gratitude-a-thon day 412: foot pains and head games

Photo on 9-19-14 at 8.22 AM
Stop looking at my unmanicured claw, and focus on the screw in my foot.

Reporting here on day 8. I have been taking my stupid, heavy, big and clunky boot off and giving my poor little foot a breather every few hours, and yesterday, while it was off, graceful gal that I am, I bumped my big toe on a chair in my den, which hurt, and of course, practically freaked me out of my Lululemon yoga pants (yes, I still wear them, and no, I’m not really proud of myself, but yes they are the best yoga pants for slimming and sucking in your fat, so while they insult my principles as a company, I have my priorities (my fat ass) and that is that). Anyway, it seemed to hurt in the area formerly known as “the bunion,” all day, but really only when I walked on it. I am worried that maybe I shook something out of place, like the hardware in there. I was half expecting to wake up with the screw that is now holding the bone together, rolling around my bed. Don’t you love my fertile and colorful imagination? Anyway, if you’re praying for anything today, throw a line in about my foot health, wouldja? I’d appreciate a novena, or like, whatever you got.

Prayers of any denomination are welcome. Is there like a Saint of the foot?

Yesterday was another day in front of the tv, and I have to admit to starting to feel that unproductive feeling that recovery of anything physical, always makes me feel. Having been a sick kid, with a bad back since college, and endometriosis and infertility, and a fragile immune system from a childhood of antibiotics, that makes me get anything floating around for 17 times as long as anyone else, I have had my share of having to lay on the couch, or in my bed recovering. I hate it. A lot. I never feel like I’m allowed to just lay there and get better, and still be a respected citizen. I always feel like I should be doing something, like the really together people out there (who received the Big Rule Book on Life, that I did not receive) would take this time of forced convalescence, to scan their 8,456,916 pre-digital photography pics, or write a novella, or knit a house. But I just can’t seem to get myself together to do much more than eat potato chips. Argh…..


You guys got this, didn’t you. I didn’t. I keep thinking it might still come…..

Anyway, while in this sort of down mood I was in yesterday, the doorbell rang and there was a delivery man holding a bouquet of chocolate dipped strawberries. I grabbed them from him, barely saying thanks, and ripped open the card. It was from one of my favorite clients, and not only wished me a speedy recovery, but also told me how much they liked this blog, and how much it made them laugh! I didn’t even know they read this blog, let alone laughed at it. And just like that, I felt much better! Of course, who wouldn’t feel better with some chocolate dipped strawberries going down their throat? It could have been the chocolate that improved my mood, but I’m pretty sure it was the thoughtfulness of my client. I kind of couldn’t get over it. So big shout out to the best client ever, Thread.

My client sent me chocolate dipped strawberries. C’mon, is that nice, or what?

Also, I got the cutest card from my friend Charlie’s mom, who I would very much like to adopt me, and a call from my cousin Barb, who made me laugh. And then icing on the cake, my friend Colleen is here visiting, taking some time away from her new and awesome life in Cali. and brought me a gift certificate for my first post-op pedicure at Mini Lux. So, although I was worried about the possibility of having maybe screwed up my foot, and that I was a slacker patient, I ended the day on a rather hopeful note, with friends and family helping me to remember, that this too shall pass (although not nearly soon enough for me). Fucking Namaste.

gratitude-a-thon day 412: this boot isn’t made for walking

One of the best places to eat in Brookline Village (or anywhere, for that matter).

Why hello, have you heard enough about my bunion surgery yet? I myself have heard enough about my bunion surgery for a lifetime, and yet, because my everyday life has been greatly curtailed in an effort to get to walk around and experience more things to be grateful for, it’s sort of front and center, whether I’ve had enough of it or not.

Anyway, yesterday was one week since that bump wound up in some Hazardous Waste bin. As you saw, from my five star, traveling-the-festivals, bound-to-get-me-to-the-Oscar-red-carpet movie, it appears, though swollen and discolored that my bunion really no longer exists. It’s kind of a dream come true for me, if it weren’t for this very limited activity diet, and this boot that weighs like, as much as a small farm. I did actually go out to lunch yesterday, which was kind of awesome, but getting around with the boot and crutches is very tiring. Nonetheless, I got to enjoy some of the perfect weather that September is dishing out, along with my sister and brother-in-law, and had an absolutely heavenly eggplant sandwich at KooKoo Cafe, which if you have not been to, you should get out of bed and go to right this minute. It’s adorable and funky and has really fabulous food, not to mention coffee. My sister, the freaking Jaun Valdez of coffee drinkers, gives it high marks, so there you have it. Plus Ali and Eli, the husband and wife who own it are some of the best people I know.

