2 Months Post-op

Not much to discuss anymore, which is probably a good thing. Last week I was able to liberate myself from the boot, likely forever, and I started taking the stairs again (!), so things are feeling much better. At PT I learned that the swelling looked minimal, and that having my incisions massaged is a special kind of torture. By the way, last week marked two months since surgery!

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Two months later and it’s 35-degrees out. Definitely not August anymore.

I made some other advancements at PT, too, like re-introducing standing leg exercises. I did some leg presses on the reclining slide board, as well as theraband walks, single leg step downs, and balances on one leg. These are all welcome additions to my now-very-stale mat routine. During single leg balances, I impressed my PT (as well as myself) by making a spectacular save for a ball that rebounded poorly, and I chalked it all up to many years of stability training in the bank. Let’s hope my aerobic memory proves just as good as my muscle memory.

I also spent some time with the blood flow resistance cuffs, so I can explain that a little more now. It’s exactly what it sounds like — a blood pressure cuff from hell. They slide all the way up the thigh, and then my PT pumps up the cuffs while monitoring a pulse in my leg, and sets the pressure near 70% restriction. It’s not exactly a comfortable experience. I imagine it’s what being killed by a boa constrictor feels like. And it makes it super hard to use your legs.

The science is that by cutting off venous return (and some arterial flow), essentially depriving the tissues of oxygen, the cuffs simulate the work of an anaerobic or a lactic session without literally doing the work. So when the cuffs are on, we do leg presses or hip bridges basically to exhaustion, which doesn’t take as long as you’d think. It’s fucking hard. Plus, you stimulate production of anaerobic enzymes and it supposedly offers a great aerobic benefit by just walking around.

On Friday I suffered for 8 minutes on the treadmill at 1.7 MPH and felt like I’d run a tempo. Not like I was physically stressed or breathing hard, but my legs were like lead after that. It’s definitely weird. You can feel every muscle contracting. PT said he had someone get light headed with them recently, and yeah I could see that, especially if you’re not well-trained or accustomed to the feeling of exertion. The first time they made me anxious, but I’m more relaxed about them now.

Last week I worked on extending time spent in the pool and on the bike, and finally added a couple turns of resistance to the spin bike by the end of the week. I have started making pool friends too! A pair of students comes several times a week accompanying a very old man named Pablo while he swims laps, so we occasionally spend a lap or two chatting as we tread past each other.

Here’s the workouts from last week:

  • MON: 20 min cycle w/ zero resistance, 20 min aqua jog, core + lift
  • TUES: PT, 30 min aqua jog
  • WEDS: 20 min bike w/ zero resistance, 20 min aqua jog, core
  • THUR: 30 min aqua jog
  • FRI: 30 min cycle w/ some added resistance, core, PT w/ BFR cuffs
  • SAT: Swam 40 laps at the Rec center, about 20 mins of work (it’s a short pool, don’t be too impressed)
  • SUN: Off

A new week is already kicking along, so I’ll have another update in a couple days.

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On our last (maybe so) warm and sunny day, I harvested all my remaining tomatoes and pulled up the stalks. It made me sad, and then it snowed two days later.

 

Look, ma, no crutches!

Now that I’ve rejoined the land of the living for over a whole week, it’s hard to remember ever stumbling around on crutches. I’ve been wearing the boot a lot. I don’t wear it 24/7, but for lengthy bouts on campus or running errands, it has been helpful. Throughout the week there’s been some swelling along with pain near the talus, which I’m sure isn’t unusual after surgery. So staying strapped into the boot during the week alleviates that, and it was starting to feel better this weekend. It’s helpful to ice and elevate (I should follow my own advice and do those things more often), and to get out of the boot for periodically to avoid stiffness.

