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sunflower2457
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Name: Allison
Country: United States
State: Alabama
Metro: Birmingham
Gender: Female
Interests: In no particular order: travel, writing, photography, classic literature, nerdy biology-related stuff, Christianity, running, Africa, country line dancing, music - both playing and listening, adventure
Expertise: Being a klutz, organizing, making lists, stressing out... I'm exceptionally good at that last one
Industry: Biomedical research
Message: message meEmail: email me
AIM:  sunflower2457
Member Since:
7/15/2004
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| Hola! ...from the United StatesI knew that I would have internet access while at the mission house in Honduras, so I was planning on posting at least one or two brief messages while I was down there... but that plan clearly never came into fruition. So... hello from the USA. Where I am, currently. Because I have returned from my trip to Honduras. In case you couldn't deduce as much from just about every sentence in this paragraph.
I was able to go to Honduras, obviously. My foot is doing much better and actually, funny story: I don't have a stress fracture after all. Yeah.. JK about that whole thing. If you're kind of confused by that revelation, well, I was too at first, believe me. Two days before I hopped a plane for Central America, I went to go see an orthopedist in sports medicine, who informed me that I actually have a "superacute sprain of a ligament in the tarsometatarsal joint." Uh... yeah. What he said.
At first I was a bit ticked off to learn that I merely had a sprain. I mean, I had worn a walking boot for nearly a month, and it had caused WAY too much drama in my leg... muscle atrophy, knee pain, circulation issues, even some minor nerve damage... and for what?? However, after talking to the orthopedist and then consulting Dr. Google, I learned that injuries to the tarsometatarsal joint (which is in the midfoot), while "frequently misdiagnosed" (hmm... CHECK!), are also "rare and complex" (to which I say: of COURSE. Leave it to the biggest klutz in the word to injure herself in a rare and complex fashion) and can be a pretty big deal. Sometimes they even require surgery. The boot was the way to go, and I'm lucky I only had to wear it for as long as I did... it could have been longer.
So, anyway. Reassured that I actually DID receive proper treatment, I was fitted for special insoles, and told to wear the boot down to Honduras just in case I needed it. So I did. Wear it down there, that is. And I didn't. Need it, that is. The insoles help immensely, I've been doing exercises to build up the leg muscle that I lost, and after two months, I am finally able to walk again... without any aid, without a limp, and (mostly) without pain. I am so grateful, and I kind of feel like the paralytic that Jesus healed... like the kid's song says, I'm "walking and leaping and praising God." Well.. I'm walking and praising God. Not quite ready for leaping just yet. Although I DID wear high heels to church yesterday for the first time in two months, which was exciting (and actually not the best idea, as my foot was aching for the rest of the day... but it's nice to know that if forced at gunpoint to wear high heels, I could do it without TOO much pain).
(Wow, did I just write an entire post about my aches and pains? How old am I, 85? I'll quit acting so elderly and write about Honduras soon, I promise. Honestly, it's difficult to put my thoughts about the trip into words. For now I'll just say that, while I truly believed that my trip to Africa last year had changed my life, I've since realized that it was mere preparation for the staggeringly life-altering experience that would be Honduras. To be continued...). | | |
| Chocolate baby bunniesYou see what I did there? Combined two happy things - chocolate and baby bunnies - to create one super amazingly awesome happy thing? Baby bunnies made out of chocolate! Does it get any better than that? See, I told you this entry would be happier! ...Well, the title of this entry is happier, anyway. I won't actually be talking about chocolate baby bunnies as the subject of this entry. Mostly because there's just not much to say about them except that they are, quite obviously, super amazingly awesome. I wish I had more to say about chocolate baby bunnies, but I don't. I'm sorry. I have deceived you. The chocolate baby bunny talk ends here. The title was just an elaborate (or, not so elaborate) scheme to trick you into thinking that this entry would be happy and not full of complaints, as I am wont to fill my entries with lately. HA! Fooled you.
Well, okay, even though I won't be communicating the finer points of young chocolate rabbits, I will try to keep the complaining to a minimum. Although, believe me, it's difficult. All I will say is that, if you are a doctor, you should please try to refrain from repeating "that ain't good" over and over again while examining a patient... partly because you have a medical degree and should therefore use proper grammar, but mostly because it FREAKS THE PATIENT OUT, STOP SAYING THAT, AHH THEY'RE TOTALLY GONNA HAVE TO AMPUTATE MY FOOT AND I WILL DIE. Okay, I'm obviously being overly dramatic, but in all seriousness... my foot is not so great. I'm trying not to get too stressed (HAHA! Just a little punny stress fracture humor to lighten things up) until I hear what the orthopedist says this week... but this is easier said than done. Especially because I'm leaving for my mission trip to Honduras soon. And would like to be able to, you know.. walk. And be at least somewhat useful. Since that is kind of the point of the trip. I could definitely use y'all's prayers, if you'd like to throw any out there for me.