Spark: A Burning Man Story is the name of one of the documentaries we watched yesterday.
Photo of Bruce SPRINGSTEEN
Springsteen & I is a really fun documentary. It not only shows fans, it shows the man on stage at different ages.
Godzilla is really stupid. But why couldn’t we stop watching it?
I never wear dark polish. I am a Waltz, Marshmallow girl all year long, but it’s so hard to put on, and when your foot is still orange from antiseptic, and you can’t scrub it, you gotta go dark.

Yesterday was a movie-a-thon, which is par for the course when my sister and I are together. We watched a really good documentary on Burning Man, which made me want to go to Black Rock and see it for myself. We also watched another fun one on Bruce Springsteen, where fans tell stories about what Bruce means to them, and about different stuff that has happened at shows with the footage of the moment the people are talking about, plus some other priceless clips of old Bruce. Because I too am a pretty major Bruce fan, this was a great ticket. But it was slightly worrisome, in that I really wanted to dance but only having one foot available, I couldn’t, so I did some sad couch version with one leg and two arms flailing, while considering the terror of life without being able to have two feet. But I digress. Lastly, we watched Godzilla, which was really stupid, but for some reason, we couldn’t stop watching. We actually went to bed at 12:30 because Godzilla and Mothra were taking over San Francicso and we didn’t feel like we could leave it in such shambles just because we were tired.

I am going to actually do some work today, which will be a refreshing. I have not taken drugs in two days. I painted the toenails of my now bunion-less foot, which makes it look a little bit normal-ish, but of course, the attractive boot sandal takes away any fashion moment my Wicked by Essie nail polish might be providing. There you have it, people, day 7 post op. Grateful we’re progressing in the right direction. Keep your cards, cookies, flowers and gifts coming!


gratitude-a-thon day 411: no pain & real chips only

There will be no more baked chips for me, no more saved calories. Real chips only, from here on out.


Here we are on day 6 and ready to go to the doctor’s this morning! I am really anxious to see this foot.

So, yesterday, surprise, surprise, was more of the same, minus the Vicodin. Full disclosure: I did take a half later in the night, because I had a little discomfort, but none during the day. Yeah, pain level was non-existent, really. This boot, and that position are wearing me out, so I took a break, and didn’t elevate the entire day. My friend Ginny came over with a turkey wrap and some lavender foot cream, which I slathered on my unbooted foot immediately. I also asked her to bring real chips, vs baked chips, because I have decided no more baked chips. Fuck it, life is 5 seconds long, REAL CHIPS ONLY. She is so fun and also brought Ally cookies, which I gobbled one of, the minute she left.

Thanks Gin, this stuff smells great. My other foot was feeling so unloved, this was just the thing.

I have now completed the entire series Married, which is totally stellar. I painted the nails on my other foot. I finished my book. Oh, AND I TOOK A BATH. Yes, you heard right, this girl took a full on bath, and WASHED HER HAIR. I know you’re impressed. Yes, I am a superstar. Actually, it was easy. I shoulda done it days ago.

Okey Dokey Folky, I am getting up to get dressed. I haven’t been out of the house in a week. Feels to me like I need a coat. And maybe even boots. Oh, I already got one on. (I’m giddy with doctor’s appointment glee, can you tell).



gratitude-a-thon day 410: five days under my belt (or rather boot)

Sometimes when I take the Vicodin, I just stare into space. This is where I look a lot of the time. I love a Gerber daisy, don’t you?

Are you sick of me yet? I’m sick of me. Day 5, the boring bunion story.

So, pain was in play yesterday, and Vicodin was happening. No nausea. Thanks, V. Stayed in bed all day, with refreshing Fall breeze dancing through my window. Read magazines. Piles of magazines. Ate one of those delish sandwiches from Clover–Egg and Eggplant. Don’t ask me how they came up with this, because aside from these two items sharing the word “egg,” they got a whole lotta nothing in common, but they are uncommonly good together. I watched the new series “Married,” which is very funny. Peter and Ally went to Anthropologie and bought me a leather jacket to make me feel better, but it turned out to be “vegan.” I only do real leather, and I only eat real cow. Nonetheless, I appreciated the thought of them buying me a gift. I plucked my eyebrows.

I’m telling you, this is a sandwich you should have immediately.

