Have you lost my mind?!?!

(According to Dictionary.com) Writer’s Block:  a psychological inhibition preventing a writer from proceeding with a piece of writing. 

(According to wikipedia.com) Writer’s Block:  is a condition, primarily associated with writing as a profession, in which an author loses the ability to produce new work.

(According to Melonie Ellzey) Writer’s Block:  A Jedi mind trick in which every sentence that you type and re-read causes you to hold down the Backspace button (with excessive force) until the screen is blank again other than that stupid blinking curser reminding you that you are incapable of intelligently expressing your thoughts, and even if you did manage to make a few words come together, it would still be garbage and no one would read it.

But I digress . . .

I’ve lost track of how many attempts I have made at writing a new post.  With the passing of each failed effort comes a great dread of what I know is inevitably upon us . . . another story about a medical issue and how I had to go to the doctor.  Sigh . . . I would normally write something here about how I swear I don’t live at the doctor, and how I promise I am not a hypochondriac, but I’m no longer convinced that those things aren’t true.  I really don’t know how it all came to this?  I never used to go to the doctor more than once a year!?!?  Maybe blogging is bad for your health?  I seriously don’t remember having this many ailments before I started trying to entertain people through this page . . . I’m actually not feeling so bad about writing another medical post now that I’ve realized it’s all your fault.  Oh yeah, I feel MUCH better now!  And I hope you’re happy!  And I also think you should all send me chocolate!

Well, now that we’ve cleared up that rather important detail, let’s move on shall we?  You see, back in April I got a phone call from the hubby that sounded something like this:  (Disclaimer:  Some adlibbing and dramatization ahead)  “Good morning most beautiful, talented, and amazing wife ever!  I just had the greatest idea!  We should order this workout program that I’ve been hearing about called ‘Insanity’.  It looks really painful, hard, and life-threatening, but I really think we should do it!  The benefits will definitely outweigh the vomiting, inability to walk for a week, and loss of the use of our arms.”  I’m pretty sure that’s how his end of the conversation went!  Fortunately, he called on a good day when I must have already had a full two servings of chocolate because I agreed that we should definitely pay $300 to torture ourselves.  10 days later, said torture begins.  The next 60 days are a blur of perfectly fit beach body wizards on the TV telling us to “keep going”, “don’t quit”, “you can do it”,  and”almost there” . . . But what I heard in my head was more like, “don’t throw up”, “I can’t feel my legs”, “why are we doing this?”, “don’t throw up”, “Shaun T is the devil”, “I’m pretty sure this is illegal”, “don’t throw up” . . . it was the most awful yet wonderful thing I’ve ever done!  At the end of the program, I felt better than I think I ever have.  Completing something so challenging and unlike I’d ever subjected myself to before was a great feeling!  I knew that I never wanted to lose it or go back to the lazy slacker I was before, so I decided that I would become a runner.  And it really was just like that – in my head I said “I’m a runner now” and it was so.  I started out that first day and was able to run 2 miles without feeling like I was going to die and knew that I had found my new passion.  Every evening for four weeks the Nikes and I hit the pavement until one day about a mile and a half into my run, I started getting a pain in my left shin with every step.  My “I think I’m younger than I really am” brain tells me to just run it out.  I mean that’s totally logical right?  To just assume that you can run the pain out?!?!  (I’m just trying to convince myself here – I know that this mentality is incredibly stupid)  So that’s what I did.  I finished the last mile and a half and only after nearly face-planting in my driveway did the thought cross my mind to take a break from running for a couple of days – three of them actually.  And I should be commended for waiting that long because I’m usually way more strong willed (some would say hard-headed) than that!  So I wait my three days, and on the fourth, I pat myself on the back for being such a good girl and leave the house for what I am convinced will be a pain free and glorious run around the subdivision. . . . not so much.  But at this point, I am so over the fact that my body is trying to stop me from doing something that I want to do that I don’t stop.  I ran my 3 miles dangit!  Who does this leg think it is anyway?  Does it not know that when I make a plan, no one ever has the nerve to try and mess with it?  It obviously did not read my post about the beach pictures, because it would have known that someone almost had to die that day!!!  Sigh . . . after about the fourth day of running on this appendage destined to ruin my life, I finally had to break down and call a doctor.  It had gotten to a point that normal, ever day walking hurt.  Now the leg was just mocking me.  I’m pretty sure I heard it laugh out loud a couple of times.  So I go to the doctor with this pre-conceived notion that he is going to tell me it’s some stupid little muscle or tendon issue and that it will only get better if I don’t run.  Ever.  And I’ve already decided in my mind that if that’s the case I’m just going to run anyway.  I mean what could the doctor possibly know about that sort of thing anyway?  He only had 4 years of extensive medical training – I’ve had 32 years with this body.  I surely know what it needs better than an orthopedic doctor does!  Yet there I was.  Sitting in another physician’s office waiting to divulge my complete medical history (which is now more complicated thanks to you faithful blog readers) and wait for him to tell me that I can never do anything fun and enjoyable ever again.  (People, my mind really does work like this.  I hope you’ve come to terms with it by now.  If not, I’m sure there is a support group out there somewhere for learning to deal with overly-dramatic people like me)  So after we’ve gone over the checklist of “have you ever had” and “has a relative ever had”, we get to the part where I have to tell him about the when and why of the leg pain.  While I talk, he writes notes in my chart.  I can’t see what he’s writing, but I’m imagining it’s something along the lines of “stubborn woman . . . thinks she knows it all . . . . deserves it . . . . her poor husband . . . .”  Like I said, I couldn’t see exactly what it was, but I like to think that I’m being mocked – it gives me much better material for the glamorous diva victim life I live in my head.  At the end of my spiel where I’m trying to convince the doctor that whatever is wrong with my leg can in no way be my fault, he tells me that he thinks I have a stress fracture.  Now, I’m not sure about you, but I’m more of a show me the proof kind of girl.  So, instead of letting him go ahead and treat me for a stress fracture (and put my leg/foot in a walking boot that day) I get him to agree to doing an MRI to be sure that a stress fracture is definitely what we’re dealing with.  I was partly concerned with treating one thing when we should have been treating another, but MOSTLY concerned with the fact that I was going to New Orleans in two days for a Britney Spears concert and didn’t want to traipse all over town in an ugly walking boot!!!!  And it definitely would not have gone with my outfit!  Let’s not get our priorities twisted here!  So the next day I go in for an MRI – oh I must interject here with my OCD moment for that day!  While sitting in the waiting room for the scan, I send my husband this picture accompanied with the following text message:

