My “Too Much” Gene (Blog #702)

Last night I went to bed at two, a little sooner than normal, in order to wake up early this morning to help my friends Todd and Bonnie pack. (They’re getting ready to move.) And whereas I’d hoped to doze right off, I tossed and turned for over two hours. I finally fell asleep about four-thirty. For thirty minutes. (Not funny, Mr. Sandman.) I lay awake until six, at which point I drifted off into blissful sleep. When the alarm went off three hours later, I was like, What the hell? You know how it is when your brain and body are exhausted, the way it takes concentrated effort and three repetitions of The Lord’s Prayer to simply put on your socks. That was me this morning. Foggy. I swear, if someone had seen me stumbling around trying to tie my shoes they would have said, “His cornbread ain’t done in the middle.”

Speaking of bread, Todd and Bonnie provided donuts for breakfast. Oh my gosh, y’all, I only had two (I’m not a complete animal), but they were delicious. This is why one should periodically eat healthy. Sweets taste even sweeter, and whole milk tastes even, um, whole-er when you haven’t had them in a while. Anyway, all of it did the trick, perked me right up. For fifteen minutes. Thankfully, I didn’t have to be fully awake to work, just awake enough to move furniture and bubble wrap a few other things.

Since Todd and Bonnie had invited several friends and relatives to their “packing party,” things went quickly. “Many hands make light work,” Bonnie said. No kidding, we were done in less than three hours–just in time for pizza. That’s how Todd and Bonnie got all of us there, by the way; they promised us carbohydrates for breakfast and lunch (and they delivered).

Confession: I ate four pieces of pizza.

This afternoon my regular gym buddy (my dad) went to work out with my aunt, so after I got home from packing I went by myself. And get this shit. The girl at the front desk, who’s almost always there when I am, greeted me when I walked through the door by saying, “Your father was here earlier!” Oh my gosh, y’all, talk about embarrassing. People are associating us together! (Also, they’re apparently not buying my “he’s my roommate” story.) Anyway, my neck and shoulder have been giving me hell lately, so I didn’t do any upper body work today. Rather, I did knee rehab. My physical therapist cleared me to start using the elliptical machine, so for twenty minutes I pretended I was a gazelle prancing through the grasslands of Africa.

Granted, a gazelle probably wouldn’t grip the stationary handlebars for fear it would fall over, but it probably wouldn’t have broken its knee trying to jump over another gazelle’s head either.

Now it’s nine-thirty, and my brain and body are mush. With any luck, I’ll be in bed and passed out before midnight. All afternoon I’ve been thinking about something my friend Corban, who helped Todd and Bonnie today, said. We were packing an antique rocking chair, and he was really going after the legs with the bubble wrap. He kept going around and around with the stuff. Finally I said, “That should do it,” and he said, “My ‘too much’ gene may have taken over.”

My “too much” gene. Is that perfect, or what? I completely relate to having it. When given a task, I almost always feel like I have to knock it out of the park no matter what. Consequently, I often wear my mind and body down in my attempt to overachieve. Honestly, it’s probably why my neck and shoulder hurt–because I got obsessive, because I did something “too much.” God knows I’ve gained weight in the past not because I ate too much donuts and pizza one day, but because I ate too much donuts and pizza too many days. Too much, too much. So again, this is my reminder to myself to slow down and take the middle path, to trust that moderation can get me where I want to go, to let my “that’s enough, that’s more than enough for now” gene take over.

Surely I have one of those.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. And whereas it's just a single step, it's a really important one.

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On Seeing More Light (Blog #694)

Today has been delightful. That’s two delightful days this week. Actually, come to think of it, I’m enjoying life more lately. For one thing, my leg’s been improving. I still have a lot of progress to make, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel now. I can see more light, period, now. Spring is in four weeks, and before that, daylight savings. Plus, I feel better. After surgery I was definitely depressed, and I feel lighter now, more like myself. I have more energy. Plus, whether it’s my new diet (which my friend Bonnie recently referred to as Lazy Paleo because I make plenty of exceptions), some new supplements I started, or the fact that I’m exercising frequently, I have less gunk in my system. Normally I wake up with a snotty nose (just call me Marcus Mucus), but the last two days my sinuses have been clean as a whistle.

I’m glad we can talk about this.

