Ban-itch-ment

Violation of post op care. Exhibit A.

Tendon repair + 3 weeks. Pain continues to decrease. At this juncture my range of motion encompasses the full allowance of my rapidly decaying cast. I can now flex up and down about 1.5 inches. My wincibility factor still edges up to 7 whenever my peroneal's have a chance to fire. This usually happens when my balance is challenged and the muscle tightens in futile response. My mobility continues to improve in spite of my fiberglass cage. I have mastered der Scott's no arm crutches technique and am showing great promise as a fledgling hobbler sans crutches. Most mornings, cramps from the surrounding imprisoned muscles issue a rude reveille that last till taps.

Weapons of mass destruction.

The last 7 days widened the cracks in my sanity along with the gap between withered calf and cast. If the itching would take on a human aspect for just a brief moment, I would kick the cojones, tweek the nose, and apply liberal purple nurples with glee. I have renounced Benedryl in favor of more substantial remedies. The post surgical instructions insist that nothing be inserted into the cast. Sage advice that I strictly followed for over 96 hours. As the maddening itch increased, my adherence weakened. After careful rereading, I followed the instruction to the letter. I have never inserted nothing into the wretched boot. I may have inserted a 12 inch screwdriver, electric taped molding, 2 mixing spatulas, a paint stirrer, a belt, and maybe my hand up to the elbow.

New car goat smell.

A mixing spatula will gently massage the skin without ill effect if used delicately and with some reservation. I was very careful with my first exploration. My manic laughter and expletives did not bring the police, but I am sure I woke up more than half of the neighborhood wildlife when I plunged my spatula Excalibur into the heart of my calf's scaly dragon itch. I continued carefully scratching for a brief 2 or 3 hours. When my arm finally tired, I retracted my makeshift sword to discover my weapon significantly reduced. I managed to dig a 2 inch chunk out with the hilt, but found a nickel sized piece remained behind. The cast away piece laughed at my best efforts to dislodge it and hid within the layered mysteries of my cast. I slept and prepared my best excuses for an impromptu doctors visit. When I awoke I felt the wayward rubber embedded onto my heal. Ever seen a cat with tape on it's paws? 

Today's special. Really fresh goat cheese omelet.

Before surrendering to the white coats, my wife and I attempted a home extraction. As temptress and mastermind of the cake batter spatula caper, she was judged responsible. After valiant attempts with a leather belt, a wooden spoon, and telekinesis failed we escalated to the garage. After some close calls and no small amount of carnage we successfully dislodged the menace to the bottom of my foot. A few swift kicks to the kitchen chair and voila; shrapnel expelled, co-pay avoided.

Post-Impressionist. Still has both ears.

To protect the leg, pale the itch and preserve the marriage I accepted my sister's invitation to her relaxing mountain retreat. The 4 hour journey, a trial run to offer 1 proof of function to my doctor and my work's return requirements. I arrived, but barely, the trip proven to be at the outer arc of my limits. Presently I am not allowed to sweat, invert, evert, or get the fiberglass wet. Enter my niece, nephew, chocolate lab, cat, rooster, 3 goats, stairs, gravel drive, no central AC and sudden mountain rain showers, but NO spatulas. I don't know if this was very ambitious or a little stupid, but it turned out to be a great way to distract THE Itchies and blow some of the stink off of my attitude. I narrowly avoided animal pee of several species, goat grazing and the inadvertent crushing of any baby chicks in the living room with Frankenfoot. And had a great time visiting with my family.


In my two and a half day 1 leg odyssey I gorged on the delicious home cooked organic fare that my sister feeds her family. Her emphasis on natural proteins and vegetables nicely complimented my own diabetic diet. A welcome respite from the temptations of my carbohydrate crazed companion at home, as I no longer generate the cardio required to burn pizza, Lucky Charms, and popcorn. An unexplained hypo prevented me from an exciting trip to town for 4 new baby chicks. Need a little more research, but I believe the altitude knocked my insulin needs down by 30%. A 9 mph gator drive, complete with goat escort, left me longing for my trail shoes. There is a Grandfather Mountain Marathon reminiscent road right at the foot of my sisters mountain driveway that runs all the way into the next county. After several shellackings from close family (read vicious  competitors), I knew that Mario Cart practice would henceforth be replacing my daily General Hospital window. As a parting gift my cast was adorned with original works and signed by the artists, my niece and nephew. The most controversial piece, a daring modern take on racism, the environment, wealth distribution, and the waning of religion in a post-global economy by my nephew titled: Alligator in the bathtub. Wish I could get in a bath without a trashcan liner tied around my leg! Thanks for a great visit S. I had a blast.

Alligator in the bathtub. A sharpie sketch on fiberglass.

diatribeSeventeen