One year today!

Yes, it’s Happy Birthday to…. my new right Achilles!

Today - October 14th - marks the first anniversary of my ATR. Okay, so I’ve jumped the gun slightly time-wise; it’s now (checks watch) 13.39 UK time and, strictly speaking, I should wait until approximately 20.30 UK time before truly calling it, but so what? A few hours surely doesn’t matter. At around 20.30 tonight, I just might pour myself a glass of wine and toast a very significant anniversary. My wife’s out and both my children will be/should be sound asleep in bed, so it’ll be a few moments of quiet reflection, but I’ll enjoy those moments. At  20.30 on October 14, 2009, I was sitting, crumpled on the floor of squash court 1 in my local leisure centre, head turning from the direction of the spectator balcony/gallery (”who threw that rather hard object into the back of my leg, knocking me to the floor?”) to my ruined AT and the sickening, panicked feeling as the realisation of my injury became clear. My squash partner may have been telling me I’d torn a calf muscle, but the absence of my achilles tendon - in its place an area of soft, fleshy skin - told its own story.

Those first few weeks were hard. I mean hard. And for those of you on this site who are in that stage, I can truly sympathise and empathise and tell you, from my experience, that there is no way around this period. No shortcuts. It’s a time to be patient, to slow down, to listen to the advice you are given, to bite down on the frustration you feel. To not expect those around you - friends and relatives, though I’m sure many of yours are helping - to fully understand what you’re going through. To use this website, because it’s the best support network you’ll find.

But I’ll also tell you this: know that it gets better, because it will. I had some ‘fun’ in those first few weeks: back at work after a couple of days, I forced myself to crutch to a nearby supermarket to buy some lunch, arriving sweating and out of breath, arms throbbing, before realising I couldn’t carry my lunch and walk on the crutches, so I turned and went back. I got so teared up at the sight of my AT and ankle three weeks in - first cast removal at the hospital - that the nurse quickly offered me sweets to make ‘you feel better, pet’ (I was 34 years old). The total feeling, in general, of being helpless, useless, a burden. The disagreements with my wife, who suddenly couldn’t depend on my support in all the usual areas of running the family home and let me know about it (in all seriousness, it wasn’t a great time and, even now, when it’s recalled it leads to tension). And, later, when I had my boot on, the time I had to catch the bus home from work, missed my stop, didn’t realise for some time and then eventually had to get the driver to stop about two miles from where I needed to be. I trudged home, in my boot, in the snow. And haven’t told anyone (at all) until now.

If you haven’t read my previous posts - and I haven’t posted on here for at least six months, though I’m a frequent visitor to read blogs and updates - I opted to go non-op and though I fretted about that decision for ages afterwards, my recovery went smoothly, or at least has for a year. I was fortunate to be able to call upon BUPA treatment through my employer to arrange physio sessions and my physio was absolutely brilliant, my salvation, in many ways. Sessions were weekly, then fortnightly, then monthly, then alternating between her offices and the gym. I guess I had the best part of six months of physiotherapy, and then I was done.

Now? Well, I haven’t done anything bold. Perhaps I should. I’m asked - quite a lot - if/when I’ll play squash again, and I’m adamant that I won’t. I miss it, because I enjoyed it and I played against a good friend, but it’s tempting fate too much to play again, especially now I know what I know and that’s actually a high-risk sport for ATR. Instead, I’ve bought a bike, which hasn’t been used too much but certainly will when Spring comes around again and now I’ve taught my son to ride without his stabilisers. Also, I’ve started running. Not huge distances, but I’m building up and, surprisingly, enjoying it more than I thought I would. First few times, I did feel soreness in my AT, but that’s lessened and lessened and I think the running has done it some good. Last time out was two days ago, and I felt no reaction.

