache and the rest of the earlier symptons. By 4p the brain crushing pain was back but I felt somewhat accomplished.

And I'm talking again. In the words of the MIL and Twin and Husband: You must be feeling better. I'm able to threaten my cat so I'm sure that's a good sign.

 

the best laid plans of mice and me

 It's time to focus on being healthier again. I'm very tentatively starting down the path of the WeightWatchersOnline eating habits. I'm also procuring a treadmill for the living room. I hope to feel a little better again, it won't be the CrossFit adventures of Shan and I in Fairchild, but it'll be sweaty nonetheless and a bit stress relieving. I'm highly curious to see what results can be seen before the boy gets back from deployment. It's like a New Years resolution or what most of us deployment widows call 'Deployment Resolutions.'

We're also starting the paperwork down the adoption path with AmericanAdoptions.com. This will be a joint effort from both countries. We don't quite have the financials lined up but faith is fickle like that. We start down the God vision and let the gaps fill themselves in as they go.

 

P.S. I highly recommend the following link for excellent healthy cooking bites, that even comes with WW points! (Although a huge fan of butter, TastyKitchen and PioneerWoman it does take a little more in the healthy choice area to keep the fat off my ample belly. One doesn't like to appear pregnant when one can't physically be.)

 

and then she cried like a little baby

We had a big adventure today. Everyone gather around on their nap squares with their juice cups, peanut butter crackers and blankies while I wax all philosophically about how I had a complete and utter panic attack at a castle. Or rather at some castle ruins.

 

my girl friday! and occupier of a lot of my free time!

Let's start at the beginning. Today we were to spend a good chunk of the day exploring the beautiful aged Alt Dahn castles or 'Old Dahn' for those of you that don't speak much German. And we did. Our party included myself, the hubby, his mother (the MIL), BFF Bridge, her hubby Larry and son KEEGAN! Keegan LOVES castles. We have him trained that whenever Bridge picks me up for GDO he instantly starts in on a litany of Are We Going To A Castle? NO? Are We Going To The Train? No? Are We Going To The Dinosaur Park? ... And repeat as only a 3.5 year old can do. So let's just say he was superduper excited to go.

The castle set is a trio of three (did I seriously put trio of THREE? what else is a trio ... four?) including Altdahn, Grafendahn and Tanstein. The ruins rise on five huge sandstone rocks standing next to one another just east of the town of Dahn. The oldest castle dates back to the early 1100s and the others shortly after. There is a really neat history about the Dahner family knights that we were inventing crazy stories about on the hill but that is wandering away from the WHYTHEHECKAREYOUCRYING bit.

Onward and upward we went, the parking area being at the bottom of a sloping 0.3 mile hill. It was a gentle shaded walk up to a sunny warm landing. There were plenty of cubbyholes, weapons rooms, stables and war rooms to stick our heads into. Ladders, concrete steps, ramps, grass and panoramic views as far as the eyes could see. We were really lucky and were some of the only tourists at the site. Made it really handy when taking photos or letting the munchkin run without disturbing anyone.

the subject of this story is that damn chimney peak of a tower

At the top of the castle (or rather dead center, highest peak) was a tower. You could actually mount a thin, tall ladder and climb to the top and look out over the whole structure. Brig took the challenge first. Mah, the Boy, I and Keegan lounged in the shade chattering at Larry. Fifteen seconds passed before she called for reinforcements on The Ladder. Her husband came to her rescue and shadowed her up. Agilely they scaled it misleading me into a complacency over the ease of ascent. We thought it a hoot and holler as I snapped their photos from the bottom and they got us from the top.

They came down, one step at a time and I decided to pull on my big girl pants and do it. If my BFF can do well than it couldn't have been nearly as bad as I thought. Right? Wrong! Shut the front door.

What a crock.

that is me looking up in disbelief, doubt, insanity (left) and bridge at the top looking down (right)

Hubby decided it best to come climb with the ladder with me ensure his favorite past time didn't kill herself because she really is TERRIFIED of heights and needs an adult authority figure to tell her no. First attempt: made it about a third of the way ... i.e. 10 steps ... i.e. 8 feet until I glanced out over the concrete hole to the valley below. My stomach dropped and knees started shaking. My ladder was a mere 8 feet off the landing, which was already 3 stories off the main ground of the castle, on a hill above the village. My hubby roughly estimates it as a 'ways down' or a good 300 feet from where we parked. I was staring out across that village. I stopped breathing and started seeing spots. My reflexes didn't feel like reflexing and my knuckles were locked around the railing. I descended that ladder like a crab, much to the ribbing and support of the husband.