Here’s a list of the “workouts” I was able to accomplish last week:

  • Mon: 10 min bike w/ zero resistance, lift + core, pool for drills and walking
  • Tues: PT session with BFR cuffs, 15 min aqua jog, core
  • Weds: 20 min bike w/ zero resistance, 15 min aqua jog, core
  • Thurs: 20 min aqua jog, core
  • Fri: 30 min bike w/ zero resistance, lift + core
  • Sat: 30 lap swim + walking and drills in pool
  • Sun: Off

I did a fair amount of gardening this weekend because I think it’s about to start frosting for good, and my weeds were out of control. So I cleaned up beds and dug up the mint that was starting to run across the yard. My tenant’s boyfriend called me a 70-year-old. Okay, well, I’d rather tend to housekeeping priorities that bring joy instead of hiding in bed with a hangover on a Sunday morning, if that’s what you’re implying. Because yeah… I’m definitely too old for that.

Anyway, this first week has been productive without over-doing anything. There is literally no rush, so I’m like hey even if I need to use the boot for the next two weeks, that’s okay. I changed my expectations more than once, but was also surprised a couple times by how easily things were going. For instance, I’m realizing I won’t be ready to attempt yoga for a few more weeks still, but aqua jogging 20 minutes was way more manageable than anticipated, aside from super tired hamstrings.

Happy Monday! Get after it.

“I did abs every day for 6 weeks and here’s what happened!”

Well… if you think any program like that can get you ripped, think again. My pelvic floor may be stronger than ever but otherwise it offered few benefits except a routine. One leg is shriveled and saggy, the other is only slightly stronger. I have zero aerobic capacity to speak of, and I don’t have a six-pack. But, of utmost concern to everyone going through a similar situation, no, I didn’t really gain any weight. My secret is… I ate normally, didn’t drink for about a month, and was in fairly good shape to begin with.

It’s been almost 72 hours since I kissed my crutches good-bye and limped out the door of the Laramie orthopedic center. I have four and a half months until I’ll be running again, so my goal is to provide the inside scoop on how to get from here to there over that time. I’m pretty immersed with school these days, but I should be able to add updates once a week.

And now to answer that burning question: what is it like to walk again?

I almost barfed on my way out from the doctor’s the other day. All the blood that was pooled in my foot went squirting out in a sharp, unpleasant way, like walking on a limb that’s fallen asleep, plus my leg about collapsed. (It really makes me revisit that unsolved mystery from a month ago; I don’t know if adrenaline is powerful enough to overcome the sensation of walking on an unused leg.) Later that day I walked to the end of my street and back, and it took a whopping ten minutes.

My surgeon’s office told me to wear an air cast boot until I feel comfortable walking regularly in a shoe. I had already come to that conclusion on my own and was glad I’d kept the boot stashed under my bed for the last few months. I wear it when I run errands or have to spend prolonged time on my feet. I just get around a little faster with it. But most of the time I’ve been walking barefoot at home, trying to regain full function.

It actually comes back faster than you’d think. By the end of the third day, walking felt almost normal again. Going up and down stairs is the most difficult. And I can’t walk super fast, but it’s much better than day one when I clocked 40 minutes per mile pace on my neighborhood walk and had to take an ibuprofen.

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I don’t really have any photos to add, but look how much my hollyhocks grew while I was sitting around on my ass repairing a joint!

My left calf has been so sore in the mornings it reminds me of college when we could barely make it out of our lofted dorm beds after the first spike day of the track season. I spend a couple minutes in the evenings rolling it on a hard plastic ball to keep the fibers loose. And the first day both my heels were excruciatingly painful by bedtime. Rolling helps with that, too.

I’ll be seeing my PT twice a week for the next four weeks to do “blood flow restriction” training. More on that when I’ve actually witnessed it in person. This week I went in the day after I started walking, and we literally just practiced walking. Which was exhausting and made me feel like a newborn animal. I was still limping heavily at that point, and my PT had me break down the stride cycle by focusing on toe-off and then heel-strike. My muscles were so tired at the end I could barely walk all over again.

This weekend I’ve been visiting the rec center to walk around in the pool. Next week I’ll try aqua jogging on campus, but I’m honestly not quite there yet. For now, I walk back and forth a couple laps, sideways and zig zag, and do leg swings and hip circles. Then I breaststroke a couple lengths (like 10 max — remember when I could do 60?) very slowly. That’s about it and I’m ready for a nap.