This afternoon I had a lovely physical therapy appointment. It was lovely for two reasons. First, my therapist added new exercises, some balance things that really challenged me and caused me to break out in a sweat. This actually felt good, since I’ve been largely immobile for almost three months. Second, my therapist was kind and encouraging. “Good form. You’re really doing well, “he said. “Feel free to call me if you have any questions.” Ugh, it really does make the biggest difference when someone’s–I don’t know–friendly.

At therapy while my leg was being iced, I started a book Bonnie gave me called Drop Dead Healthy by AJ Jacobs, a nonfiction story about the author’s quest to be perfectly healthy in every way. Oh my gosh, y’all, I’m only a few chapters in (I kept reading after therapy when I went to lunch), but it’s hilarious. Not only is the author an entertaining writer, but I can see much of myself in his behaviors. As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac, I’ve tried so many diets, relaxation techniques, and exercises programs it’s not even funny. (Well, it’s a little bit funny.) And whereas I often approach lifestyle changes with an all-or-nothing attitude, I’m learning that moderation still provides results. For example, I’ve been doing Lazy Paleo for almost a month now and can already tell a difference. Not that I’ve lost a ton of weight (a few pounds on a good day), but my body feels better, more vibrant.

This is no small thing.

This evening I drove to Springfield, Missouri, where I am now. I came up for a dance tomorrow and am staying with my friends Anne and Andy. On the way here I listened to a podcast that talked about the benefits of cold exposure–keeping your thermostat set on 62 in the winter, going outside with fewer layers on, taking a cold shower (even for a few moments). This idea is that our bodies need to be challenged, and one way we can work out our cardiovascular systems is by exposing them to a wider range of temperatures. This actually makes sense to me, that we can exercise our blood vessels and capillaries like muscles. So although I still hate winter (I hate winter), I’m now considering hating it less, since the cold apparently has its benefits.

There I said it.

I’ve talked a lot recently about my skin allergies, about how I’ve had to buy special soaps and shampoos because my skin reacts to several common household ingredients. This all started when I had a huge flare-up last year when my parents changed their laundry soap. Anyway, when I got to Anne and Andy’s, Anne said, “I’m sorry, but we didn’t wash the sheets on your bed in cage-free, free-range detergent.” Oh my gosh, is that great or what? I couldn’t stop laughing, both at Anne’s cleverness and the fact that I’m now officially one of those people.

Also, I should say–thankfully–my skin’s not THAT picky.

Now it’s after midnight. Earlier Anne and Andy and I went out to eat, and I’ve been blogging and sipping hot tea since we got back. Well, cold tea because I apparently don’t sip fast enough. Anyway, I’m looking forward to this weekend. I won’t be able to dance much tomorrow night, but I’m excited about seeing my friends, hearing some good music, and simply being on a dance floor. My physical therapist said I’ll be cleared to do some light jogging at my next appointment (in two weeks), so the milestones (running, jumping, dancing) are in sight. Yes, I can see more light now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing is set in stone here.

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A Reprieve (Blog #678)

Well shit. After six weeks of rehab-ing my knee two to three times a day, which I was told to do, I was given a reprieve today. I’ll explain. This afternoon I had an appointment with my surgeon, who said my range of motion looked great. Then he said the swelling in my knee (oh, there’s swelling in my knee) was probably due to overuse. “Most people rehab a day, then take a day off,” he said. “I’m officially giving you permission to rest. It’ll take all of six months for your strength to come back, so don’t rush.”

Afterwards I met with my physical therapist, who confirmed, “Yeah, if you come here, you don’t need to do anything else for the rest of the day.” Ugh. That’s not what was said in the beginning. “Do your exercises two or three times a day.” So much for living in the golden age of communication. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to be able to chill out. These exercises have been taking up two to three hours every day, and now I get to back off to about one hour every other day. Plus, instead of going to physical therapy twice a week, now I’ll only be going once a week or once every other week.

Here’s to sleeping in and saving gas money.

Since leaving the doctor’s and physical therapist’s, I’ve been in a mild state of shock. As a former straight-A student, I’m so used to giving a hundred and ten percent all the time. Work, work work. Push, push, push. What’s more, unfortunately, I’m used to giving, giving, giving, and it never being enough. If this sounds like a recipe for exhaustion and constant frustration and disappointment, it is. But these last few years I’ve been learning (slowly) that you don’t have to go balls-to-the-wall every minute of every day in order to get good results, and today was another reminder of this.

