Cheers to the Cardinal's for an exciting season...
Will (second from the left in the back) and his Cardinal's teammates and coaches.
..and cheers to Will, our handsome little All-Star!
To carry on with the baseball theme, I had a bit of a curveball thrown at me this week. I'm sharing this against my husband's wishes. "No need to worry anyone unnecessarily," he's told me. But, heck, I haven't been "obeying" since the Baptist preacher at our wedding threw in the whole "honor and obey" bit during our vows (the look on my face and smile on my husband's face at that point in the wedding video is priceless).
The way I see it is this blog chronicles the ups and downs of weight loss and life as I approach my 40th birthday. I can't hold back now. So, here goes...
I woke up Tuesday morning with the alarm clock buzzing at 6:00 a.m. That's the time I set it for the night before thinking I'd actually squeeze a workout in before going to work. It was clear that going to the gym would be out of the question, given the intense pain in my right foot. I couldn't even walk on it and literally had to hop to the bathroom. It got worse and worse and was reminiscent of a similar incident I'd had about six years ago following a faculty/staff vs. students softball game at the college I work at.
After that game, I'd gone home only to discover a couple hours later that I couldn't walk on my foot. I hadn't injured it during the game, so it was a bit of a mystery. I drove myself to the emergency room (not one of my better ideas) because it was Will's bedtime and I thought it would be best if my husband stayed home with him. I tried to hop to the ER entrance until a nice lady brought out a wheelchair for me. The x-ray taken back then didn't show anything broken, and I was told it was just a sprain. So I hobbled home with the crutches they gave me and my tail between my legs feeling like the old, out-of-shape, former high school softball player that I was. The next morning, my foot was fine.
The episode this Tuesday felt the same. And I was cursing myself for getting rid of those wooden crutches from six years ago as I hobbled, hopped and held onto my husband's arm as we arrived to the doctor's office along with our kids.
Fortunately, they had a set of crutches, even though they were mismatched and had seen better days. I gladly took them and did my best to maneuver myself around with them while not breaking my neck. The doctor was a bit perplexed by my sudden onslaught of pain. He asked if I had had an abnormally hard sleep the night before. I hadn't. He poked and prodded various parts of my foot and ruled out gout and planters fasciitis. I was pleased because they both sounded pretty nasty.
Then he said, just to be sure, he wanted me to get some lab work done to test for rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, and lyme disease, and also to test the general percentage of swelling in my body (or something to that effect). Then, he wanted me to get an x-ray and prescribed an anti-inflamatory.
And before we knew it, there was our plan for Christian's and the kids' Summer Break: Day 7. We went to the lab, got my blood drawn, drove to John Muir in Concord, waited in the waiting room, got my x-ray, drove to Raley's, and picked up my prescription.
Trying to navigate around on crutches with the most excruciating pain you can imagine was brutal. And the simple bumping on the freeway in our car jarred my right foot enough that it nearly brought me to tears. When we got to the parking lot, the thought of having to make my way on crutches all the way across the parking lot, down the long corridor to the radiology department did cause me to have a brief meltdown. Fortunately, a nice man in a red polo shirt, I believe he was a volunteer for the hospital, wheeled out a wheelchair and pushed me to the radiology waiting room. Bless him.
After a bit of a wait, we finished the x-ray and Christian wheeled me out with our three-year-old daughter Piper on my lap. She sucked her thumb, like she does when she gets tired. It had been a long day already, for both of us.
The next day, I stayed home from work again. My ankle/foot was still swollen and hurt, but I was able to walk without the crutches. The doctor called late that afternoon and told me that the x-ray turned out fine, but that my lab work turned up positive for rheumatoid arthritis. Of course, he added, sometimes these tests turn up false positives.
I could joke about how I'm falling apart the closer I get to 40-years-old, particularly given the theme of my blog. But I can't quite bring myself to make light of it. I think I've spent too much time on Wikipedia and WebMD, not to mention the message boards for those dealing with rheumatoid arthritis. If that ain't enough to scare you.
Hopefully the doctor is right, maybe it is a false positive. But somehow, with the knee issue I was having and my other foot incident six years ago, I'm starting to wonder if there is something to it. I'll learn more after my first visit with the Rheumatologist on Monday.
With all that's gone on the last few days, the impact of a 3-pound weight gain this week hasn't hit me as hard as it might have before. Perhaps some of it is water weight....my ankle is still pretty swollen. I kept on track with my diet this week, so the weight gain is a bit of a medical mystery as well.
I told myself I was going to get back to the gym tonight since I haven't gone since last Sunday. But, I think I'm going to feel sorry for myself for one more evening. Instead, I'm going to kick my feet up on the couch, put an ice pack on my right foot, watch the NBA Finals with my family, and have a glass of 2-point Chardonnay.
Here's this week's pic.
Until next week,