Around dinner, I had a lot of pain. My friends brought over ribs and mashed potatoes, and while I didn’t think I was hungry, my friend opened up my boot and gave my poor strangled foot some air, and the pain got better, and those ribs made the whole world look like a very nice place.

Deb took off my boot and it made my foot feel so much better. Ahhhhh.

I don’t have any pain here this morning. I really want to take a shower because I am gross and disgusting, but I can’t really imagine having the balance to make it work. I go to the doctor’s in the morning, so maybe he will give me some more freedom and I will be able to bathe. A sponge bath is definitely in store for me today. As for my hair, well, forget my hair.

That’s where we stand, or don’t stand, on day 5. I’m ok. And I’ve made it this far, so PARADE.

gratitude-a-thon day 409: more of the same

Still here.

Day four. Buh-bye bunion.

It was Vicodin city yesterday. I had ’em in the morning, experienced no pain for a while during the day, and then spent the night with them. They aren’t making me sick, which is really good, and they do take away the pain, which is also really good, so Vicodin for president.

The pain isn’t intolerable, but it’s not something, I’d say, want to order on a menu for dinner. It’s sort of burny and throbby. And it shows up in funny places on my foot. Right now, it’s in my little toes. I’m really not going to complain about it as a thing, because truthfully, with the V., it’s tolerable.

Friends came over and laid on my bed with me yesterday, and frankly I fell asleep during one visit. Drugs will do that. I watched tv and read and really haven’t yet hit that point where I want to go out. This is good, because once that happens, things become much harder. I am really tired of having to have my foot on top of pillows 24/7, though.

I might try to do some exercise today, like on the floor on a mat. That should be interesting. It’s Sunday, so the Times will keep me company for a while. If only I could easily get downstairs to get it. Everybody’s still sleeping.

Ok, only two more days until the big reveal at the doctor’s office, and like maybe a new set of rules, like one that says, you can walk around. That would be fucking great. Happy Sunday, everybody.


gratitude-a-thon day 407: guess who came over last night

A couple of the bouquets I’ve gotten. They really do cheer me up.
Me and the dog and the computer and the remote. That was my day.

I didn’t have any pain again yesterday. Unless you want to count the really bad tv I watched. I made my way downstairs, first time I crutched down, and was grateful I didn’t break anything, like my nose. I was once again ridiculously tired, and pretty zoned out, but I didn’t have any pain, and for that I was doing Rockette high kicks (not really, but I would have if I could have).

Then about 9 as I was watching an HGTV competition show, my back started to hurt and I started to feel sore all over my body. I had a hard time getting back upstairs, felt faint, but I did and crashed into bed, until guess who came over around 10:30? Yep, pain. I guess that lovely nerve block got tired of hanging around. Burny and stabby, my foot was a bit of a California wildfire. But interestingly, not near the bunion site, more in my ankle area and heel. I tried to wait it out to see if it was just a hit and run visit, but it was real, so I swallowed the Vicodin down and fell asleep pretty fast, waking up three hours later and wishing for another pill, like an addict. Anyway, I’ve taken three of those little devils now, and it seems like that’s what today will look like. If it doesn’t get worse than this, I should be able to manage, although I am getting a little bit of a throwy up feeling, which is one of my most unfavorite. Alrighty, that’s the wrap. Back to bed (I’m sitting in a chair for the first time). Riley has been perfect company (He always is).

bunion-a-tude-a-thon day 405: the bunion has left the building

Bunion Voyage Party, I mean Surgery, 9/10/14, 8:45 am. New England Baptist Surgical Center

IMG_2130 (2)
A last look at my bunion right out of bed. Yeah, that bad boy has got to go. And by the way, you can’t wear toe nail polish because they look at your toes for oxygen or something. I don’t know, what am I a doctor? All I know, if I haven’t not had nail polish on my toes in like 10 years. And I don’t like it a bit.

After taking 2 milligrams of Valium last night, and eating a perfect last bunion supper, consisting of a shake shack cheese burger and fries, i actually fell into a deep sleep around 10. I woke up at 5 am and was dying for coffee, but instead popped another 2 milligrams of Valium and got dressed. We arrived at the New England Baptist surgical center in Dedham, where every receptionist and nurse looked like they were filming a Crest commercial. I signed all the paper work, plus a health care proxy, mentioning to the receptionist that my burial outfit should consist solely of sexy Jimmy Choo’s or knock me over, fuck me, Monolo’s. (Just in case my family hadn’t taken note.)