I’m still doing my core routines, but now I can add a couple things, like a proper pelvic tilt, bridge, and standing on one leg. I’m not ready for anything resembling yoga, but I got the green light to cycle on zero resistance. No word yet on the elliptical, but realistically I don’t expect to add it until about 10 or 12 weeks post-op.

Let the countdown to running begin! Eighteen weeks to go.

Q&A for the realities of recovering from ankle surgery

It’s already been two weeks since surgery. Where does the time go? Yesterday I had my post-op review and got the stitches taken out. Here are the questions I took with me, and the answers I received.

How much longer am I restricted to non-weight bearing?

I have been sentenced to the full 6 weeks. Which means I have one more month to endure crutching, hopping, crawling, and pit chafing. I will probably rent a scooter or a peg leg before classes start next week. How I plan on actually getting to campus is still TBD.

Why do I require 6 weeks instead of 2, or 4?

The way it was described to me was to think of a jelly donut. The fibrocartilage needs time to lay down and become strong, or the first steps I take will squish all the jelly out of the donut. Ya feel? It’s disappointing, especially because there isn’t any pain and it seems perfectly possible to walk. But for the sake of healing properly, I’ll take the advice.

When can I start running again?

In 6 months.

Hoooooo, that’s not what I was expecting to hear. I was hoping like 12 weeks. By the time I can run again, a full year will have passed since I last considered myself “healthy” enough to run. A full year since I knew I had to make a change and get help.

My immediate thoughts: at least I won’t be tempted to run over the winter on slick or frozen surfaces or over snowy terrain, and I won’t risk damaging a post-op ankle in an accident. It’ll give me time to really make sure I am healed and strong, and I can spend that time learning to love any form of cross-training I can get my hands on, like it or not.

Can I use the pool?

So… I was told not for four more weeks. But the reasoning was only that getting into and out of the pool may pose difficulties, and “how are you supposed to crutch across a wet pool deck?” Touché. But I’m already eyeing those disability chairs at the rec center, ya know, that dunk you into the pool and lift you out again when you’re done. Methinks I can take advantage of that opportunity, yes? I have to wait for my incisions to be 100% healed, but I’ll probably go for it earlier than four weeks unless I am strongly convinced not to. I am stubborn. Should I swim or no?

What kinds of PT and exercise can I do right now?

Pretty much what I’ve been doing. Core, upper body weight lifting. Nothing that requires applying weight to the operative area. I visited my PT this morning, and he gave me a set of band exercises to try. Gotta keep my intrinsic foot and calf muscles awake. There’s not much else I can tackle for now.

Anything else?

Continue to keep the foot elevated if I am sitting for long periods of time, and ice if swelling occurs. I can switch from bathing with one leg sticking out to sitting on the floor of the shower in three days.

Okay. I can do it. I’ve been on crutches longer than this before. And then what’s another six months. This will finally give me the downtime I’ve always wanted to try some spin classes. I say that with only mild sarcasm. Who wants to run outside in December anyway?

(I do.)

How to lose your mind in 2 weeks (warning: not a chick flick)

This has been my most difficult post to write, for some reason. I blame the entirely depressing circumstances that surround surgery recovery. My dad went home a week after my procedure, and the last five days without him have been really sad. The first morning I woke up, several hours after he had gone, I cried and cried, feeling totally helpless, useless, pathetic, and lonely.

There isn’t much to do while waiting for a joint to repair itself. There isn’t much I can do. For a week my dad stock-piled my freezer with home cooked meals, watered my gardens, cleaned my house, did my laundry, and moved my laptop from the table to the couch and back again every hour. We ran short errands together so that I could get outside for some fresh air. Now my house is quiet and lonely, just me and the cat — who is decent company but has so far proved to be quite useless at putting dinner on the table and bringing in the mail. I didn’t even unlock my front door for the entire day once. If it sounds sad, it’s definitely worse.

