my life 2008

Mutiny of the Body.

So first, I'll give you the finger.

At my last checkup, the PA I've just switched to wasn't pleased with my progress. I was happy I could make a fist by that point (even if I couldn't punch anything yet), but he pointed out that it should be little more than scar tissue by now--not the red/purple swollen, hardened, locally fevered edema it still is.

He studied and fingered it for a spell, then said, "It should be almost healed by now. At the very least, all this hardness should be gone. We can do one of three things. We can open it back up to look for infection on this side and drain it some more"--he paused while I cringed theatrically--"we can put you on another course of antibiotics and see if that takes care of it, or we can put you in surgery and have the hard part removed, then pull your skin together over it."

ME: Can you just take the finger off?

HIM: We could, but you'll probably need it while driving.

OK. The last part didn't happen, but that would have been funny.

I opted for the antibiotic part for the time being. My reasoning worked like this: ANTIBIOTICS do not give me PAIN. Not that surgical removal would be painful (I plan to be royally knocked out if it comes to that), but going into surgery, I have those fears that I'll go in to have a mole removed and come out without a foot. Knowing how much the odds are stacked against such an outcome doesn't help; I figure THIS would be the time I'd win the lottery.

I've seen no improvement yet, frankly. It's been three days on the new antibiotics. The finger has itched occasionally for a couple of weeks, which I've been taught is a good--if maddening--sign. However, the itching comes and goes while the edema...does not. So last week, being castless and off painkillers etc, I hopped on a treadmill.

I'd been about ten days "down" with my finger and related problems (including some vicious constipation from the painkillers--I thought a lot about Elvis for some reason--but I won't go into that now since I'm probably in polite company). I, having the wisdom (and coincidentally, the crotchety body) that comes with years, figured I'd had less than two weeks of nonactivity but I'd best not push it. For me, this involves repeating "I'm not 18. I'm not 18" until I no longer feel guilty for not running 5 miles. I would instead slowly trot a bit and walk when I felt like it. I would apply the lessons learned from my physical therapist's recommendations back in Alabama when I managed to tear a calf muscle. So I walked and ran at my leisure.

No problems! I was sore a bit, but that was to be expected. It felt good in a health nut athletic way. The next day, I walked the whole 5 miles because I was sore and again, I didn't want to push sore, tight muscles too much and injure myself. Walking five miles, incidentally, is time consuming and exhausting. I was incredibly sore after that experience, but was several chapters farther in the book I was reading (I can't read while I run; only when I walk).

Thus, feeling revitalized and on the mend, I hit the treadmill the next morning at work. After only two miles, I felt a distinct catch deep in my right calf. I stopped and walked for a spell, but it didn't loosen, so I hobbled back to the dressing room, showered, and went back to work. Having learnt from my experience in Alabama--one of those life lessons you get because you're hardheaded--I knew better than to push myself through this discomfort. It was a waiting game.

I took three days off (I think), then tested myself on my home treadmill gently with a walk-run thing. I seemed ok. So the next day at work, I tried again and was forced off the treadmill AGAIN after two miles with a catch lower but still deep in my LEFT calf. Egads. I'm falling apart. That night, I became aware that my lower back was hurting again. I awoke the next morning with a sore throat. I taught anyway. I figure that while everyone has a tolerance for sickness, he also has his threshold. I taught my classes fighting the cold and the inexplicable nausea lingering after my lunch. *sigh*

Today, everyone sounds very far away and my ears pop occasionally. I stopped into my commander's office on the way home today to tell her thank you. We just finished a Unit Compliance Inspection (where they ensure you are in compliance with Air Force standards as well as your own published standards) and made an Outstanding. That's the best possible rating you can get, meaning we knocked the socks off the inspection team. Considering that we function perpetually at "barely mission capable," this was a coup and a half. Thus, our department head, herself utterly dedicated and something of a workaholic, gave us permission to "leave after your last military duty Thursday. Don't come to work Friday. Take a three day pass next week during spring break." I'd agreed to cover a colleague's classes today, or I wouldn't have gone to work at all, frankly. Generally, Col H doesn't give out pass days, but she was liberal with them this time, perhaps recognizing that as the way to sincerely say "thank you" is in down days. I'll go in for a bit tomorrow, too, but only because a friend asked that I administer his reenlistment oath. Col H was pleased I stopped by. Apparently, most of us--in our excitement and perhaps with a bit of an "the time off is only what we deserved" attitude--forgot to thank her for granting it.

Then she said, "Is that Chloraseptic in your hand?" I said yes. I've been fighting a litany of illnesses, all kicking me while I'm down. But were I an optimist, I could view the series of problems as efficient illnesses--I'm getting everything out of the way at once.

On the bright side, I've been amazingly focused and effective with my teaching lately. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's because I had a week of unrequested but nonnegotiable down time and I am simply "quieted." I think there's more, though, not necessarily related to my illnesses or the down time at all. I think my greatest change is this: I've ceased to feel like a fake when I think deeply about literature. My teaching style has altered accordingly, and my cadets have responded with amazing interest, engagement and respect.

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