catheroominations

This morning I got up at o’dark thirty to do a trial workout with Team in Training. I haven’t had any flare-ups of my psoriatic arthritis for a couple of years, and I think I am done with ingrown toenails so now I really want to try and do a half marathon. Joining Team in Training (abbreviated as TNT, rather than tea-eye-tea for obvious reasons) will allow me to train correctly for a race, while raising money for Leukemia and Lymphoma research. Today was the first long run of the winter season, so I thought I’d check it out.

The captains separated everyone into groups and we had our choice of how far we wanted to run and what interval we wanted to do. I chose to run three miles, doing the run two minutes, walk one minute interval since I’m just getting back into the running thing. I aligned myself with some women who also looked new, and would hopefully not smoke me on the trail. I was able to keep an even pace, and talk during the running portions. When the three miles were over, I thought “that wasn’t so bad.” So, my race on Thanksgiving should be a piece of cake, since it’s just a 5K.

While we were on our run, one of the mentors was telling me how to avoid that second day soreness. She recommended ice baths. GAH! To me, a soak in the tub should be relaxing, warm, and comforting. But I will try anything if it means I can avoid the inability to sit down like a normal person. So when I got home, I put on my bathing suit, a sweatshirt and a scarf and ran the cold water into the bathtub. I went to the freezer and pulled out the tray of cubes from the ice maker. Daphne came into the bathroom, as she usually does int he mornings, when I am getting ready. She was sniffing around, looking for spiders to kill, and thought there might be one hiding the the bathtub. So, just like every other day, she jumped into the tub to investigate.

Poor Daph instantly tried to jump back out, but unable to grasp hold to anything with her claws, she was slipping and sliding and splashing water everywhere. She managed to fling herself out of the chilly water and make spastic puddles on the bathroom floor while making her tasmanian devilesque exit. I was howling with laughter and Matte could hear it, but didn’t know what had me going, until he saw the rabid and pissed off kitty fly into the living room.

The ice bath wasn’t so bad, actually. Yes, it was freezing, but it was also hilarious. Me in the tub bundled up in a sweatshirt, drinking a cup of hot cinnamon tea, while shivering and reading the Johnny-Depp-as-Sweeney-Todd cover story inEntertainment Weekly.

I think the frigid dip in the tub was less traumatic for me than it was for Daphne. But at least her muscles won’t be sore either.

In the continuing cat saga, I am ecstatic to report that Daphne ate food yesterday. She also ate one of my toe separators (I’m pretty sure anyway), which the vet was hoping she’d puke up, but didn’t. I’m seriously hoping it won’t have an ill effect on her. Anyway, last night when I got home from my first day back at work in 2 weeks, Matte and I witnessed Daphne scarfing her new food like she hadn’t eaten in days. Oh yeah, she hadn’t. Her nostrils had finally cleared up enough so she could smell the bits in the bowl. We were so happy, tears fell from our eye holes. Honest. That’s how worried we were that our little boo had gone the way of Nicole Richie. Perhaps we have an extreme love for our feline family, but we don’t care. We hiss and spit at your mocking, so there!

keep reading Random Tuesday Ramblings

I’ve gone and done it again.

I had an ingrown toenail removed today.

Why?

a) Because it was so much fun the first time and I longed to once again feel a 3-inch needle being forced through my foot
b) Because it’s Jenni’s birthday today
c) I wanted to try out my new medical insurance
d) Because if I didn’t, I feared my toe would fall off
e) I want an excuse to wear Birkenstocks to work
f) Shall I go on?

Ugh. I knew it. I knew it! My toe was hurting in a familiar way. Despite my fear of his massive needles, I gathered up the courage to call Dr. Robinson, podiatrist to the not-so-rich and not-so-famous.

I could tell when his nurse looked at Piggie #1 that I was in for torture, but I figured it’d be the same torture I had last time. Nay nay. Apparently I have crazy-ass toenails that want to grow and grow and cover more space than my toe will allow, which is why my big toes always feel like I just stubbed them one minute ago. My right toe? Infected. Dr. Robinson took care of that today, smiley-face to boot. But that’s not all! Along with this, I can look forward to a future procedure, which will be three times the fun! He needs to work on both my big toes, on each side of each nail. He needs to cut them away from the skin, and then he needs to do something to the skin so that my nails will stop hogging so much digital real estate. I don’t recall the exact terminology because I suddenly became deaf when he mentioned gashing my toes 3 more times. When he mentioned something about recovery for this 1-hour procedure being 3 weeks, my hearing miraculously returned.

