Too much, too soon...

I admit it. I have ADD. No, I've never been diagnosed, but I have trouble sitting still. I must be doing something constantly. It makes me crazy to have nothing to do. So, it's easy to understand why this ankle injury has been driving me crazy. You can't do too many things when you can't put any weight on one leg. ::insert pouty face::

In an effort to keep from going totally crazy I decided to go back to work on Monday, May 9th. I work in the isolation room. My kids don't change classes. The only time I leave the room is to take the kids to lunch or when I need a restroom break. My thinking was that I could sit at my desk and keep my foot elevated for 6 1/2 of the 7 hours and everything would be great. Monday was great. Tuesday...a different story. If I even got up to go to the restroom my toes would turn black. A couple of my co-workers were concerned about the discoloration so at their urging I called my doctor. He wanted to see me the next morning.

Arriving at Dr. Zavala's office, Tessie, my new best friend, took me to an examination room where she cut off the purple cast.

Normally there is no pain involved in this process, however, the vibration of the castsaw caused little bolts of electricity to shoot through my ankle. It was, however, bearable.

Once the cast was off it was time for the stitches to come out. This, too, proved to be pretty painful. In fact, Dr. Zavala had to come in and take over from Tessie because some wouldn't come loose. OUCH!!!


Dr. Z was pleased with the way the incisions are healing, but he was quite displeased with the swelling in my foot.

He said that I was not keeping my foot elevated properly and therefore the fluid was pooling in my foot. That is what was causing the discoloration in my toes. He said that if I couldn't keep my foot elevated at something like 135 degrees (in other words, lying down with my foot above my heart), that I shouldn't be working. He stressed that not only was my ankle shattered, there was extensive soft tissue damage with the bones out of alignment for three or four hours. Okay, I get it. I'm off work. He did, however, give his blessing on our anniversary trip as long as we stop every couple of hours and I get out and move around so that I don't get any blood clots. Yikes! I will follow his directions!!

Once the stitches were out Tessie told me that I had time to shave my leg if I wanted to before she put the new cast on. Sweet Jesus, it felt so good!! That is why she is my new best friend!! She understands what a woman needs to feel better about her horrifically damaged foot.

Tessie returned shortly with pink casting material to cover up the hideously ugly appendage now decorating my lower right leg. Benefit...it matches my pedicure! Yay!!


I left Dr. Zavala's office but not before getting a copy of my post-surgical xray. Just think of me as the bionic woman.


I will return to see Dr. Zavala on May 26th. Hopefully my ankle and foot will be healed enough that the cast will come off and I can be placed in a fracture boot. Again, I still won't be able to put any weight on the foot, but I will be able to at least move the ankle so that it doesn't freeze up. I've already been warned that I will lose some mobility in the ankle...just how much is yet to be determined. I've also been told to expect to have arthritis in the ankle. While that's not great news, I am alive and "fixed." What more could I ask for?

On a better note, I got my new car yesterday. It's a 2010 Chevrolet Impala LTZ. It's silver with light gray leather interior. It has a sunroof, electric doors and windows, seat warmers, dual controls for the heat and air conditioning, satellite radio, OnStar, bluetooth phone through the radio...all the bells and whistles. While I will always love Libby, my Jeep, I already love Chablis, my new car!




With Beau, my 4 month old Yorkie

Just wondering....

As we approach Mother's Day 2011, I find myself moody, weepy, frustrated and just out of sorts in general. I have to wonder why.

My mother left this earth for Heaven early in the morning on October 5, 2004. It was a cool, crisp Tuesday morning. At the time I got the call from my dad I felt an immense sense of relief. I know that sounds strange. Cold, even. Not so. My mom had suffered...literally SUFFERED with Alzheimer's for several years. She had deteriorated to the point that she didn't recognize her husband and children. She asked me one day, "Now, whose kid are you?" When I told her that I was her daughter, she said, "Then I guess I have three kids. Robert, Bobby and you." It broke my heart as I explained to her that Robert and Bobby were the same person and he was her oldest. I was her youngest. Only two of us.

Mom was fearful pretty much all of the time. There was one occasion where she tried to jump from the car on LBJ because Daddy wouldn't take her home. Home was with her parents in Mesquite and she was going to be in trouble with her Daddy for being out with a boy. Needless to say, my grandparents had been Heaven inhabitants for years by that time. Mom was in a never ending quest to go home, but home wasn't the home she had shared with my Dad for 56 years. It was the home of her youth.