Anyway, four days after surgery I visited my PT to have the bandages removed. He was pleased to see that the swelling around my ankle was minimal. Just some bruising and orange iodine toes. We worked on some range of motion exercises, and then agreed to revisit once I’ve had my stitches removed. Working on PT and some core exercises is about the only thing I actually have on the schedule every day. So, once I get tired of spending the whole day on the couch reading, scrolling, and snacking on reheated food, I crawl into the garage to do my routine.

I start with ankle circles and passive stretching on a wobble board to regain my ROM. The first couple days were really abysmal — it’s amazing how much you lose after only four days. But slowly things improved, and I no longer felt like I was pulling a muscle when I stretched. I also self-massage by rolling my calf on a field hockey ball to loosen things up. At this point, I’d say ROM is probably almost back to normal. There hasn’t been any pain inside the joint, just some tugging at the stitches if I overdo it.

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Staying in shape

As far as core, anything where I can stay on my back or off my foot is fair game. I’m still expanding the foot-free possibilities, but a short list of doable exercises includes:

  • Bicycle, dead bug, scissors, row boats, Russian twist
  • Firehydrant, donkey kicks, bird dog
  • Clamshells, leg lifts/hip lifts, hip circles
  • Hamstring curls, superman/locust/swimmers
  • Anything that can be done lying on my stomach while clenching my butt cheeks that feels like it requires effort
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It might be ugly, but it’s mine. Stocking a home gym has been a total game-changer, and not just after surgery.

I also have a set of small weights that I can use for some arm exercises. It’s not as fun to me as heavy lifting, but I can save that for the gym… whenever I get back in one. At the very least, doing 20 reps of arm lifts in as many directions as I can think of burns off some fidgety energy. I have nothing else to do, I might as well get ahead on my strength.

^thanks to Internet compatriots I now have Amy Winehouse stuck in my head forever. What would we do if we couldn’t mistake famous runners for IRL friends? At least he also looks sad. 

I’m ready to be done wallowing in self-pity and get back to life. Somehow the school year crept up on me and classes start literally next week. It’s been over a year since I last took a class on this campus, and I’m feeling that rushing anxiety that comes on when something is coming so fast, so inevitably, and you’re completely overwhelmed by your to-do list. There are dishes in my sink I can’t do, weeds in my yard I can’t pull. I keep stressing about getting back to work, and then I have to just stop myself. There’s nothing I can do to rush the recovery process. Work will be there when I am able to go back. The weeds… will definitely still be there. The things will get done that need to get done, it’s just hard to imagine that while I’m currently staring at the ceiling for a living.

Breathe in, breathe out, and be patient.

Setting intention

“Do you think you’ll run again?”

My attention is pulled from staring out the window. I suddenly can’t remember what we were just talking about.

“After all you’ve had to go through, will you even want to?” my dad asks.

Bless him.

For someone like me, this is a question with only one answer. But many runners get asked this all the time — and in fact, it’s not the first time I’ve had this question (suggestion?) posed to me while dealing with a major injury. It’s akin to the fabled non-runner doctor trope who suggests that you might as well stop running forever because your knee is hurting a little bit ergo running is bad for you. I admit to not being entirely appreciative of the fact that, for much of our population — including our parents, partners, friends, all of whom merely put up with us — running for pleasure is so absurd that most would happily take the get-out-of-jail-free card to never have to do it again. I wouldn’t run unless a bear was chasing me! (a terrible time to opt for running, IMO.)

Asking a die-hard runner if she ever intends to run again is like asking a mom if she’s still interested in momming when her kids come home from summer camp. I can’t imagine life without running. And while I intend to get back out there one day, I am fully aware that it may never be the same again. Training for competition and logging “high” volume mileage might be a thing of the past. And, sure, if I quit the sport today, I’d be reasonably satisfied with what I’ve accomplished. But running is my lifelong pursuit, as personal and purposeful as running a business, or writing a book, or traveling the world. Whether I can run 5 miles a week or 50 does not matter.

But I didn’t have surgery just to come out the other side assuming that I might not have a chance. To say it feels like a new beginning might be a stretch, but the future looks brighter on this side. Many runners have come back from far more invasive and serious procedures to resume their practice stronger and smarter than before. I have to believe that I have a place within that narrative.

