Goals, Vision Boards and Horizons

Just keep swimming!

I read O Magazine. Often and religiously.  Oprah and I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but her magazine is definitely a winner.  It does a great job of covering topics that affect all women, and I appreciate that.  At the risk of sounding corny, I sometimes feel inspired after I’ve read the Ope’s latest offerings.  There’s nothing wrong with thinking of things that you typically do not.

I’m constantly in this, “What the hell am I going to do with my life” state, yet I’m still in the planning stage.  To call it troublesome is greatly understating.  I haven’t written a poem or short story in ages.  I’ve started my book over about a jillion times, and thanks to my injury, my workout program is stunted.  Before you tell me not to be hard on myself, I truly believe that a healthy dose of, “What the hell are you doing with your life, Melanie?” is in order.  Opportunities have been squandered, and I can’t continue to let that happen.

So, thanks to reading O, I’ve come to the conclusion that a vision board is in order.  Well, right now, I’ve got a box.  Though I hate what “boxes” represent, I’m still collecting things before I decide to put them up on a board, so I think a box is okay as an extremely temporary solution.

Goals. That’s what I need.  Randomly announcing wanting to do this or that isn’t really working.  Fruition.  That’s what it’s all about.  I think I beat myself before I start.  It’s classic and nothing new.  Plus, when I’m feeling slightly set adrift, it’s hard to keep focused on what I need to do to improve.  I’m good at rebooting; but just recovering in the middle of adversity?  Not my strong point.

So yeah…vision board.  Yeah.  I’ll get there.


The rumors of my…

You know about my broken ankle.  You know about my reliance on the kindness of strangers.  I’ll bet you didn’t know I spent almost a week in the hospital.


I had pain in my leg, without swelling, and thought it was only related to my fracture.  Well, it turns out that it was deep venous thrombosis (coincidentally, Dr. Oz referenced this in the most recent issue of O Magazine as one of five pains you shouldn’t ignore).  The clot then broke off, with parts moving into both of my lungs, a condition also known as pulmonary embolism.  SCARY.  SHIT.

It’s no secret that I believe in taking care of myself and looking out for my health, but when I tell you that I TOTALLY took this minor break for granted is the understatement of the century.  I honestly believed that my shortness of breath was due to a cold.  Yes ladies and gentlemen, I had blood clots in my lungs, and I put some Tussin on it.  Thought I could let that Tussin sink down to the bone.  Is it funny now?  Only slightly.  Totally unfunny when I was panicking in the hospital.

I was admitted last Tuesday, and on Thursday, I suffered from what is called a vasovagal syncope.  It’s a fancy way of saying that I fainted.  It’s apparently the most common cause of fainting, but the reasons behind them are fairly broad.  Anything from being in a reclining position for an extended period of time, to to the sight of blood.  I lost consciousness (fortunately on the bed) was sweating profusely, and the coup de grâce?  Vomit.  A fuck-ton of vomit.

All this is to say that even I, despite my preaching, have a lot to learn regarding listening to my body.  Particularly since I’m more of a summer, rather than spring, chicken (shut your face).  Thankfully, I had the good folks in my life checking on me every day. I’m used to being on my own, so it feels good to have people concerned about me and my well being.  One of my sisters came up for a few days and helped immeasurably.  I’m grateful for having a support system and people who love me.

So now, I’m out of the cast and wearing one of those walking boot things.  My brace for my sprained leg has a spider and web logo, so I’ve decided that I’m a superhero for the handicapable.

I’m not out of the woods, and I’ll be on blood thinners for approximately 6 months.  Additionally, I’ll have to monitor this condition for the rest of my life due to damage done to my veins.  That being said, things are finally on the way up.  It’s close to summer, and though I’ll have to cut back on the sangria afternoons, I’m glad to be on the mend, and I’ll be back on my gym grind soon enough.


Kindness of strangers

…And friends.

I know good people. There’s really no denying that at all.  I can’t tell you how helpful people have been to me, even if it’s just checking on me regularly.  That means a lot, you know.  My kids are very helpful and sweet.  My friends are making sure I have the things that I need, and my family is doing everything they can to make sure I’m taken care of from afar.  I’m sort of drowsy, but I didn’t want time to keep passing without acknowledging that your positive thoughts and prayers haven’t been most helpful.

Tomorrow I go back for more x-rays and another appointment with the orthopedist to ensure that I don’t need surgery.  Today was rough, and I have been achier, but you know your girl is gonna be alright.  Feel free to send me topics at wrecklessendangerment@gmail.com, and I’ll be sure to give you my two cents.

Love you guys.  And especially you.  Yeah…you. 🙂

The Price of Being Jaunty

Every day, it’s the same routine.  I catch the Red line, and sit in the last car because it’s closest to the escalator.  Then I bounce up the escalator, and traipse down to exit.  It gives me about eight minutes of constant motion in the morning.  Good stuff.  Typically, I don’t put on my glasses until I get to work, forgetting to actually put them on until around 10:30.

The reason I don’t wear my glasses until I get to work, is because I have astigmatism, and for some reason, my glasses fuck with my depth perception (I think that’s what it is) so wearing them, I have problems judging inclines, uneven ground, declines and steps.

But Wednesday…

I was looking sexy.  I had on my white linen pants, a canary yellow tube top, and a white linen overshirt.  The glasses stayed on (because, you know, I’m getting my “sexy bookworm” look on), I power walked up the steps, and I was in such a good mood, basking in all my sexiness, I went down a little faster than usual. And when I was almost at the bottom, I misjudged a step, stumbled forward, rolled BOTH ankles, and went down.

If you read anything I write for any period of time, my “fall stories are the stuff of legend.  My favorite is when I was taken out by a rogue pothole in front of Club Utopia on Bourbon St.  These stories all end with me popping back up in a fit of laughter.  So naturally, I tried to pop right back up and my ankles said “AW! HELL! NAW!”

I was already hurt and shaken up, and the pain in my ankles when I attempted to get back up was totally dull and strange.  So I cried, partially out of pain, mostly out of frustration.  Okay, mostly out of pain.  That shit hurt.  Ambulance is called.  I couldn’t get up at all, even with help, so I’m wheeled out on a stretcher and taken to GWU Hospital.

To take my mind off the pain, I joked with everyone. The paramedics, the folks in triage (Terrance at GWU is the bomb, and a Xavier boy, so we started talking about where we could find some good boudin), the doctors…everyone.  Oh, and the radiologist owes me a date to go dinner and dancing.  I think telling him “I know where you work” might be a bit much, but I’m thinking it REAL HARD.

The verdict? Right ankle: spiral fracture. Left ankle: VERY badly sprained.  My sexy ass: can’t walk at all.  Watching me scoot through the house and try to be inventive in getting around:  comedy.  Picture me at about 3 am trying to scoot to the toilet on my son’s skateboard. Epic fail in life.  Epic win in comedy.

I can assure you, scooting to the toilet on my butt was not on my weekend plans, but folks have really been helpful and I’m going to have the ill upper body strength.

Beware of my sexy.  It’s dangerous!