ANYWAY. No more complaining. The rest of this entry will focus on an aspect of my injury that has actually been kind of fun ("fun" being relative, of course; I'm trying to look for some semblance of a silver lining, obviously) - people watching. I actually wrote this last week, way before the "I WILL NO LONGER HAVE A FOOT!" panic set in, but never got around to posting it, obviously. Enjoy!
Observations From a Gimp
Being out in public while limping around in a rather large black walking boot that goes practically up to my knee has served as an interesting study in human behavior. It's kind of fun to observe peoples' reactions to me. I'm definitely getting a lot more positive attention than I usually do - complete strangers constantly strike up conversations with me (usually starting said conversations with something along the lines of "aww, what happened to your foot?" ...although one guy did ask me if I kicked the cat). I get a lot of sympathetic looks, and a lot of kind smiles. People open doors for me, hold the elevator when they see me coming, and offer to help me cross the street.
I have, however, also been the recipient of a few borderline rude stares. And nothing beats the reaction I got last week at the library. I was standing at the scanner, checking my items out, when this girl walked in with her boyfriend, who had his arms full of books to check out. Maybe I'm just prejudiced, but this girl was the type that I wouldn't expect to see in a public library - fake tan, designer clothes, snotty attitude - and considering the fact that her arms were empty, I assume that she was only there because of her boyfriend. I didn't really pay much attention to her until I noticed that she was blatantly staring at my legs with a disgusted look on her face. I'm not exactly sure where her disdainful gaze was directed (she could have been staring at my boot-free leg, which was definitely nowhere near as tan as hers and would probably even qualify as "pasty;" or even my skirt, which, as adorable as it was, was only from Old Navy and not like - I don't know, just throwing out a random designer here - Prada, which is where she probably gets all of HER skirts), but I'm pretty sure that she was staring at my boot. Staring at my boot as if the ugliness of my affliction was contagious and she could catch it if she got too close. I ignored her rude stares, but I really wanted to be like, "look here, Paris, I'm not wearing this gigantic black boot because I think it's fashionable. I have a stress fracture. And the dictionary section is that way.. go look up those big words if you need to. I'll wait." | | |
| Tired of:Tornado warnings. We get a lot of them here in Alabama, I am learning. As a person who lived in Kansas for eight years and has therefore taken part in tornado drills aplenty, you'd think that I wouldn't get so freaked out by all these tornado warnings. And yet... I do. I woke up to tornado sirens late Saturday night, and turned on the news to see what was going on. HUGE MISTAKE. Take my advice and don't ever do this if you're an overreactor such as myself. Ignorance is bliss in cases like this. As a result of turning on the news, I was awake until about 3:30 in the morning tracking the storm, and I may or may not have at one point hidden in my bathtub with my mattress over my body for protection from the tornado that I truly believed would touch down directly on top of my bedroom, but of COURSE ended up being nothing more than just a really loud thunderstorm.
My foot. Diagnosis: hairline stress fracture. So my original explanation of "I injured my foot on a run" wasn't exactly correct... it would be more accurate to say that "running injured my foot." Apparently I have super high arches and didn't have sufficient support with my current pair of running shoes, which is what led to the stress fracture. Anyway, I'm done with the crutches and am now in a walking boot (although I've been trying to take it easy and not do much walking), which is good news for my sanity. It's still not at all fun, still fairly difficult to get around, and my foot still hurts, but hey, at least I can now take out the trash with my now happily free hands.