So, you see, the first reaction of relief was because I knew that mom had finally found peace. She was home. Home with her parents and siblings that had gone on before. She was no longer confused or afraid. She was safe and secure in her home surrounded by people she both knew and loved.

Seven years have elapsed since my mom went home. Since that time my brother has joined her. Make no mistake, I know that my mom is happy in Heaven. She wouldn't trade her current status to come back to us for anything in the world! So, why am I so sad? Bottom line: I so miss my mom. Maybe it's because it's been so long. Maybe it's because she didn't recognize me in the end. Maybe it's because I'm a mom. Maybe it's because I'm currently recovering from a serious auto accident and my meds have all of my body chemistry out of whack. Maybe it's all those things. I don't know. I just know that I am so very sad and wish that just one more time I could hold my mom's hand and tell her that I love her.

Mom & Daddy:1949


Mom & Bob


I'm sure that she knows. But for my sake I need to say it.

"Mom: I love you. I miss you. I didn't appreciate you nearly enough while you were with us. Thank you for who you were. Thank you for teaching me how to be a mom. Thank you for loving me when I know I was unlovable. I know that I will see you and be with you again. But for now, I miss you so very much. Give my love to Bob, Mama Whatley, Dad Whatley, Aunt Mary and Aunt Dorothy and all the aunts and uncles. Happy Mother's Day. I love you!"

Be careful what you wish for...

For the past two weeks I have been anticipating today...almost salivating. Today was my post surgical follow-up with my orthopedic surgeon. I wanted so badly to get that soft cast off so I could see my ankle and see how things were healing. I was also a bit apprehensive...worried that moving the ankle would prove to be excruciatingly painful. But the desire to get a good look at my healing foot outweighed my anxiety.

At 10:30 this morning I walked into...well, rolled into Dr. Zavala's office. His nurse took me to an exam room almost immediately. She removed the ace wrap, grabbed a pair of scissors and cut off the cotton wrapping my leg. She removed the soft cast and this is what was underneath...



I was very disappointed.


My foot feels like it has been pumped up with novocaine. Absolutely no feeling on the surface of the skin though I can feel (aka "it hurts") any pressure to the foot. It is ridiculously swollen and discolored. And the stitches??? This dude had to have failed homemaking...at least the sewing segment. Actually, Dr. Zavala said my foot looks great and in retrospect I believe he is right. It has been only two weeks. And after the number it did on my car...how can I expect any less for flesh and bone. Also, I saw the pre-surgical xrays. Both of them. The one before they realigned my foot and the one after. I could feel Dr. Zavala looking at me as he showed me the xrays. All I could say was, "Holy Moley!!" My shin bone is split vertically, my ankle was shoved two inches up into my shin cavity and bones were pushed all over the place. The post surgical xrays look much neater...two titanium plates and eleven screws holding my ankle together.

Prognosis: I am now in a lovely purple cast.


After a couple of weeks in this cast I return to Dr. Zavala. They will remove the cast and reassess my ankle. If he feels it has healed enough, he will place me in a fracture boot. No, I won't be able to put any weight on it for at least another six weeks, but at least I will be able to flex the ankle to keep it from locking up and keep the Achilles tendon from atrophying. After that I could be facing months of physical therapy. But hey, I'm alive and flesh and bones heal...eventually.

On a side note: Libby, my precious Jeep Liberty, has gone to the great junkyard in the sky. She was totaled. I didn't even get to say goodbye. But I think she knew how much I loved her.





Now I begin the arduous task of finding a new vehicle. If I had even been thinking about getting a new car I would have some idea of what I want. As it is, I wasn't even entertaining the idea of replacing Libby. We leave for our annual anniversary trip in less than a week. Yes, I am going to the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas with one foot in a boot and the other in a cast (LOL)and I am going to have a great time. Someone said to me tonight, "You're going to be miserable." My reply? "No, I'm not because I don't choose to be. I have made up my mind not to wallow in misery. I have made up my mind that I will have a good time...and so I will."

After seeing my Jeep, the accident scene and my xrays, I realize that my guardian angels were working overtime that evening. My injuries could have been so much worse...even fatal. I am blessed and I intend to live my life that way. So, if I haven't said it before, I am saying it now, "Thank you, God, for your grace and mercy and for protecting me from more serious injury."

Some days it's just hard to get out of bed...

Some days? That's probably going to be my battle cry for the next two months.