“BUT I’M GOING TO DISNEYWORLD!”

He decided the more intense procedure could wait until I am back from my vacation. He was worried that the right toe might get worse, so he removed the yucky part of that nail today.

The good news is, I have Darvocet.

I loves me some Darvocet.

Nighty-night…

Today I visited Dr. Robinson, podiatrist to the stars my podiatrist. I’ve been having trouble with my big toe. It’s puffy, and red, and it stings. Whatever Brooklynite coined the phrase “the agony of da feet” knew what they were talking about. What? Oh, it’s “agony of defeat?” Ah. Never mind then.

Anyway, I went to see Dr. Robinson to have him check what I (and my BF) thought to be an ingrown toenail. Jeez, even reading those words, it’s just gross.

I’ve never had an ingrown toenail before, so I did a bit of research online. What I learned about treatment almost made me hurl. I hoped I wouldn’t have to endure the ickiness associated with any of that.

(If you’re eating, as you read this, what I’m about to describe could ruin your appetite. If you have a queasy stomach, do not continue. Go look at my cat making biscuits instead.)

Sho’nuff, our diagnosis was correct, but alas, I would not be spared the required treatment. Dr. Robinson put up a barrier so I couldn’t see what he was doing to my foot, and he explained the procedure as it progressed. I appreciated the barrier (aka barf shield) because if I had to watch, surely I’d have tossed my cookies.

Dr.: First I will spray a little anesthetic to numb the outside of the toe a bit.
(Spray hits toe.)
Me: Mmmkay. (Heh. That’s kinda tingly and cold. Nice. This might not be so bad.)
Dr.: Now I’ll inject something to numb the entire toe. It’ll start to feel like there’s a scarf wrapped around it.
Me: Mmmkay.
Dr.: I want you to count backwards from 100 to 1.
Me: Mmmkay.
Dr.: By threes.
Me: Uh…
Dr.: Or by ones is okay too.
Me: One hundred, ninety-seven, ninety-(dammit!)-four, ninety-one (mother @#$%!), eighty-eight, eighty-five, uhm, eighty-two, (holyshitthatneedlehurts!) seventy-nine, seventy-six, (How big IS* that needle anyway?) seventy-three (KELLY CLARKSON!!!), seventy, sixty-seven, six…six (S’cuse me, but when does the numbing start?) sixty four, sixty-one, fifty (Hey! I think it’s over) eight, fifty-five…
Dr.: You can stop now. Nice job with the counting.
Me: Yeah, nice distraction, but it still hurts (but I won’t cry or throw up).
Dr.: It’ll take about 10 minutes to get numb and then I’ll come in and Cut Out the Ingrown Part of the Nail.
Me: (Gulp.) Mmmkay.

As I sat there awaiting more torture, I looked through Running magazine. I found an interview with Dean Karnazes about how he manages to run for hours and hours, all over this planet, and not quit.

<tangent>
I first heard about Dean Karnazes when he was a guest on The Late Show. His passion for running fascinated me and I went out and bought his book the next day. When I was diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis (PA), I had to stop running, and that depressed me, so I never finished the book. Lately the PA isn’t bothering me so much, and I’m registered to run my first 1/2 marathon, barring any future ingrown toenails.
</tangent>

My toe started to feel kind of funky. As if it was expanding to gargantuan proportions like Fred Flintstone’s does when he drops a bowling rock on his foot. (On second thought, I think Fred’s toe smashes flat to the floor.) The imaginary scarf the doc mentioned tightened slightly, it’s warm fuzziness gently comforting my frightened hallux.

The nurse arrived to sterilize my toe. At first glance, the bristles on her scrubby brush made me cringe, but when she started to use it, I felt nothing. Whew. Then she poked (I guess) at my toe and asked if it hurt. Again, nothing. She told me I was ready for the doctor.

As he snipped away at the nail, I couldn’t help but wonder (look at me, I’m Carrie Bradshaw now) How much of my easiest-to-polish nail would remain? Would I be able to wear flip-flops this summer without scaring people? Would my pedicurist shudder at the sight of my newly-deformed toe? These are of course, very important questions. Forget the benefits of feeling better or avoiding such grossness and discomfort as an abscess. It’s all about appearance, folks.

The “surgery” took only a couple of minutes. When he was finished wrapping it, I saw him reach for a pen and figured he was going to date the bandage. When he lifted up the barricade, I saw why he needed the pen: