Thanksgiving on the Way and the Tradition Still Holds

Thanksgiving is almost here, and I have to say, it's one of my favorite holidays! I love the menu planning, the cooking, the cleaning...as much work as it is, Thanksgiving dinner is so rewarding.

Ah, yes...Thanksgiving dinner. How I love all that it entails. But this year will be different. Kevin dearest will be manning the kitchen. Since my ankle surgery is still dictating my life, my wonderful husband will prepare the feast.

Mind you, it would be sooo easy to just run up to my Mother's house in NC. It's even a little tempting. But Kevin and I have been trying to make a tradition of our own, and that's Thanksgiving at home. Our home.

I have to give Kevin proper adulation, for most men would be making a B line to their Mother-in-Law's house. After all, he's preparing a meal for a couple of teenage boys, a tween daughter, and a precious but persnickety wife! But he's very serious about our traditions. To be honest, this isn't the first Thanksgiving meal he has thrown on the table.

The first Thanksgiving supper (not the one with the pilgrims) was in 1998. I had to have my gal bladder removed the day before Thanksgiving. At that time, our tradition was to go to my Mother's home. There have been many medical advances, and even though they don't saw you in half anymore when they remove your gallbladder, I was unable to travel. We had all the food, but no cook...so I thought! Kevin prepared a wonderful spread, and was right proud of himself for the good job!

Some may say, "Oh, you were just really hungry. That's why it tasted so good. Appreciation is a great seasoning sauce." No. The man can flat out cook. And that's one of the reasons I'm looking forward to Thursday.

Wives, imagine. Sitting back on Thursday morning while your husband prepares a feast! Turkey, Honey baked ham, cream corn, dressing, sweet potato casserole, green beans, rolls, and last but not least, Kevin's home-made pumpkin pie. He has that one mastered. I will relish every single bite. I've got it sooo good. ;p

It will mean alot of work for Kevin and the kids, but it will be a wonderful day. I hope all of you have a wonderful day, and please, never cease to be thankful.

News Flash: Right Foot Now in Protective Custody!

It could be worse. Really it could. I could be strictly off of my feet for 12 weeks. But I am ever so fortunate, and I do not say that lightly, to have a reduced sentence.

I'm having the dreaded ankle surgery. Lateral Ligament Reconstruction with Arthroscopy to be exact. And you know what? It ain't so bad.

Don't get me wrong. I came through a whole lot of dread, tears, and prayers to be able to even peck that four word sentence. When I found out on Wednesday that the MRI results weren't, shall we say in my favor, I cried all afternoon. I'm not talking about a dainty weeping that a single kleenex could handle. I'm talking about a lock yourself in the bedroom, lay across the bed, ask God why, bury your face in the pillow, ask God for Grace, deep moaning, ask God why again, fingers locked in your hair, who-cares-about-your-makeup-red splotchy- faced cry. I was in bad, bad shape. If any of you have ever thought I am given to exaggeration, had you seen me that day, you would call the above an understatement.

For a moment, I thought, "Goodness, Rita! Get yourself together!" Then I immediately resolved, "No. This is exactly what I need to do. Get it all out!!" It was a catharsis, one that was much needed. I had built up so much anxiety about the pending surgery.

Can any of you understand what I mean? So much changes with surgery. First of all, there is always, always, always, a financial burden. Even when the insurance is paying at 100% (Praise God), there are always other expenses. Guess what? When Kevin shops, it cost more! When the kids are on auto pilot for breakfast and lunch, the kind of stuff they need to eat cost more. I wish I could submit a claim form for these things, but BC BS would laugh me out of Georgia. As a believer, I know God meets my needs, but I want to be transparent here. I'm a wife and a worrier. And I feel like my lousy health is always costing us money.

Other things that change with surgery are homeschooling, church, housecleaning, bill paying, driving....you get the picture. How many of you mothers can afford (not just monetarily) to be out of commission? Can I get a witness?? You know the old saying...A man works from sun to sun, but a woman's work is never done! So, you can see why I need the nervous break down, I mean the good cry?!?!?!?

When my appointment rolled around Friday, I had resolved in my heart that I was going to be a soldier brave and true and face this battle head on. And then I got knocked flat on my hiney.

How bad can a sprain be, you ask? I tore that joker up! I tore the ligament very close to the bone, severing it in two. I ripped my deltoid tendon on the inside of my right ankle. I have a severely bruised bone and severe bone swelling. Not to mention loads of other medical terms that I have never heard of. I need the arthroscopy just to make sure I don't have cartilage floating around in there.