Complaining. Well, technically I'M not tired of complaining (heck, I could do it all day! AND I DO!), but I'm sure that YOU all are tired of my complaining. I'm sorry. But there's just not much else for me to do. I mean, this "taking it easy" business is kinda boring. I've gone through pretty much my entire DVD/VHS collection. Haha. But don't worry, I just went to the library and got a bunch of books and like, 10 DVDs... so that should give me something to do other than complain. My next entry will be happier, I promise. Less tornadoes and broken feet and more.... I don't know. Baby bunnies? Chocolate. What makes y'all happy? Whatever it is, there'll be more of that. | | |
| Taking the good with the badHey guys, what's up? How's it going? Everyone doing well? That's great. Yeah, I'm good, too. Super, even. ...Except by "good" and "super" I actually mean "NOT AT ALL GOOD AND SUPER." Why not at all good and super, you ask? Because I am currently HOBBLING AROUND ON CRUTCHES, I answer. Oh, and also? I'm about to turn an age that starts with a 2 and ends with a number that's greater than 5 (oh yes... I've reached an age where I'm refusing to tell the internet what it is, that's how old I am)... and I'm not especially pleased about that. The combination of crutches + this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad age = PRETTY MUCH THE CRAPPIEST BIRTHDAY WEEK EVER.
Well, I guess I'm actually okay with turning this mysterious age that is greater than 25 (I mean, it's not like I have a choice) but the crutches thing? Not fun. Not fun at all. I injured my foot on a run about a week and a half ago. And on the one hand, I'm glad that I now have the crutches because walking without them was extremely painful... but on the other hand, I'm finding it very difficult to DO things while using them. Like carry stuff. And push stuff. And open doors. And, you know... WALK LIKE A NORMAL PERSON. The vastness of the things that I am now unable to do is overwhelming, and I've been feeling very panicky and very weepy and very much like a gigantic baby. But SERIOUSLY. HOW am I supposed to do things like take out the trash? I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW.
But enough feeling sorry for myself. Because that's ALL I'VE BEEN DOING THIS WEEK. (WHOA, WHAT'S UP WITH THE PLETHORA OF CAPITAL LETTERS IN THIS ENTRY? I APOLOGIZE. APPARENTLY I JUST FEEL THE NEED TO E-SHOUT). Aside from the foot/pain/crutches saga, some good things HAVE happened lately, which I will now type out in list format, in an effort to make myself feel better:
1. I, along with a couple other friends with May birthdays, threw a triple birthday party this past weekend. It was way fun, and surprisingly well-attended for being kind of a last minute shindig.
2. Also, there was cookie cake. A huge, honkin' cookie cake.
3. I decided to go on a mission trip to Honduras in June. I'm really pumped about that.
4. I'm like 87% sure that I'll be going home to Pennsylvania for the 4th of July.
5. One of my best friends is coming to visit me this weekend for my birthday.
6. I am, right now, as we speak (err... as I type), eating some milk chocolate-covered marzipan from Germany. A friend gave it to me for my birthday, along with a whole bunch of other assorted foreign chocolates. Yes, he is a good man.
7. I have amazing, funny parents who love me and know just how to cheer me up, even in the midst of a meltdown.
8. I have friends here in Birmingham who like me enough to go grocery shopping with me because I can't push the cart with these darn crutches.
9. Also, God loves me. And that's really all that matters, right?
Okay, so life isn't TOO horribly bad. Now if only my trash would sprout legs and take out itself... | | |
| Fat CatRemember Jack Bauer? No, not that Jack Bauer, THIS Jack Bauer. My adorable, yet insane in the membrane kitten? It's been a while since I've written anything about him. He's still adorable, and still very much insane in the membrane... but he is definitely no longer a kitten. Boyfriend's gotten a bit... LARGER since I last posted about him. He prefers that I use the term "husky," but the truth is, he's just downright FAT. At less than a year old, he weighs 16 pounds. Yep, he's definitely a fatty. Fatty McFatterson.
I had started to notice his protruding belly, and the fact that whenever I was laying on the couch and he took a flying leap from the loveseat onto my stomach, he felt a bit more ton-of-brick-like than he had in the past... but it wasn't until THIS happened that I really took notice of my little CTU agent's problem with obesity:
Yep, he's stuck. STUCK. I had to help him out. But obviously not before taking a video, and pictures. I sent said pictures to some friends and family, and I got this hilariously awesome response from my dad:
WOW! He is a fat cat. Mom and I were just commenting the other day that Callie [my family's seven-year old cat] isn’t as heavy as Jack. You probably need to buy him a harness and get him some exercise. Then you can become that “weird cat girl” that walks her cat.
To which I say... I can BECOME that weird cat girl? Too late, Dad... too late. I do believe I am already there. I DID just write an entire blog post about my cat, after all.
(Haha, that makes me think of a story. Remind me to tell you about the time I attempted to deter an unwanted suitor by tring to convince him that I was a crazy cat lady).
P.S. Is the video working? It's not for me, but it might just be my computer... | | |
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