Today I am 4 weeks post op from my back surgery. I haven’t a clue what they did in the surgery but I’ve been told I may be missing my L5 vertebrae. I don’t care. All it ever did for me was break and cause excruciating pain. And it still is.
The back is better, but the left foot has become inhabited by aliens from the planet of “we hate our host and will make her life miserable.” And they are.
The nerves of the left foot make the foot feel like it is blue and is succumbing to frost bit, and I have a sock on it, in Florida, in March.
If you touch the foot, even with a shoe, the nerves feel like the foot is on fire. Oh what joy.
I didn’t sign on for this.
I signed on the line so the pain would go away.
I don’t wear socks. I wear 3” heels.
I don’t get cold, ever. Well ever until the aliens landed.
I’m wearing the worst shoes ever to try to keep the pressure off the foot – clogs. Ok, they are the second worst shoes ever. Number 2 right behind Uggs. I didn’t sign on for wearing hippie reject shoes from the 60’s. Clogs, people. Do you hear me? Wanda is wearing clogs – and socks. White, ugly, man type socks.
The world may well be coming to an end here.
Worse yet, last week the foot began to swell. I ran to the Dr. or an alienectomy which she did not perform. Instead I got a nice dose of diuretics that keep me busy every morning, and the absolute delight of wearing a thigh high compression stocking on that leg. Spanx may be the hot thing for holding you together. Compression stockings are not the leg version of Spanx.
All I do now is sit in pain, run to pee, and continually pull at the compression stocking to keep it from rolling down the leg and launching itself at some unsuspecting person. Though it would make a great launch vessel for the aliens.
I did go to physical therapy yesterday. The therapist gave me 3 simple exercises to do, then told me the pain would get worse before it got better. I have sent an encoded message to the aliens that they should inhabit the therapist’s body instead of mine. He’s younger, has longer to live, and apparently knows the proper care and feeding of aliens.
From the life and mind of Wanda M. Argersinger
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