Unlike 90% of the ligaments that heal on their own, my ligament has formed scar tissue on both of the severed ends and is pretty much anchoring down right where it is at. No hope of meshing back together. Sheeesh....this sounds like a bad love story.

With surgery being the only solution, I bravely asked the Doctor to tell me how long my down time was and how difficult the surgery would be. I told him, "Tell it to me straight, Doc. I like my Doctors like my Preachers, straight and honest."

And here's the good news for me. After the surgery, I will be in a splint for 10 days. I will then have a cast for 4 weeks, but I can walk in the cast. This is what made me soooo happy! Walking within 2 weeks?!?! I was ecstatic! Then I will progress to a boot, which I will wear for another 4 weeks. Then I will finally wear a brace for a couple of weeks while I do physical therapy. 12 weeks total. I know, I know. It's a long time. But I was thinking I was going to be completely off my feet for 12 weeks. This is really thrilling news for me.

No doubt, it will still be a long road. Thankfully, the ladies of my church will step in and cook and clean for me. They are a God send, whom I thank in advance. And I thank God. I should be able to at least stand without the aid of crutches at Thanksgiving dinner. I may even get to do a little shopping. That is, if I can get Kevin to drive me around. This is my driving foot (and my piano pedal foot).

So much will have to be altered while my right foot is in protective custody. By the time this terrible crime against my own body has passed, my right foot will be ready to walk again, play again, drive again. I can't wait. Until then, it will have to get used to being sequestered. Actually, I will be the one that will have to make the adjustment!

I Once Had Beautiful Feet

My Nemeses....my arch rivals...these beauties I
must trade for beasts! Is this worth foot surgery?
No. A thousand times No!




It is with sadness and heaviness that I write today. A dark reality has blanketed my day, and I must share it with my readership. I just returned from a follow up appointment with my Orthopaedic Surgeon, and I may have to have yet another foot surgery.

I wince.

You see, I have just now recovered from my first foot surgery. The surgery I had 7 months ago-a "simple" bunionectomy and cystectomy on my left foot. HA! The surgery that very nearly made me question whether I had a purposeful existence. Ladies and gentlemen, I wanted to die. (And I am not using hyperbole) That surgery was the most painful experience of my life, and of all the surgeries I've had, my foot surgery was the most unbearable.

Now, I won't go into all the medical jargon, but I will say this...the foot is nerve rich. Let me put it this way: I would rather relive my hysterectomy than have another foot surgery. But here I sit today, facing a possible and very likely surgery on my right ankle.

I was lucky enough to sustain a severe grade 3 sprain on my first day of our family vacation. Let's hear it for Rita the clutz! It changed the family vacation, to say the very least. I was equipped with an arsenal of Percocets and Lortabs, along with crutches and a very stylish splint. Not. The hiking plans were nixed, along with the tour of the Biltmore House. Instead, we played Scategories and Uno in Marathon-ish proportions.

But being the forever optimist, I simple thought 2-3 weeks in advance. You know, I visualized myself back at Curves with sweat glistening on my brow. I envisioned shedding my tacky splint and tossing those crutches aside. In the midst of my racking pain, I assured myself, "This will be over in a couple of weeks. Sprains aren't as bad as surgery...you'll be over this in no time."

Long story short; ten weeks post injury, my ankle is extremely loose. The swelling is still plaguing me, and there is an ever-present discoloration that resembles a bubonic blue. I would be lying if I said this ankle were pain free. And now the feet that were once dainty and pretty, (even my critical sisters would have to confirm this as fact) look like a crime scene. Or at least the left one does. And the right foot may be soon to follow!

We have a name for the way my feet look....FrankenFoot. A left foot defined by hideous keloid scars; a right foot defined by an eerie discoloration and swelling. Keloids of all things! I've got at least a half dozen surgery scars on my body, but none of them can be seen. None except the lovely keloids sitting atop my foot. My cute summer sandals can't mask the ugly feet that have taken on a life of their own. I would post photos, but it would be too graphic.

Alas! Am I, at 38, doomed to a life of orthopaedic Dr. Scholls footwear and knee high socks? I love my Clarks, but come on! They don't go with everything! I once had beautiful feet, but those feet will never return. It's just the plain hideous truth.

Before I appear overly vain and narcissistic, let me say that a potential ankle surgery holds more than just ugly scars. It also holds a great deal of pain and a long road of recovery. And that gives me the greatest sense of dread.

Let's face it: I have to laugh to keep from crying. My MRI next week will tell the tale. Hopefully, I will escape the pending doom of surgery. But if not, recuperation time means more time to write. Plus, I will readily admit, the Royal Treatment of a woman off her feet for 6-8 weeks is a nice way to recover!