6:30 arrival. I’m a vision with my no make-up, wonky hair look, Good God and it’s fashion week (welp, not in Dedham).

I went into my own little cubby, where literally everybody that passed by me was giving me teeth. I was seriously curious if the whole staff got some sort of drugs in the break room, and I wanted in.  I got all checked in, changed into the lovely scrubs, had a training session with crutches, where I was pronounced a “rock star” (they gave you kudos’ for breathing in this place, which was just fine with me). Finally Doctor Cullen came by, and told me he did a warm-up surgery before mine, and greeted me by saying, “Well, look at who’s here.” I suppose he was referring to the fact that I’d been talking about having surgery with him for a solid decade and finally was. I walked into the operating room, which was freezing, and made me wonder if I had by accidentally stumbled into a morgue. I started getting the Michael Jackson drug in my IV and the next thing I knew I was awake and asking how I did. I went to my recovery cubby, gobbled down some crackers, and drank some ginger ale, and was stunned by my lack of pain. Another absurdly nice nurse took care of me, including bringing me a rose from the hospital (way to go, NEB, flowers will get your EVERYWHERE). I walked on crutches to the bathroom without a problem. Dr.Cullen swung by and told me I did really well, and that my bone took the screw beautifully. I got in the car with no problem, stopped at Dunkin’ for coffee (because America crutches on Dunkin’), and Finagle a Bagel for bagels and cream cheese (because I rarely eat them, but AM IN DEEP PASSIONATE LOVE WITH THEM, and you should eat something you love when you’re getting part of your foot chopped off). I flopped onto the couch when I arrived home, got a big furry welcome from Riley, a visit and flowers from my sister and brother-in-law and three other friends popped over, who also brought flowers and treats. Peter overcooked (exactly how I like ’em) my everything bagel and slathered on the cream cheese, and with my coffee, a new series, The Chair–a contest between two film makers making the same film–I began my recovery.

The boot is sort of heavy, and sleeping wasn’t that easy, but I still have the nerve block, so no pain. And I’d like to say right here, I could marry that nerve block and live happily ever after. I do have some odd discoloration on my calf, which began blotching and itching last night, but Cortaid to the rescue. I’ll mention it to the doctor today, but thinking that it might be from applying cold packs directly to my skin, which good patient that I am, I did every 30 minutes yesterday, until bed.

Rocking the scrubs and groovy surgical hat! Wait, maybe it is fashion week in Dedham.


They mark your foot before you go in, so they don’t make a mistake. I wanted them to write “fuck you.”


And immediately post-surgery in my little cubby, blood pressure cup and NO PAIN.
And there’s das boot. It’s sort of heavier than I’d imagined. Look at the other sock. I tried it on both ways, and it just didn’t fit. They need to do something about those.
Home by 1:00. Ready to recover.


My bunion and the impending surgery I knew I would have to have at some point has literally, HONESTLY been on my “to do” list for approximately 15 years. Last night when I woke up, IT WASN’T, well I mean, I had a giant boot on my leg resting on a pile of pillows, so it was, but not in the same way. I have some disbelief and elation that I was finally able to make this choice (I was really not able to make it for all those years, despite trying very hard), that I’ve done it, and that now I’m on the road to recovery (of being able to exercise and shoe shop). I’m sure it might get more painful as the days pile up, but right now, grati-fucking-tude for everything that’s gone right. Buh-bye bunion. Hope the knife hit you in the ass on the way out the door.

gratitude-a-thon day 366: the rational side


I’m doing what I do. It’s starting. The sneaky fear is creeping in on little puppy paws.

“WHAT IF OUR FOOT SURGERY DOESN’T WORK? WE’RE RISKING A LOT. WE SHOULDN’T HAVE IT.” the pessimistic, terrified, part of me says, all scared, and a little snide and judge-y.

“Well, it’s time we take that risk, because it’s bothering us a lot, in terms of, you know living, so lets just try to be positive, and hope for the best,” my smart and rationale side says back, with cool confidence.


“I think that’s unlikely. I believe that we have to do this, however scary and unpleasant, and that it will very likely make us better, and I hear New Balance has some really well designed boxes,” I rationally lob back to my insecure miserable side.


“Well, thank God you’re not running the show, because I think you’re an ass hat.”

My rationale side usually wins out in these sorts of conversations, but these two are constantly fighting. They’re worse than my kids. This surgery can’t come quickly enough. #23daysandcounting.