I Do All My Own Stunts

I ran the race two weeks post fall and noticed that my right arm was a little sore, but I just assumed it was from carrying it incorrectly during the race.  So I decided to take off my requisite 4 weeks from any and all workouts which just happened to coincide with the holidays. Right before Christmas my shoulder started bothering me and my doctor suggested a cortisone shot to see if it worked; so I got the shot and hubby and I packed up the dogs and drove to the midwest for the holidays.

I developed a very limited range of motion in that shoulder and lost almost all strength. I was referred to a Physical Therapist that was like an angel. He spent two days a week for nearly 6 months rehabbing that shoulder and getting it to where I could actually put my hair in a pony tail without having to prop that arm up on the wall first.

When I stopped showing signs of improvement I was referred to a surgeon. Dr. Love (no, not his real name....but DAYUM it should be) was an intimidating 6'9" with hands that could have palmed the moon. Dark hair, skin and blue eyes....if he had told me he wanted to cut my arm off I might have entertained the thought. So handsome was this guy that I agreed to have surgery in 4 weeks to possible repair a torn rotator cuff and repair a bicep tendon tear. It could be nothing, but it might be something he said. Better safe than sorry he said. "You're the doctor" I said.  My husband was sitting in the room watching this imaginary love story play out with a smirk on his face. "Were you waiting for him to pull out the stirrups?"

Surgery went well. The anesthetist (another good looking dude - did I miss a calling in Orthopedics?!) performed a nerve block that made my arm completely dead weight. Dr. Love removed a significant bone spur from my shoulder that was digging into my rotator cuff. He cleaned up a lot of scar tissue and ground down the bone spur. I was sent home with a sling and, a few days later, some bruising that looked like I dated Chris Brown.

Now, just 5 1/2 weeks later, I found myself lying on the garage floor. Hubby was gone for the weekend, power was out and I was trying to start the generator. One of the dogs was sitting on the floor behind me as I turned around to get it started, so I tripped over her and landed on my freshly-repaired shoulder. After about 3-4 hours of laying in bed with an ice pack I called Dr. Love's office and they told me to put it in a sling and wait for my upcoming re-check. May have torn any number of tendons this time or could have broken a collar bone. Best case though is that I am just a dumbass that needs to be more careful.

Say No To Drugs

About 4 weeks ago, I had surgery to repair my shoulder. The original injury happened just two weeks before the Las Vegas Marathon. I had been diagnosed with bronchitis and was given cough syrup. This cough syrup evidently has a bit of a reputation...kind of like that girl you went to high school with that wore black leather pants, see through shirts to reveal (gasp!) her lacey black bra and thick black eyeliner that was overshadowed only by her 2 foot bangs that had been teased high enough to make all of Dallas TX swoon. This stuff was ROUGH.

My bedroom is located in the basement of our house. Ever since graduating from college I've had an aversion to sleeping while the sun is up. So my solution was to move to a dimly lit basement room with blackout shades. Work ethic and sense of responsibility be damned...I WILL sleep during waking hours whenever possible.

One of the purposes of the Syzurp is to dry you out and some of the other purposes were evident in the next couple of hours. Well in the middle of the night I was thirsty and though I never do it any other time, I was sleeping with socks on because I was feverish. I went upstairs, grabbed some water in my Purple Drank haze and headed back downstairs to bed. Once I hit step #2, I started skidding down the stairs like a 4 year old on their first pair of roller skates. In the split second it took me to slip off the first step, I realized that I was INEBRIATED! I was not coughing and my throat felt a little better than most of the recent past; but I also was not balanced and quick enough to reach out and grab the walls or handrail for support. Instead I landed straight on my - at that moment in time - toned and awesome-looking butt; but not before I bounced off the wall on my right ready-for-tank-season shoulder. I bounced down the stairs and ended up at the bottom with the wind knocked out of me.

I struggled to catch my breath and faintly heard a low growl from my bedroom that was 15 feet in front of me. Paulie heard the loud ruckus and emitted a weak warning to not disturb him before most likely taking my still-warm spot in the bed. I tried to get up but quickly realized that I was going nowhere on my own two feet. I tried yelling for hubby who was sleeping peacefully (read: without hearing aids in) on the upstairs floor. Trying to wake him would be nearly impossible. I crawled on my hands and knees to my bed where my phone was charging. I called hubby a couple of times before he woke up and said breathlessly "I fell down the stairs". I heard more socked feet running down the hallway and had I caught my breath yet I would have warned him not to take the stairs in socks. Instead I started giggling.

Hubby came into the room, bleary eyed and hard of hearing asking me if I was ok. A large bruise had already started forming on my butt cheek and running up the side of hip. He saw me giggling and sighed..."do you need ice?".  "No," I said, "just help me lay back down." And other than some soreness and embarrasment I was fine.