Notice his one word response.  I don’t think I’m capable of surprising him with any of my OCDisms anymore.  Sigh . . . Anyhoo, back to where I was heading with my story.  I had my MRI done, and was able to enjoy my “pre-diagnosis” weekend with some of my bestest girl friends at a rockin’ concert!  Wow, I just thought about how much material for a blog that one night alone provides!   I may work on that next . . . Geeze get a grip Melonie!  Back on track . . . sigh . . . so I go to the doctor on Monday afternoon fully expecting his original hypothesis to be wrong, because somehow I had convinced myself that my leg felt better that day, but he was totally 100% right.  Actually 200% because there were two stress fractures!  He must have read the “I think I’m going to hurt somebody” expression on my face, because he apologized at least 5 times while I was in his office.  As if it was at all his fault – I wish I had known then that it was actually yours, though, because I sure could have used someone to blame on that day!  I left there with my brand new hideous walking boot.  A constant eye sore reminder that all the wonderful uber fit things I had done to my body were going to unravel over the following 8 weeks.  My outlook that day was bleak at best!  My wardrobe since then has consisted of anything that can be worn with the only two pair of shoes I have that somewhat match the awkward height at which the boot rises to.  I did wear a glorious pair of 4 inch heels to work one day because I had a meeting.  I decided then that I should patent an orthopedic walking boot with a heel.

And the striped knee sock just sets it off so nicely, doesn’t it?  Over the past three and a half weeks, I’ve come to grips with the fact that “the boot” is my new bff.  I’m still tempted to throw it into the lake on some days, but for the most part I have been a perfect little patient.  It helps that my husband and children have waited on me and babied me the whole time.  I guess they know all too well that “if momma ain’t happy, nobody’s happy!”  Oh, and in case you didn’t notice in the picture, my bestie ,Hanna (shout out), made my boot a running shoe.  Our first choice was to bedazzle it, but in the end I’m glad a Nike swoosh is what we ended up with.  Some first ideas aren’t always best as it turns out.

I realize that this latest medical saga didn’t provide much comic relief.  But, it was really the best I could do considering that my best blogs have come after my creative outlet – running.  Which, if I haven’t implied it enough, I CAN’T DO right now!!!!!!  Sigh . . . I really think I’m going to make it.  Really.  It’s all going to be okay.  3 1/2 weeks down, 4 1/2 to go . . . .

Oh, and my blog title isn’t a word mix-up.  I know the original saying is “Have you lost your mind?”, but I like the way my sweet little 4 year old nephew, Easton, puts it much better – “HAVE YOU LOST MY MIND?!?!?!”  Thanks for hanging on through the end of this pity party.  If I can’t run, I might as well eat – so please pass the chocolate!  It IS an emergency!

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Published in: on August 10, 2011 at 2:02 pm  Comments (2)  

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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. You forgot, “Let’s GOooOO!!!!” At least you have the dvd’s so you can do Insanity for free next time!


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