A slow and steady effort will do.

This evening I taught a dance lesson, my first since injuring my knee over two months ago and having surgery six weeks ago today. Y’all, it was the perfect thing, this darling engaged couple getting ready for their first dance. This meant I didn’t have to spend an hour dancing with someone and could limit my movements to demonstrations. And since they weren’t advanced, I didn’t have to turn or spin, which I’m not allowed to do anyway. I can’t say how much fun I had. Not only did I enjoy teaching, but the lesson got me out of the house and took my mind off my problems. Well, one problem in particular. Ugh, this is so important, having something worthwhile to focus on.

Tonight, for the third night in a row, my dad and I went to the gym together. And since I was given a reprieve from leg exercises for a couple days, I worked on my upper body. I’ve been studying some muscle-balancing exercises online, so my plan is to try a new thing or two each time I work out. I figure I’ve set aside time every day to focus on my body, so I might as well keep it up. But you know, not go too fast. This is really a big lesson for me, that I don’t have to overachieve all the damn time, that a smaller amount of effort, applied consistently, will get the job done.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Being scared isn’t always an invitation to run away. More often than not, it’s an invitation to grow a pair and run toward.

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Return on Investment (Blog #670)

This morning I woke up to a voicemail from my dermatologist. “Call us about your results,” it said, which I assumed had to do with to the moles I had taken off recently. Shit, I thought, I have cancer. Super optimistic, I know. That’s me, always assuming the best. As it turns out, the results they were referring to was a test I had done last year at another dermatologist’s office (when my regular dermatologist didn’t take my insurance), a test I was previously told said I had “an inflammation whose cause is unknown.” (The problem went away after I changed washing detergents, but I’ve had other similar issues lately.) My dermatologist’s nurse said the report actually said my skin irritation could have been caused my mites, like scabies. (Ick, gross.) So just to be on the safe side, now I’m on an anti-parasite medication.

This is my life.

Alternatively, the report said I could have contact dermatitis. So maybe in a couple weeks I’m going to get tested for skin allergies. And whereas all of this sort of wears me out, I’m glad that my dermatologist is being aggressive and doing her best to figure out what’s going on. The way I see it, the more information I have, the better. When I walked into the bathroom this morning, I noticed my tongue was black. Again I thought, Cancer. But it turns out it was just a result of having taken Pepto-Bismol last night. My point being, despite my tendency to freak out, I’m learning to trust that everything is going to be fine.

This afternoon I had physical therapy for my knee, which I had surgery on last month. I go to this office with several therapists who all work together, and today I ended up with someone I haven’t seen before. She said she’d had three knee surgeries–three!–including one ACL repair like I had. This was super encouraging, since she was running around the therapy center like a jackrabbit and said now she never thinks about her surgeries. “It gets better,” she said. “Just be patient and follow the protocol and you’ll get to where you want to be.” So this is my new mantra. Be patient. Follow the protocol.

This evening I made dinner–chicken and rice. Oh my gosh, y’all, do you have any idea how long it takes to make rice? Fifty frickin’ minutes. What the hell? It took over an hour to put my entire meal together and only seven to eat it. Where’s the return on investment?

Ugh. It occurs to me that in order to appreciate anything, you’ve got to put your time or money into it. You’ve got to be patient, follow the protocol. For example, after a year of seeing doctors, I appreciate my health more than I ever have. After having injured my knee, I want to run (well, walk) out into the streets and shout, “Do you know how lucky you people are because you have two working legs?!” And despite my joking about how long my meal took to cook, I did enjoy it more than I would have a fast food burger. Not only was it healthier for me, but I made it, and there’s a certain amount of pride in that. (I boiled rice!) So I guess that’s the return on investment, that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you know you’ve worked hard for something, be it your health (including your mental health), your ability to walk, or even your supper.

And, especially in the midst of winter, let us never underestimate the importance of a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All your scattered pieces want to come back home.

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I’m Not in Charge Here (Blog #651)

This afternoon I had my second physical therapy appointment to rehab my recently repaired knee (I tore my ACL, had surgery). Today they added new exercises–heel raises, balancing on one foot, one-leg presses, and this thing where I sit in a rolly chair, dig my heels into the carpet, and pull myself around the room. Talk about feeling conspicuous. That being said, pretty much everyone in the room today was gimped up in one way or another. One lady was doing leg exercises like I was, another was doing shoulder work, and another was working on her elbow. Hell, even one of the staff members had his leg in a boot and was walking with a cane. I thought, THESE are my people.