Last Wednesday was kind of a tough day at work. Started out good, but then one student acted like a turd and it was downhill from there. I was so looking forward to the family dinner Wednesday night. We needed to talk about upcoming travel plans. My sister in law arrived at the same time as me and it was just going to be the two of us. Ronnie had a ball game, Virgil took their dad to the doctor, Ryan was out of town and Richard canceled for some reason. So, Carlene called Kim, her son's girlfriend, and we decided to make it girl time. Kim was out of school for Easter break so she came up to join us. We had the best time. Laughing, talking, getting to know one another. I hated for the night to end, but I had some shopping that had to be done and Carlene gets up early to drive her grandson to school in north Dallas. Leaving Mi Cocina's, which was delicious!, I headed over to Bed, Bath and Beyond to look at their wine accessories for the wine room. Not finding "just the right thing," I wandered through the store looking at towels, glassware, comforters, sheets for the boys' new room... I was just in one of those shopping moods, but I couldn't find ANYTHING to buy, dang it! Now, with hindsight of 20/20, I think, "If only I had skipped BB&B and just gone home." But I didn't, so that put me on a collision course with pain.

As most people know, Ron and I live in the country. Most of the street names out here are numbers. Anyway, I started home thinking about what a great way the day had ended, about our upcoming anniversary trip to the Grand Canyon (where I've never been) and Vegas (where Ronnie's never been). I reminded myself of a couple of things I needed to take to work with me the next day and the next thing I knew, I was in a world of pain. As I turned off of FM549 onto Rabbit Ridge, there is a 54 acre wooded area off to my right. There is a house in the middle of it, but nobody lives there. It all happened so fast that I have "flashes" of pictures in my head. The first picture is a coyote. He waited until I was right up on him before darting into the road in front of me. I don't care what people say...and there are plenty of them out there with free, unsolicited advice, you would not "just run over him." There's this little thing called instinct and it kicks in. Mine did and I stomped my brakes. In truth, I was probably driving too fast on that road. I usually do. Anyway, stomping the brakes made me start sliding and I lost control of the car. I ended up in the ditch coming to a very sudden stop. I didn't know until Ronnie went back up there today that there is a sawed off tree trunk hiding in those bushes that I hit. Thinking back, I remember hearing and feeling my ankle and knowing that I "hurt" it. At that point, however, I wasn't really in pain. Sitting there for a minute until I calmed down, I still just thought I had run off the road. Didn't really comprehend that the boom sound meant that I had wrecked the car. As I said, it all happened really fast. Warp speed, even. After a minute I thought, "Okay, let me back this thing out of the ditch and get on my way." Well, I got it to go backward, but still not knowing how badly my ankle was hurt, I didn't realize that I had no way to stop it. Thank God for that brick mailbox??? Just after slamming backwards into the mailbox did the pain hit and I realized that my ankle might be broken. I called hubby and said, "Can you come pull me out of the ditch. Oh, and I think that my ankle is broken." He came up, pulled me out of the ditch, somehow managed to get my car parked in the church parking lot and drove me to Presbyterian Hospital in Rockwall.

This is the reason I could not stop my car.


In the first photo you can see where the bone poked through the skin and went back in. And if you think the pictures are icky...you should see the xrays! My shin bone is split vertically...my ankle, where it connects to the shin bone, moved 2 inches up into the shin cavity...there are literally pieces of bone EVERYWHERE!! Bottom line...the morphine didn't phase me and when the feeling started coming back to the foot, it came back with a vengeance. The hospital called the orthopedic surgeon on call and the waiting began. At one point one of the ER doctors came in and got Ronnie and took him out into the hall. She told him that they could not give me any more pain meds and they couldn't wait any longer to align my foot. He was going to have to help her. When they walked back into the room and Ronnie came to my bedside to hold my hand I knew they were about to hurt me. They thought they were being sneaky, but I could see it in my husband's eyes.

To make a long story short, the surgeon came in and about 1:00 a.m. I was rolled into surgery. A couple of hours there and my ankle is back together.

My right ankle is now held together with two steel plates and eleven screws. I'm taking vicodin for pain and sleeping a lot. The hardest part is that I can't put any weight on my foot for the next six to eight weeks. Translation: I can't even go to the bathroom without assistance. Ronnie has to either do everything for me or help me do it. I literally can't even get out of bed by myself. It sucks. I'm used to being the caregiver...it's totally different on the other side of this coin. It is what it is, however, and like it or not, I have to follow the doctor's orders. I will probably lose some of the mobility in my ankle and end up with arthritis...all because a stupid coyote needed to cross the road. Oh yeah, my car is probably a total loss as well.

