This boot was made for walking

I have a torn Achilles tendon.  Fabulous. 

The whole time I've been injured, I've been looking up websites where people talk about this stuff - real people.  Not searching for medical advice; rather, looking for real people's stories of what they did and how they recovered.  I found my searches pretty lacking.  People really aren't talking about it.  Which seems like a shame to me - and unfortunate.  We have this huge resource of the Internet, so why aren't we sharing?  I'm not talking life stories or sex tapes here - just a little information on what actually happens in real life when you're injured.  Or sick.  Or struggling with something.

I think part of the problem we face in our society - particularly in the medical community - is just that: No one is talking.  Because it's hard.  And sometimes painful.  But I really believe it's necessary.  After coming through cervical cancer, I will talk to anyone who will listen about the importance of women's healthcare and preventative medicine.  I will go on for hours about pushing your doctors and being aggressive about treatment.  I'll also talk about eating disorders.  I've actually spoken to teen/pre-teen dance classes about that one.  People need to be talking.  Science only gets us so far; we need to learn from each other, too.

Cap'n Crunchfoot goes to the ER

Since Monday, every time I've thought about this morning, I've gotten that sick, butterfly feeling in the pit of my stomach.  The kind of dread, mixed with fear, mixed with nerves, mixed with hope feeling.  I just hope that by lunchtime I'll be able walk around a little lighter.  One way or another.  Whatever happens, everything leading up to this morning has made me take a really careful look at my priorities.

As I believe I've mentioned, I have this foot injury.  What started in the top of the foot somehow moved into the Achilles, and I've basically been in a constant state of "What the fuck is wrong with you, ya damn foot?" for nearly three months now.  I've tried pretty much everything - rest, no rest, ice, heat, cross-training, more rest, stretching...you name it.  Except...well...go to the doctor.  (Yeah, duh.)

Time to make the doughnuts

There's a going away party tonight for a friend of mine.  She's moving to Oklahoma.  To the middle of nowhere.  To write.  Indefinitely.  A Staten Island native and Brooklyn resident for more years than I can count, she is moving to Oklahoma.  To write.

She and I haven't been particularly close in the last few years, not since I moved back to New York.  So when I found out this weekend that that's what her plans are, it sparked a rather interesting conversation with my husband that's been kickin' around in my head since yesterday afternoon.

A couple of months ago, my husband and I watched a documentary on the life of Charles Bukowski.  Bukowski worked for the United States Postal Service for over 30 years; it's no wonder he spoke of work as torture.  But this idea of work, the way we know it and the way it runs our society, being torturous, doesn't just apply to jobs as notoriously soul-crushing as that of working at the post office, and it got both my husband and I thinking.