Ankle Chronicles 11

Ankle Chronicles 11

Hard to believe I am up to 11 stories about my stupid ankle. But here goes…

I woke up early this morning to my foot having fits and being a real ass. I had to go out today. There was no way I was spending another day in the house after I spent nearly all weekend and then some inside. So I took some pain meds and within and hour I was back to sleep. When I woke up my foot wasn’t as bad, until I started walking on it. It didn’t like it one bit. Shit. Too bad. I rebelled. I kept off it most of the day until I had to do an errand for my sister and then leave to go get my latte. My sister is a little nuts. I know she has anxiety when it comes to her kids but her kids aren’t little anymore. She wanted me to check in on the 17 year old to see if she had a fever. Really? My niece is not mentally disabled. I think she can stick a thermometer in her mouth quite safely to see if she is running a fever. So I hobble over there and find she is fine. No fever just some pain in her side that I contribute to either a pulled muscle or her period coming on. She is not throwing up, doesn’t feel nauseous, is drinking fluids. So I leave to catch my bus to the Square. My foot is not really hurting but before I leave to go to the train station to meet up with my friends, I take a pain pill just in case.

I met up with my friends and we had dinner. Then we went to the bookstore and I got a book that I wanted on Amazon and a new journal. I really wanted to get the $40 one but settled on the camo one for $30. As we are walking back to the car, my ankle decides it is going to act up. I have to play it cool so I just walk like nothing is bothering me. We get back to the train station to head home and we have to jog a bit to make it to the platform on time. Yea, my ankle REALLY didn’t like that. I thought all was good until I got off the bus and started walking home. I should have taken a pain pill while I was waiting for the bus. So I pretty much had to crawl home. It took me at least twenty minutes to get home when it normally would take me ten. I am half way down the street that I hate walking at night when I start to feel really nauseous. I had to stop for a few minutes and then continue. I had some dry heaves in the process. I didn’t think I was going to get home without hurling my dinner. I finally make it home, stomach contents still intact and where they should be.

Now I have to climb two flights of stairs to my room. My ankle is still being a whiny bitch and fights me every step. I also have to go to the bathroom but want to change before I do. I took a Zofran (anti-emetic) so I don’t puke. I am waiting for that to kick in before I start taking my handful of night meds and my pain meds. I go to the bathroom and come back to my room. Ankle is fuming at me now. It wants no part of standing to take my meds. My stomach is still unsettled to I take my pill box to the night stand and when my stomach is ready, least I won’t have to get up again. I am tempted just to take the one pill that I need and my pain meds and say screw the rest of them. Problem is, that pill looks like my Ativan so I will have to take both pills because I can’t really distinguish them without looking up the pill numbers and such. That is too much work to do when I am in pain and just want to go to sleep.

I had therapy today. Again she wanted to know where my writing was at. UGH. Why do my two treaters care where my writing is at when I don’t have the answer for them? It drives me crazy because I am not writing and I feel bad about this. It adds pressure for me and the more pressure that is on, I can’t write. It’s not writer’s block. The stuff is there. I just need motivation to actually write my thoughts out. But I am scared it is going to cause some unpleasantness, maybe some dissociation or worse, psychotic symptoms to come out. That is why I am treading lightly in my head before it is on paper. They don’t know this though. I haven’t told them because I just don’t want them to pressure me more. It has been months since I wrote something good. I think the NYT article was the last thing I wrote, outside my blog and journal. I got to find my mojo again.