I was going to say that you can’t photograph farts. (They’re like vampires that way.) Then it dawned on me that not everyone is fixated on farts. So, never mind.
There are things I fixate on.
Not gas.
Farts are foisted up on me, much to my dismay.
At the moment I can take about 10 steps without falling over.
I can get all the way to the bathroom with out hopping.
Everywhere else is coming up on being dangerous to my health. I need one face plant like I need…well, just about any other injury.
Tomorrow I’m supposed to get another kinda thing, a offset boot or something. It will make me walk on my heel and not the front of my foot.
I don’t feel encouraged. At all.
Ivy is pressuring me, I need to exercise. Dialysis people are warning me, my activity level is low. It’s gonna affect my numbers.
Mid-dau doesn’t know what to cook and being all butthurt about it.
I’m feeling less than well.
Sleepy headed and/or loopy headed.
Sometimes I wonder why all this is necessary or even worth it.
Disheartened.
Sorry. Feeling sorry for myself. Aaaccckkk!
Sending you health and wellness and encouragement; its coming through the keyboard, feel it yet?
Its worth it.
You’re worth it.
Start Physical Therapy today.
Ugh.
Went to dialysis this morning. I was dehydrated all weekend. I drank a bunch electrolyte water. I hadn’t felt thirst quenched like that for months.
So I was worried. I am generally on limited fluid intake. To make dialysis easier.
But, joy of joys it seems it didn’t hurt me.
Now I’m going into the place of torture, The Den of Despair. 
I don’t think I’ve ever had pleasant PT.
Please, oh please let it be a tiny, just graduated, young lady. Sven or Rocco, I do not need. Not at all.
I just wanna survive.
Cross your fingers.
Here I go…
You can do it!
I give all my Professional Torturers new names, from famous villains.
I bet Straight Dopers could create a Villainly List from which you may choose.
I’m serious! If I were to pass one of my PTs on the street, I’d say, “Oh look! It’s Snidely Whiplash!”
(My 
is with you, Beck, dear.)
~VOW
Thank you, my friend.
It was just about as terrible as I thought it was gonna be.
Head Therapist guy, I think he was actual doctor, said my arch was screwed, my Achilles tendon isn’t torn but very jacked, my break is tenuously healed and it would probably break again. I am walking improperly. The boot was fitted improperly. I was wearing it improperly.
The binding was creating a crutch and that was making my ankle plus Achilles tendon injury worse and it was applied improperly. My toes are curled improperly. The universe was spinning around me improperly and probably every oversight ever made about caring for starving children in some Amazon rain forrest was improperly, ummm …my fault too?
Personal property taxes went up? Yep. Just blame my foot.
Jeez. “Damn I’m sorry”, just don’t say enough.
I was passed to a nice Physical Therapist. She was gentle as she could be in trying to show me how to step down on my foot. It hurt. Ain’t gonna lie. I see what they’re saying.
My inclination is to walk forward on my toes, toward my big toe. Mainly, just possibly cause it hurts like f**k to walk any other way. To keep from doing this so much, I hop around.
Which has caused my opposite hip to hurt.
I’m gonna take one bad hop and face plant if I keep doing it. I just know it.
The therapist said I need to walk on the foot, very gently, correctly and do not trip or hurt it again.
Tough task. But I’m trying it.
The Dr. Therapist/Nazi prescribed a steroid shot in my foot.
I’m not gonna describe how the hell that felt. Good manners keeps me from cursing that much.
I survived. Basically.
Poor baby!
Steroid shots! I have to REALLY be in badshape to ask for one of those. They hurt. A LOT. I’ve had family members ask me, “If it hurts so bad, why do you get the damned thing?” And that’s a question I ask myself over and over!
I figured it out. The initial “discomfort” (translation: hurts like Hell) is because the doctor emptied the syringe into a tiny space. The resulting lump just sits there, pushing against everything, and all those little nerve endings get mad enough to bitch-bitch-bitch.
I got so upset for you at the PT’s evaluation of your injury. And I lay all the blame in the lap of the farting ortho who didn’t know what to do about your swelling. His whole “stick it in a box and pound it until it fits” philosophy is directly responsible for the list of “improperlies” the PT documented.
Can the PT fit you with an orthotic that will line everything up the way it should be? The time has finally arrived when you must wear shoes, from the moment you get up until you go to bed at night.
Ligaments, when stretched out of shape don’t really heal. Your ankle will be weak, forever more. So it’s quite important you cooperate with the dungeonmasters and learn how to walk all over again.
Parting thought. Take a sheet of paper, write on it with a Sharpie, in big letters “THE FARTING ORTHO” and put it at the bottom of the kitty litter tray. Pile the litter on top of your message, and let your cats use their mystical powers as they crap all over that jerk.
~VOW
Ouchie. I’ve had them into various places in my feetsies (plantar fasciitis etc.) and they are… unpleasant. I grip the arms of the chair, white-knuckled, and chant my matra.
None of that Ommmmmmm crap. It’s “Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit”.
Consider using a cane, if you are not already. Anything you can do to reduce a little pressure on the bad foot, and it’ll make walking around safer. You could alse use a knee walker - basically a scooter, where you kneel on it with your bad leg and propel yourself with the good one. Not useful if there are stairs anywhere, of course.
Yes, VOW new boot/sandal thing. Extremely hard to fit. My feet are very narrow. They got one to work tho’
I have a softer thing to wear at home. They want me to flex my arch some to keep that from falling entirely.
I’d love one of those knee scooters. But it’s really not necessary. I really don’t go out much.