For forty minutes I stretched, lifted, and flexed my left leg. The hardest thing was practicing going DOWN stairs, since apparently you bend your knee twice as much going down stairs as you do when you go up them. Anyway, I broke a sweat. But then they wrapped my leg in an ice blanket, and I quickly cooled off. Especially since the machine sprung a leak and squirted water all over my leg and all down my sock. That felt good.

After physical therapy, I came home and took a nap. Seriously, I don’t have a lot of energy and can’t seem to get enough rest. Probably because my leg keeps waking me up at night. I keep telling myself this is normal, that the doctor took a drill bit long enough to tunnel through a stack of two-by-fours and ran it through my leg, so it should be achy, tired, and pissed off. Still, I have a hard time slowing down and giving my body what it’s asking for (rest). For one thing, I’m used to being active. For another, I’m supposed to be doing rehab exercises two or three times a day at home or the gym, and I can’t exactly do those while I’m sleeping.

To be clear, the rehab exercises aren’t so much difficult as they are time-consuming. Originally there were nine exercises, and now I think I’m up to twelve or fifteen, depending on whether I’m at home or at the gym. Again, that’s three times a day. As my mom says, getting better has become a full-time job. Still, it’s paying off. Today my physical therapist seemed impressed with my ability to balance on one leg and said I was actually “ahead of the curve.” So that’s something.

Lately–over the last year–I’ve been trying to lower my standards. What I mean is that I’m used to a certain level of energy and activity, and my body simply hasn’t been consistently capable of that for a while now. So I’m trying to listen to it. My therapist says something big happens whenever you can really give into the universe and say, “Fine, damn it. I’m not in charge here. I’m on your time schedule.” What that big thing is, I don’t know. Probably inner peace or some shit like that. But again, I’m trying, to be okay with how things are right here, right now, to let sleeping as much as possible and doing my rehab exercises be my life for a while.

Okay, I’m off to the gym.

And then to bed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rest gives us time to dream. One day, for certain, you’ll wake up. And you’ll be grateful for the time you rested, and you’ll be just as grateful that you’re different, far from the person who fell asleep.

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Me and My Physical Therapist (Blog #649)

Thirteen days ago I had knee surgery to repair my ACL in my left knee, and this morning I saw my surgeon to follow up about it. First, his nurse removed my (17) staples. Then he showed me pictures from the surgery (two of which I’ll share momentarily) and said it went well. In terms of my progress, he seemed impressed, especially with the facts that I’m off crutches, out of a brace, and bending my knee more than 90 degrees. “If I were being picky, I’d say you need to straighten your leg more, but it’s not bad,” he said.

Ever the perfectionist, I now have a new goal.

The surgeon said I should see continual progress for the first two or three months. “That’ll be exciting and keep you motivated,” he said. “But then you’ll forget anything was ever wrong, and whereas I want you to forget at some point, I don’t want you to forget before six months and do something stupid like jump a ditch.” Then he explained that six months is how long it takes to get blood flowing to the newly constructed ACL, which is why I have to be ever-so-gentle with it until then. That means no swimming, jumping, or planting and turning (as in spinning, pivoting, or–um–dancing).

Here’s a picture of my old ACL. It looks sad, frayed, and lifeless because I completely tore it away from the bone. Personally, it reminds me of sushi.

Here’s a picture of my new ACL, which the surgeon constructed from my patellar tendon. Talk about pretty. (Don’t be jealous; I’m sure yours looks nice too.) Note that tendons are stronger than ligaments, which is why some surgeons (mine included) prefer to reconstruct the ACL (a ligament) using the patellar tendon (a tendon, duh) rather than a hamstring (another ligament).

After leaving the surgeon’s office and killing time at a coffee shop reading a book, sipping tea, and propping my foot up on a chair (in order to straighten my leg), I had my first official physical therapy appointment. And whereas I was nervous about whether or not I’d jive with the guy, all my fears were immediately laid to rest. He’s awesome. Not only has he been at this for twenty years, but he’s also worked with my surgeon for a long time, and they’re on the same page in terms of objectives and timelines. Plus, he spent a lot of time today really explaining what happened both when I injured myself and during surgery.