It's a struggle...

I'm struggling right now. Internal conflict. Heart versus head. I don't know what to do but it doesn't matter because I can't do anything anyway.

My dad got out of the hospital last week and returned to rehab. He has literally been back at rehab one week...7 days. This morning his nurse, LaToya, called me...against his wishes. She explained to me that both the doctor and the nurse practitioner, as well as she, herself, felt that Daddy needed to go back to the hospital. His pulse oxygen level is very low (85%), his blood pressure is high one minute and incredibly low the next, he has a crackling sound in his lungs, his heart rate is elevated and his respirations are very low...8 per minute. Bottom line...he is in medical crisis and needs more care than they can give him. It could literally be that his life is on the line. So, what's the conflict? Daddy is refusing to go to the hospital.

On the one hand, my head understands this. He is tired. He feels like crap. He can't do anything for himself so he is dependent on someone else for literally everything. He misses my mom. He's told me on many occasions that he is "ready to go see Momma and Bob."

On the other hand, my heart is breaking. Regardless of all that we have been through, he is my dad and I love him and I will never be ready to give him up.

After the nurse called, I called Daddy and begged him to let them take him to the hospital. He refused. He has given up. I truly believe that it is a matter of weeks before Daddy departs this life for one free of pain, breathing difficulty, and where he can walk again. I should be joyful for him. And maybe I am...for him. For me? I feel lost...confused...sad...and just a touch angry.

Mama always said, "Stupid is as stupid does" (F. Gump)...and that would make me...wait for it...STUPID!

Nobody is any harder on me than I am on myself. It's a given. I have absolutely no patience for my own imperfections while I am forgiving of everyone else's. No, I don't think I'm perfect. I know that, for example, I have the memory of a drunken gnat. I hate that. It pisses me off. I know that I am somewhat OCD. I accept those issues, I'm just not tolerant of them. It is for that reason that I...wait, let me retrace some steps..

On Saturday, Feb. 16, 2011, I was invited by my friend and colleague, to attend a movie marathon in which we would see five of the Academy Award nominated movies. It was SUCH FUN! I made it through the first four movies and said, "You know, I'm really not looking forward to this last one and may not stay to the end." It was, The Fighter, with Mark Wahlberg. I thought it would be bloody and "Rockyish." I was wrong. When the movie was over I turned to my friend, Joyce, to say, "You know, that was WAY better than I expected...and nothing came out." Sometime during 90 minutes in a darkened theater I was viciously attacked by laryngitis...WITH NO WARNING! No coughing. No sore throat...to speak of. Nothing! Since that date I have not had one single day when I was not sick. No, not even one. The laryngitis hung on for almost 2 weeks. I went the doctor, got a shot...got a Medrol dosepak...got a Z-pak. It took a while but I got better. Not well, just better. Just when things were improving to the point of almost well, I started with this tickle in my chest. I coughed. It got worse. I coughed more. Soon I was coughing in fits and spasms multiple times throughout the day...and night. I went back to the doctor. I received 4 prescriptions and the assurance that I would be better in no time at all. That was last Thursday, March 24 (which was, coincidentally, my daughter's 30th birthday). It was also the day my dad was hospitalized...again...for congestive heart failure, COPD, etc. I faithfully took my medicine with no improvement at all. And then...

Last night, March 27th, I started coughing at about 11:00 p.m. and coughed constantly until well after 1:00 a.m. I could not lie down. I could not breath. I coughed until it felt like the top of my head was going to shoot off into the stratosphere. I had such a headache from coughing that all I could do was cry...which made the coughing worse. Finally I moved into a recliner in the living room where I could sit up and used my inhaler and prayed for sleep...which finally settled itself upon me. I pondered going back to the doctor (told you I was stupid...should I have even had to think about it?)