Surgery notes and 48 hours later

Morning of Surgery

On Thursday, August 9, my cousin, dad and I loaded up my car and embarked on the hour-long trip down to Fort Collins, CO, for my arthroscopy procedure. My cousin had been in town visiting for several days and was on her way to Denver. My dad came all the way from Florida to gladly be my nurse for the next week.

We left Laramie at 6:30 am. I had to be at my appointment at 8:00 am, and surgery was scheduled for 9:30. Much to my surprise, I wasn’t particularly anxious. Just thirsty. I had been allowed to eat solid food up until 11:00 pm the night before, and clear liquids until 5:30 am that morning, but I hadn’t actually had anything to drink since I woke up.

My surgery was scheduled with Dr. Houghton at the Orthopaedic and Spine Center of the Rockies in Fort Collins. Both he and another surgeon in Laramie had reviewed my MRI and provided the same diagnosis and treatment options. My insurance better covered the procedure in Colorado, which is why I traveled.

I was called back to the pre-op ward shortly after we arrived. I changed into my surgery gown and a hair cap, and had my earrings taped. Then I was put up in a bed to wait for my procedure and was administered an IV. My dad and cousin were then allowed to wait with me, which eased my anxiety and passed the time. At this point, I was mostly hungry. The nurse offered a relaxer drip and I gladly took it — “It’s gonna feel a little bit like you just had a couple margaritas.” It helped quiet the anxiety in my mind and stopped my extremities from shaking.

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I do like a good margarita or two

The doc was running a little behind schedule, so 9:30 came and went before he briefly appeared to initial my operative leg. It was around 10:15 am when the nurses collected me. I left behind my glasses and waved goodbye to my crew. The margaritas had worn off, but I was ok. At that point, you know you’re in good hands and that you’ll be unconscious in a minute anyway.

It was a short and blurry trip to the OR, my only impression of which was that the lighting was excessively bright. In about two minutes, I was moved onto the operating table as an assembly of people I couldn’t make out repositioned me, placed a gas mask over my face, and told me the anesthesia was coming. I could hear the beeping as my heart rate shot up, but the slow fade was right there waiting for me.

I woke up with that groggy confusion where you know vaguely what’s going on, but you feel like you’ve been asleep for years. I immediately asked what time it was, and wondered whether the surgery had happened yet. It was about 11:30 am. The nurse asked me how I was feeling, and I blurted out that I’d really like a bagel.

She helped me change back into my clothes and wheeled me out to meet my dad in the ward. She gave me a pain pill and briefed him on the next steps. I was still a bit too groggy to follow along. Eventually, my dad went to retrieve the car, and the nurse wheeled me outside. I remember smiling as I left, and feeling an easy, blissful happiness.

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Tip #1: wear a skirt and pack extra pillows.

24 Hours Post-Op

Once we got home, I spent the afternoon on the couch feeling very satisfied with the whole day. At the surgery center, I was provided a small walking shoe to wear with my surgery dressings and a pair of crutches. No boot! The wrapping and bandages will come off on Monday, four days post-op.

I was in very little pain and great spirits upon arriving home, which had nothing to do with drugs. For the first 24 hours, I took a pain reliever every four hours, and now I’m just taking it as needed. My foot was almost entirely numb until about 3:00 pm the next day, and when that wore off I could finally feel a dull aching sensation near the incision.

The surgery nurse instructed me to keep my leg elevated and do ankle circles and “calf pumps” as needed. I don’t have much range of motion due to the bandages, but I’ve been keeping pretty limber. I’ve also been doing calf massage manually or with a stick.

My throat was pretty sore from the anesthesia, but drinking water and echinacea tea helped with that. The first morning after surgery I opted for green tea instead of my usual decaf coffee, and my dad crafted a green smoothie for me to have with breakfast, using kale and mint from my yard.