“Your ACL is nothing but a tie-down,” he said. “If you had a bicycle with two straps holding it on the back of a trailer, and you cut one strap, the bike would fall over. It’s the same with your knee cap.” Which explains why things felt loose immediately after my injury. My PT (physical therapist) said he’s known people who have lived decades without their ACL, but they end up literally rubbing their bones together, and that causes a lot of problems later in life. “The whole point of the surgery you had is to get you back to doing what you were doing before without additional issues down the line,” he said.

The physical therapy itself wasn’t too complicated. Granted, it was more than I’ve been doing at home, but it wasn’t painful or grit-your-teeth awful. A few stretches, some mini-squats, some leg lifts, some stair-climbing. Then my guy hooked me up to a STEM machine, a device that uses electrical impulses to make your muscles (my quad muscles) twitch and fire. At the same time, he wrapped my knee in another device that was basically a giant leg condom filled with cold water (pumped in by a machine through an attached hose) to reduce swelling. I didn’t take any pictures of this, but here’s a picture of my swollen and bruised leg from this morning. No wonder my ankle’s been hurting.

My PT also explained why my leg has felt achy–because the surgeon used a drill bit as long as my forearm to tunnel through my leg bones. “Oh, that explains it,” I said. Then my PT showed me an animated (not real) video of how the surgery actually went down. Y’all, it’s totally crazy. He took the middle third of my patellar (kneecap) tendon out, along with two pieces of bone attached to it (one at either end; supposedly the holes from which the bones were taken will fill in over time). Then he sewed up the outer two-thirds of my patellar tendon and used that big drill bit to tunnel through my leg on a diagonal. (The ACL and its tie-down buddy, the PCL, criss-cross through the knee–I think.) Then he fished the new ACL through the tunnel and attached the bone pieces to other bones with screws. “That thing ain’t going nowhere,” both my surgeon and my PT said.

Is that wild or what? And seriously, no wonder recovery is a long process. I’ve been cut up and put back together. Along the way, I’ve gained an inch in circumference around my kneecap (from swelling) and lost an inch in circumference around my thigh (from muscle atrophy). “How long will it take to get those muscles built back up?” you might ask. A year. A full year because muscles are made from slow-twitch fibers and fast-twitch fibers, and I can’t use my fast-twitch fibers until six months post-surgery (since they’re the ones used for jumping, sprinting, etc., and that stuff, as already explained, is off-limits). And whereas a week ago this slow recovery process disheartened me, today I’m okay with it, I’m assuming because I have more information than I did before, because I actually understand both what’s happened and what’s happening.

Never underestimate the power of information.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure there’s a rehab exercise I need to be doing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s okay to ask for help.

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That’s Not Too Far Away (Blog #629)

Things that happened today–

1. I did a knee thing

This afternoon I had my first physical therapy appointment for my injured knee. It was a short deal, maybe fifteen minutes, to go over exercises that I’ll do post-operation, on my own, until officially starting physical therapy two weeks after surgery (which is one week from today). Anyway, it went well, and it occurred to me later that I’m racking up quite the number of “my therapists.” Me and My Mental Health Therapist, Me and My Massage Therapist, Me and My Physical Therapist.

Clearly I need a lot of help.

2. I said goodnight to my nephews

This evening my sister, brother-in-law, and my nephews arrived for the holidays. Ugh. Talk about cuteness overload. They give the best hugs. Granted, when they wake me up at seven-thirty in the morning, I may not think they’re so great.

3. I said goodnight to the world

Since the boys clocked out, my parents, my sister and brother-in-law, and I have been visiting. There’s nothing quite like family. Now it’s almost eleven, and everyone is worn out. My sister because she has two children, and me because my body has been through the ringer lately. At the moment, I don’t have a lot to offer. All I want to do is wind down and go to bed. I really didn’t sleep well last night. You know how some nights you toss and turn. Still, it’s been a good day. The physical therapist said that two months after surgery, if all goes as planned, I’ll be cleared for “light jogging” on flat surfaces, and that six months after surgery I’ll be “back to normal.” At that point, they said, I’ll be no more likely to tear my (new) ACL than I was before my accident. So two months–six months–that’s not too far away. That’s something to look forward to.

I can do this.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We all have inner wisdom. We all have true north."