Crushing Krisis

I sprained my left ankle this summer.

(Have I really not mentioned that? It feels like all my life has been about for months. Remember when we could say these things on our blogs without fear that they would not be later hoovered up in a Google search of our lives as proof we have some kind of pre-existing condition?)

I don’t know how I sprained it. All I know is that I uncharacteristically spent the prior day walking around in flip flops. Clearly they ought to carry some sort of warning label.

Anyway.

After a miserable day of limping around my office I did all of the things you are supposed to do: ice, heat, keeping it wrapped, staying off it. I am a good patient, even when I’m not under a doctor’s care.

Except, it never got better. Not really. I kept limping around, hobbling up stairs. And, forget about anything active. The gym went by the wayside, and I had to turn down summer hikes and camping with friends.

My life began synonymous with my left ankle being in pain if I did anything other than sit still. I started doing a lot more sitting still. And, yes, I did eventually go to the doctor – who agreed that I was definitely in pain, but did not have much else to offer me.

I am very, very blessed with good physical health, and I’ve never had to endure any kind of pain for more than a week or two. And, honestly, this is a silly joke compared to the chronic pain many people – my friends! – endure every day of their lives. They, too, get a reminder with every step.

On Monday, in the midst of filling bathtubs and buckets during Hurricane Sandy, I realized my ankle hadn’t bothered me all day. Maybe it’s the anxiety, I surmised. But, I couldn’t help but smile about taking the stairs at my normal speed as I ferried my buckets around the house.

It felt fine on Tuesday, too. Yesterday I wore a pair of boots to work I haven’t worn in months. I smiled down at them all day.

Now, on day four of being pain free, I think it’s safe to say my ankle is all better. I kind of want to go on a celebratory jog. More than that, it means this is my first pain-free week in months. I didn’t realize the psychological effect of that. I’ve been hearing for weeks that I don’t seem like “my normal energetic self.”

I don’t know how people with chronic pain ever wear a smile, let alone act like their energetic selves, normal or not. I just had a bit of low grade ankle pain and I became a miserable shut-in.

I think I may do a lot of skipping today.

I am not getting larger – my clothes are shrinking.

This does not sound like an Occam’s Razor sort of solution to the button-busting problem of my too-tiny garments. Logic dictates that I probably gained a few pounds at the wrong places. The systematic shrinking of all of my clothing by a single size is probably not the answer.

This sent me into a paroxysm of obsessive weight-checking. I would catch my sneaky body gaining a pound like catching a kid with his hand in the candy dish. I would also keep my hand out of the candy dish.

Nothing. I actually lost a pound, sans candy dish. So, lesson learned, on that front.

I was stumped, and also barely squeezing into my jeans. So, I went with my gut (oh, the puns) and called the plumber. I’ll mention that our plumber already thinks I am a little crazy – he’s the one that put a new spigot on the side of the house after I crashed the car into the old one.

“I know there is no cold water,” I explained on the phone to his service, “because I cannot fit into any of my clothes. Also, they all steam when they come out of the wash.”

That’s what the plumber and I discussed yesterday while the washer spun empty, bone-dry circles on the cold cycle.

“Looks like it’s not getting any cold,” he said.

“Yup,” I replied.

“But there is cold coming out of the wall.”

“Really?”

“Yup,” he replied.

“So why isn’t the washer using it?”

“Good question.”

I feel relieved and empowered by this revelation. I was not growing, for real for real. My clothes were shrinking – for sure. Now I’m wondering what other unobvious, Occam-defying explanations for problems in my life I have been dismissing in favor of the most likely answer.

However, there’s still the matter of half of my clothes no longer fitting me.

“Hey,” he said, as he reconnected a hose to the port on our wall, “how’s that new spigot working out for you?”

“It’s great.” I paused. “Actually knowing I have a few extra inches on that side of the driveway makes it easier to pull the car. I’m not as worried about hitting it, so I just do the whole thing better.”

See?