I walked to town and back. It’s six weeks today since I broke my ankle and I can hear my nurse friends yelling, “Too soon! Too soon!” But all is well.
I’m wearing a rigid clamshell brace that holds my ankle more securely side-to-side than the fracture boot did while still letting my foot flex. Last week I had a neighbor drop me in town for an experimental walk home. Though the ankle “talked” to me a bit coming up the last slope, walking was glorious.
Lord, I’ve missed this! Nothing helps me feel more healthy, sane, alive, and creative than walking.
Appears I’ll be doing a lot more of it, too. Want to or not.
Hastert may be a criminal. But other feds are worse. (Never mind that Hastert and his ilk made them worse.)
I admit it. Maeve Binchy, the mega-selling Irish author of simple domestic tales, is one of my guilty girly pleasures. Binchy died in 2012 of heart problems. While looking for something completely unrelated to her health, I stumbled upon this nice article about how she made the best of her initial diagnosis. Inspiring.
The fedgov has recently made it 5x more expensive to do. But Americans are again surrendering their citizenship in small but record-setting numbers. (Tip o’ hat to MJR)
Thanks to a recent WSJ editorial, the world seems to have awakened to the fact that social “science” is little more than an intellectual justification of liberalism. Big debate now going on. Cameron of The Passive Habit agrees, but calls it unintentional.
Then Y.B. ben Avraham writes about the rabid “boycott, divest, and sanction” movement that’s the latest respectable facade for hatred of Jews. Yes, you can have issues with Israel and a state without animosity toward Jews; but as Y.B. reveals, that’s not what BDS is about.
This one’s weird. Turns out there could be a correlation — no known causation, but an enormous correlation — between using painkillers and committing homicide. Even ordinary OTC products like ibuprofen (Gotta be some anomaly in that study. Gotta be.)
Sacred Rage. “It would be foolish indeed for a government that has lost a string of wars in “backward” foreign lands to think, even with its military and police power and surveillance apparatus, that it could suppress an eruption among a substantial portion of its own well-armed and technologically enfranchised citizenry.” (H/T LS)
Congress goes on a vote-a-thon to protect the burgeoning cannabis industry and slap the DEA. (Much though I fear that the sudden fed enthusiasm for Demon Weed is just part of the bread and circuses effort, I still have to say I like and am amazed by it.)
Sheryl Sandberg is COO of Facebook. Her husband died a month ago in a freak accident while they were vacationing. She writes: “Until now, I have been the older sister, the COO, the doer and the planner. I did not plan this, and when it happened, I was not capable of doing much of anything. Those closest to me took over. They planned. They arranged.”
The TSA failed 95% of the tests to find explosives. But not to worry. They reliably found 95% of breasts, crotches, prosthetic limbs, knitting needles, and sippy cups. (H/T LA)
Soooo, while we’re all rejoicing over the momentary illusion that the NSA will no longer be scooping up all our edata, the FBI steps flies to the fore. (And where do they get all these Orwellian names? USA Freedom Act? Because it orders the phone companies to do all the collecting on behalf of the uber-government? Who do they think they’re fooling?)
This month is the 800th anniversary of the Magna Carta. Not just a piece of paper, but the first time people (even if aristocrats) placed themselves, by both force and law, above a king.
Your very much non-awwww dog story for the day. (Warning: sickening photos, though the dog has now been saved from the very worst.) Whoever did this to Caitlyn the dog should have the same thing done to them.
Chris Pratt (aka Star-Lord) apologizes in advance for anything offensive he might say on his upcoming media tour. (Too bad he’s yet another Hollywood anti-gun hypocrite — a Fudd, too, it seems — ’cause that’s funny.)
And in developments on the home front, if I’d had any doubt whether my ankle was actually broken or just badly sprained, I’d be doubting no more. The thing is itching fiendishly. I always thought the notorious itches had to do with the reaction between tight casts and dead flaky skin. Turns out it’s also from the healing. Thank heaven for being able to scratch! I think if I were wearing a cast, long about now I’d be trying to bite it off like a wolf with his foot caught in a trap. Still. Itching. Good sign.