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Tip #2: bring a buddy

48 Hours Post-Op

I am not one to enjoy mandatory bed rest, so the last 48 hours have slowly gotten boring once the novelty wore off. Lots of reading, naps, and endless scrolling. Sleeping has been relatively easy once my nighttime anxiety about blood clots settles down.

The hardest activity by far has been bathing. I might not try it again for a minute. It was mild chaos — just, like, flailing around while keeping one foot above water in a plastic bag. And I have pretty good balance, but that’s a lot of faith to put in my right leg while maneuvering out of slippery porcelain. Ya know, hygiene is overrated anyway.

To recover from something like this requires a sound nutrition plan. I’ve been eating well and with intention. Lots of veggies, grains, and protein. I know the prospect of immobilization scares a lot of neurotic runners, but you have to respect what your body is going through, and retaining your runner physique is far less urgent than repairing the injury completely. Now is not the time to pass judgment. There’s not much you can do about being restricted from bipedal movement; don’t make things harder by restricting your diet as well.

I don’t know how long the non-weight bearing phase will last. Could be 2 weeks, could be 6. The shoe makes me optimistic that it’ll be on the shorter end. I am ok with not knowing. I am ok with trusting the process. I am ok with the temporary loss of physical activity if it means I can have it all back eventually. Embracing the unknown is hard, but remaining positive that your patience will pay off is the only way to see this stuff through, in my experience.

Do you have advice or tips to share?

T-minus

It’s the home stretch, and I’m so excited. I am ready to get this over with, make it to the other side, and prepare for the long, slow return to running (maybe by like… 2019?). If you are faced with an unfathomably long break from running, you may be wondering what kinds of new hobbies could possibly be out there to compete for second fiddle. I know there is no way to completely fill the void, but in the last few weeks I have discovered a couple substitutes that work for me.

Gardening. I’ve been trying to makeover a previously neglected and overgrown yard since the early spring. I spent weeks raking, chopping down tree shoots, and digging up grass in order to make way for flower and vegetable beds. Some tasks are a decent workout, even if tedious, but runners who know the benefits of getting the small things done will find a lot of satisfaction in the end result.

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Biking. Though I had to part ways with it eventually due to pain, it’s still the next most enjoyable form of exercise to me. Find routes that are challenging, and your runner brain will love the endorphins. It’s also a great way to revisit running routes that you are sorely missing, and feel some wind in your face. Bike while running errands or commuting to work to sneak in extra cardio throughout the day.

House therapy. Ok, I’m not, like, some HGTV maniac. But a year ago I refinished my dining room table and chairs, and after that I was kinda hooked on home improvement. This spring, I have also done things like paint my entire house, install new light fixtures, and replace cabinet hardware. Stuff like this can be tough to fit in when you’re spending your free time running and recovering from running. Let those creative juices flow and challenge yourself to learn a new trade.

Hitting the gym. I’m more of an out-the-door runner, and in case you missed my last post, I hate the gym. But being injured makes a strong case for going. I used the elliptical until I couldn’t stand it anymore, and currently I’ve been acquainting myself with the pool. I also started lifting weights again. There are group classes to take advantage of, like pilates, which is a fun way to sneak in your PT work without even noticing. Yoga and barre offer core and muscle conditioning that can aid the return to (or continuation of) running. Find alternatives that work for you. A sweat is a sweat.

Reading. By far my healthiest sedentary habit. I’ve been tackling a list of “feminist” reads that I made up myself — it’s almost 100% stuff written by women of color, LGBT women, or women suffering from mental illnesses — sometimes these categories overlap. We’ve all read the “traditional” bullshit they feed you in high school and college. Patriarchal garbage IMO. I’ve enjoyed all of these books so much more. Don’t forget to exercise your mind.

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I have a lot of gratitude going into surgery. It’s a relief, and I’m fortunate enough to be able to consider it as an option. It’s also given me a new perspective on time away from running, and with that the realization that life goes on, that the absence of running is tough, but not impossible, to endure. This is a time to heal, to reflect, to set new goals, to remember not to take running for granted when I get the opportunity to return. The next few weeks are somewhat unchartered territory, and a few of my newfound hobbies will be impossible to stick with while I’m recuperating. Gonna have to learn some couch hobbies. That’s why I haven’t started the new season of Orange is the New Black yet — you gotta give yourself an automatic win sometimes. But there will be PT appointments, and small sprinklings of normalcy that return slowly as I make improvements. I’m optimistic, and one day all of this will be a thing of the past.