Today I got up and went to work, as normal. I had a dental appointment for a routine cleaning which had to be interrupted several times while I barked and hacked and coughed and cursed and griped and bitched and moaned and...you get the idea. I can't impress on you how bad this cough is. It reaches into the depths of my soul and starts ripping at my innards. I sound like a lonely seal in heat...barking uselessly for a mate that is frightened off by the rumble I am issuing from my lungs. Anyhoo, after the dentist, I was the chosen one to make a run to Target for a baby shower gift for a work colleague. Strolling through the baby items, I entered a row with the cute little onesies. The clerk working the other end of the aisle smiled at me and continue working...until I began my machine gun staccato blast of barks. I coughed so hard and long that I had to bend over in an effort to get my breath. My reading glasses fell to the floor, my face turned blood red and I barked and gasped. The poor clerk ran at me like she was going to tackle me and began hitting me on the back while blabbering,"WhatcanIdotohelp?ShouldIcallanambulance?Hasthishappenedbefore?Janice(or whatever her name was)tosecurityIhaveacustomerwhocan'tbreatheIthinkweneedanambulance." I am frantically trying to catch my breath while waving her off. OMG! An ambulance. I would die from the sheer embarrassment!! Besides, I had to get the gift back to work for the show after school! PRIORITIES!! Finally I caught my breath and was able to assure her that it was "chronic bronchitis" and I would be okay. I did notice, however, that as I continued through the store in other departments (gift wrap, dollar spot, etc.) that "Janice" managed to put in an appearance in my peripheral vision. Not OBVIOUSLY checking on me...just happening to be needed in the same area that I was shopping. Needless to say, as I was walking out the door I was dialing my doctor. Miracle of all miracles, I could get in at 2:45.(yeah, right).::insert aside here...I wish to go on record as saying that I detest illnesses that begin with the words "chronic," "severe," and/or "acute."::

I showed up at my appointment promptly at 2:45. I was called into an examining room at 3:15 and finally saw the doctor at 4:20. I was doing my horny seal imitation THE ENTIRE TIME. I was immediately sent for a chest xray (no pneumonia) and told, yet again, that I have "chronic bronchitis" which deviously invited it's friend, "acute sinus infection" to join the party in my respiratory tract. Bastard! I received a breathing treatment and after consultation was prescribed a steroid shot...a steroid tablet to take for 10 day...a nebulizer with a steroid to be used four to six times a day...and an inhaler with a steroid to open my lungs and used twice daily. Time for another digression...

My family and Scurry friends will tellyou that I should...operative word is should...know better than to take a steroid regimen...let alone FOUR of them. One year when I was working in Scurry, my husband and I worked on a play fort we have on our property during spring break. It's a really nice fort...two story...covered...the bottom level is enclosed and is a sand box. It was covered in these "dead" vines and we, in shorts and tank tops, proceeded to pull those "dead" vines off the fort where they were nicely climbing the walls. This was done with our bare hands. The next day...we both had poison ivy. I had never had it before but let me assure you that I never want it again!!!!! I was covered from head to toe. Face, arms, hands, stomach, back, legs, feet! I looked like a leper. I received numerous shots. I was place on 80mgs. of prednisone for over 2 weeks. I missed 11 consecutive days of work and the doctor threatened to put me in the hospital on an IV drip. Every time they tried to wean me from the drug, the poison ivy, which had gotten into my bloodstream, popped back out. Finally it was suppressed enough that they could wean me...then my heart rate jumped to over 200 beats a minute, my blood pressure went through the roof, I babbled incoherently, etc. I must say that while on the steroid, I would sleep 3 to 7 minutes a night (seriously) and feel like I had slept a full night. I ate like a wildebeest and was sooo jumpy inside my skin that I could NOT sit still. My husband got up at 2:00 a.m. one morning and found me stripping wallpaper in the hall bath. I completely renovated that bathroom in half a day...painting, redecorating, caulking, etc. By the time I was off the prednisone there was not a dirty washcloth, a cobweb, or a dust particle to be found in my home. Even after returning to work I was a nut case until that drug was completely out of my system. During that time I hired a teacher who later told me, "I wondered what I was getting into. You didn't ask me one question. You talked non-stop and so fast that I had to sit on the front of my chair to try to keep up with you." ::aside::it was good hire. She turned out to be an excellent teacher. But in summary...

.............STEROIDS ARE NOT, REPEAT, NOT MY FRIENDS!!!!..................................

So, when I went to the doctor today and got a STEROID SHOT, a STEROID INHALER, a STEROID MEDICATION IN MY NEBULIZER, and a prescription for PREDNISONE...what the hell was I thinking? Why did I not remember the weeks of sleepless nights. I have been up not for 21 hours after getting only 4 hours sleep and I am so wide awake that the idea of sleep is not even on the horizon. Why is this happening to me? Surely God isn't telling me it's time to redecorate again! Still...it has been a few years for that bathroom...

Like Forest said, "Stupid is as stupid does and I am just plain stupid!"