Six days and 6-1/2 hours since breaking my &^%$#@! hecky-darned ankle, I’m going stir crazy.
I’m trying to be such a good girl. Aside from an itty-bitty pretty much token walk each morning and afternoon for Robbie (three or four doors down and back, wearing the fracture boot, of course), I’ve been sitting around with my foot elevated, applying heat, gentle massage, and just today a lovely cayenne-pepper cream MamaLiberty told me how to whip up.
Every book I have around the house is a deadly bore. I’ve developed computer vision syndrome (better known in the real world as eye strain). And I’m now on my second-in-a-row viewing of the entire Harry Potter movie series, which is the only thing keeping me from going bonkers.
Yesterday morning I woke up feeling half-human for the first time. I ventured a slightly longer walk in the afternoon — and paid for it today. (That pepper cream really helped, though!)
Tomorrow I need to fetch Ava from Furrydoc’s boarding kennel and that’s going to be interesting. She’s an energy hound who expects to walk/run at least two miles a day in addition to sessions of tennis-ball fetching and tug-o-war. Haven’t found anybody else to do that for her. Sorry, Ava.
But I’m not complaining. Really I’m not. And not feeling sorry for myself (though I’m unaccustomed to fussing over my health and dislike being babied, even if I’m the one doing the babying).
I’m feeling lucky it wasn’t worse. And lucky I have a job I can do while sitting around with my feet up. And lucky to have a little (or a lot) of help from my friends.
Besides, as a person who appreciates aesthetics, I find the colorfulness of this experience quite entrancing.
Don’t click on the “more” link unless you appreciate rich colors where bland color ususally prevails. This is what things look like six days (and 6-1/2 hours) after the event. The swelling’s gone down considerably but the colors keep “improving” all the time.
The Boy Scouts: doing their best to close the gender gap. (Yeah, don’t ask me how that became their mission.) By Eagle Scout Jim Bovard.
And don’t even get my friendly local Scout leaders started on the Michelle Obama-inspired (recently) new requirements for the cooking badge. Where’d the fun go? Any kid who had to learn cooking that way would probably avoid the kitchen for the rest of his life.
You want to be treated with dignity? Behave with dignity. (Via ML who, like me, doesn’t agree with all Ringer’s points but thinks the overall piece is spot on.)
The loathsome Section 215 of the USA-UnPatriot Act is set to expire next month. (I love sunset provisions.) Congress actually seems to be in a reform mode — well, a reform-ish mode — about the surveillance state. Courts, too. But I’m picturing the heads of the Uber-Government (in the No Such Agency and other places) cackling wickedly and rubbing their bony hands together over their Black Mamba capes. Laws? Regulations? Courts? Constitutions? Bwaaahahaha! The little fools! Don’t they know they can’t stop us?
Not a terrible break. Hairline. Now instead of hobbling around in a pressure bandage I’m hobbling around in a fracture boot. Which helps — as long as I don’t trip over the stiff old thing and break something else.
As always, I get by with a little help from my friends. Friends who pushed me to take this more seriously and friends who know much more than I do about dealing with such things. Friends who gave generously of their time and expertise.
I hate going to doctors. The prospect of limping off to be potentially manhandled, misdiagnosed, over-tested, over-treated, over-medicated, financially depleted, and otherwise abused by the medical system freaks me out to the point where I cussed and cussed when I realized I had a break, not a pulled or torn something-or-another. When I told friend Y. how I swore, he laughed and said, “Oh, I can see you cussing like a Marine DI. ‘Hecky-darn!’ ‘Phooey!’ ‘H. e. double toothpicks!’.”
I assured Y. that hecky-darn is not part of my cussing vocabulary. On the contrary, I may have taught some new words to a few of the young women who were around at the moment.
It’s been very educational, though. In comments the other day, a couple of people mentioned fracturing their malleolus bones. I had no idea such a thing as malleolus bones existed, let alone that we all have them in our ankles. Actually, melleolus is only a name for the bottom parts of more familiar leg bones. You may have known that since you were in the sixth grade. I didn’t. Now I know I have a fracture of the lateral malleolus.
I could quite happily have gone the rest of my life without ever having any reason to learn that.