Different strokes for ridiculously anxious folks

You never realize how difficult it can be to do certain things until you develop an anxiety disorder.

Oh fuck, I thought this was a running blog and now it turns out she’s also going to lecture us on mental health awareness.

I suffered my first panic attack two years ago, seemingly out of nowhere, and was reborn as a severely anxious person. Although, if I look back at my disposition towards certain things growing up, to me it seems rather inevitable. Take swimming for example.

I’ve never been a good swimmer. In first grade, I won my heat in a kickboard race at the school swim meet and that was the pinnacle of my swimming career. Then it was like —  you know how some people grew up dreading The Mile? I grew up dreading the swimming unit. On the first day of a new school year, I’d be like fuck! we have to swim again in February. I don’t really know why — maybe I got too much water in my ears once or felt uneasy learning flip turns. Maybe other kid swimmers were assholes, and the ones who took lessons and got to be good at it were fairly unrestrained in their need to show off. So maybe I hated it because I couldn’t brag about it. And when you’re generally athletic, it sucks to be bad at an athletic thing. And when you’re me, you turn lots of negative experiences into opportunities to be ridiculously nervous.

Let me clarify that I enjoy using pools for leisure. What I am referring to is lap swimming, where you employ complex strokes and earn the opportunity to breathe again by succeeding at not drowning first. Breathing is never guaranteed! Because I have the lung capacity of a potato, and I never mastered the art of opening my eyes underwater, swimming was always more like thrashing around blindly and choking on water. I think I always lost my goggles diving off the start board.

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Does this count as exercise?

I remember once in middle school I almost passed out after swim class. I’m sure it was every bit as dramatic as it sounds, but I swear between the chlorine fumes, the water-logged dehydration, and the breath-holding, swimming has a tendency to make me dizzy.

Well, once you’ve suffered enough panic attacks to be wary of anything that might cause dizziness, swimming gets even harder to do, too. Pair that with venturing to the middle of a deep pool to purposely overexert myself, and my claustrophobia is like WTF ARE YOU DOING?! I’ve triggered panic attacks while biking or using the elliptical too hard, but you see, if you panic and faint while swimming, you, um… you die.  

This is really what it’s like to have irrational anxiety. Do I really think I might die while using a community pool with lifeguards around? No. Have I ever actually passed out while panicking? No. But I do find myself providing handicaps that I never used to consider. I’ve logged hours of my life aqua jogging, but now I wear a flotation belt like the ones old people use for water aerobics class. Just in case. Which means that, as if the lifeguards didn’t already think aqua jogging was baffling enough, now they definitely think I am some poor turd who must not know how to swim, and they move to sit in the chair right above to me. I mean, that’s not subtle. But it does make me feel better.

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Bootin’ around Jackson over the Fourth

With my surgery scheduled for August 9, I still have some time before I endure 2-6 weeks of non-weight bearing and post-op recovery. Of course, to test a conservative treatment plan, I spent the first two weeks of July in a walking boot, and if you’ve had the misfortune of wearing one, you know how alarmingly fast your body atrophies. So I am using these interim 3 weeks to re-strengthen some musculature that I lost while in the boot. This includes core work and some easy cardio. It might seem pointless to beef up a shriveled leg that is destined to become shriveled again, but if you could choose to go into surgery shriveled or ripped, wouldn’t you choose ripped? Might as well be functioning above average to start with.

Hence the pool. Regardless of how uncomfortable it makes me, swimming and aqua jogging will be my primary forms of exercise for several weeks once I’m on the other side. It will get easier as I reacquaint myself. I usually feel very anxious on my way to the pool but end up feeling fairly relaxed once I start moving around. I like breast stroke because I can leave my head up, but I’m challenging myself to do more and more lengths. My record right now is 30. Runners like records. And people with anxiety like any small accomplishment.

Ankle injury diagnosis

Osteochondral lesion of the talus

I’ve been injured for a long time. For months. Actually, for the better part of a year. With no signs of improvement or relief. No timetable for a return to running. I’m inclined to share the entire months-long progression, but that’s not really useful to anyone. After exhausting all other options, I finally did what I should’ve done weeks ago and got an MRI.

Osteochondral lesion of the talus. There is a fracture in the cartilage that sits at the top of the talus bone in my left ankle, and the underlying bone has been damaged considerably. I remembered thinking once, “ok, it’s gotta be either a stress fracture or arthritis.” I wasn’t far off. And I was closer than most professionals had come.

An OLT is a tricky injury, I’ve now learned. Cartilage isn’t known for its ability to repair itself or regrow, and the talus is a very low-blood-flow area. A scope surgery is one of the only ways to treat this injury successfully. This procedure allows for cleaning debris from the injured area and drilling into the talus to create a microfracture. Ideally, this chain of events encourages new bone to grow and scar tissue will fill in for the cartilage.

That is the surgery I am now scheduled to have next month. That is the part I want to share. I spent months Googling my symptoms, trying to find a home for my injury, only to find very little reliable information and misdiagnose myself repeatedly.

I’m a runner. I’ve had all the “traditional” soft tissue injuries and a metatarsal fracture, too. But this is a new one for me, and the most difficult one for sure, especially when it’s been years since my last major injury. For weeks I wished it was a stress fracture – so straightforward! Almost guaranteed to run again in 8-12 weeks. Currently, I’m so far away from my usual place of fitness that going into surgery at this point is like “well, what’s another 6 weeks.” But at least I have a time frame, finally.

In the meantime, I’ll be updating throughout my pre-op phase, and then detailing the surgery and recovery plan. I struggled to find the information I needed, so I hope I may be a resource for someone else.

Predominate symptoms I experienced over the last 8 months:

  • A crunching, grinding, catching sensation inside the ankle joint
  • Shooting pain or a compressive ache in the ankle while ascending stairs or pedaling a bike
  • Midfoot instability
  • Sharp pain at the front of the ankle that was confused with both a cuboid fracture and impingement syndrome
  • Skin numbness across the bridge of the ankle, where you tie your laces, and behind the ankle on the lateral side
  • Joint pain in the medial arch of my foot
  • Swelling near the peroneal tendons
  • Pain and pinching behind the ankle on the medial side

Because of these symptoms, various physical therapists and doctors diagnosed me with a wide range of afflictions from plantar fasciitis to cuboid subluxation to tarsal tunnel syndrome – and keep in mind, none of these even occur in the same part of the ankle. That’s how much the pain migrated. I was able to run with it for about four months, and finally started to feel like the whole ankle was about to shatter, at which point I stopped.

Conservative treatments I tried:

  • Rest. Like, days, then weeks, then months of rest
  • Cross-training on the elliptical or bike
  • Dry needling, laser therapy, manual therapy, ice massage, NSAIDS
  • Air cast walking boot
  • Running? We all think maybe it’ll just “clear up”

Osteochondral lesion of the talus. I went to 4 physical therapists over this time. That’s maybe the most frustrating part. Every misdiagnosis made me feel like I wasn’t being heard. Like everyone was confirming their own biases instead of listening when I repeatedly said SOMETHING HURTS INSIDE THE ANKLE. It’s not the fucking plantar fascia! I often wish I had gotten imaging earlier. Thinking how much time I wasted beating myself up over useless rehab exercises, wondering what I was doing wrong… Knowing somewhere in my heart that it would lead to this. That it had to.

But I can’t dwell on that. That chapter is behind me. When I left the consultation with my physical therapist after he’d received my MRI results, I said, “You know, I actually feel excited. Relieved. A little scared. The hard part is over, and I see a light at the end of the tunnel.”

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If you have experience with this or another similarly drawn-out injury, please reach out! Constructive, supportive feedback is something you can’t find over at the LRC message boards.