I do get the odd reminder about the injury, and it’s always after something unexpected. Recently, I had a pretty active weekend - nothing strenuous but just two bust days, lots of walking, gardening, a long drive back and forth to London on the Saturday, a night out with friends which saw me standing up most of the time, and, come the end of the weekend, I did feel sore. A quiet Sunday evening and it quickly settled.

In many years, it’s been a long year but in others, I’m surprised how quickly it’s come round. I’d say month 1-5 was quite slow; from 5-6 months onwards it’s been like normal life again. Which it has. Truthfully, I don’t think my right AT will ever be like it was, but I expect further improvement over the coming months and I think about it all much less.

From time to time, however, I do think about how it’s all mended, the process my own body went through to repair itself and, actually, it takes my breath away. Every time. When I think about it, it’s pretty amazing. The thought of it never fails to move me.

So that’s the update on my survey. To old friends on here, I hope your recoveries continue to go well. And to new friends I haven’t yet met…. I wish you all the very, very best. You will be fine.

Five Month Review

Last Sunday, the 14th, I hit the five month milestone; five months since the night of the fateful ATR. Since October 2009, the 14th of every month has become increasingly significant. It’s not a date I’ll ever forget. Little did I realise, as I curled up on the sofa at home watching Sunday night TV with my wife and reflected on what I was doing five months previously – sitting in sweaty squash gear, clenching my teeth against the pain, willing the doctors at A&E to call my name next, looking at my lower leg and wishing – wishing – that they would contradict the evidence of my own eyes and tell me, no, no, you’ve popped a calf muscle, not ruptured your Achilles tendon at all – that, somewhere else in the world, the nightmare was just starting for a man the same age as me, but considerably more famous.

David Beckham’s six days older than me. I interviewed him once; nearly ten years ago, his son, Brooklyn (then just a few months old) sat on his lap and gurgled throughout the 20 minute chat. Made us both laugh. I thought then that Beckham was a decent, solid guy. So I felt pretty bad for him on Monday morning when I heard the news, went online, and read about what happened in detail.

What struck me about Beckham was, from the footage I saw, that it happened, much like mine, in such an innocuous way. I guess many of us can empathise with that – jogging in the centre circle, no-one near him, bang! It’s snapped. He knew straight away, apparently. Perhaps he heard that dreaded sound. The other thing has been the quotes attributed to his surgeon. I have no doubt he’s an expert in his field (probably the No.1 in the world) but to suggest Beckham will be ‘light running’ at two months is very optimistic, so is kicking a ball at three months. He did stress jumping would be 3-4 months and, while I would never want to dismiss Beckham’s drive to return, I think he’s got a very real battle on his hands to play again. If he’s playing competitively by the end of the calendar year, he’ll have done well. Good luck, David.

So, I’ve been thrown off course a bit in this blog. What of me? Well, as of roughly two weeks ago I feel I’ve turned a bit of a corner. “A massive corner,” said my physio, when I mentioned this. From nowhere, the limp suddenly reduced significantly, swelling was rare, colour was better. I’ve now had a couple of gym sessions, focusing mainly on bike, cross-trainer and various stretches; the stretches have been toughest, but my physio is really pleased with my progress. So much so that my manual sessions with her (ultrasound, massage) have thinned out to every four weeks.

From here on in, it’s down to me to step up the gym work and push on. I can’t run properly or fluidly yet, so that’s the next thing I want to do. I can manage a heel raise on my right foot only, albeit just a few inches – but it’s a start. Jumping, etc is still a way off. In terms of returning to how I was before, I’m about 50% of the way there (says physio). In that context, plenty still to do but I’m grateful for how far I’ve come and there’s the odd little reminder to take my time; earlier this afternoon I turned sharply with my right foot planted and got a little shooting pain. Just a little warning.

Take care, all, and continued good luck in your recoveries.

Week 18: Back in the gym

Well, I say ‘back’ in the gym - I was never a regular gym goer or member anywhere, anyway.

My physio sessions have now settled down into every two weeks, which I guess is a sign of my progress. But my physio thinks I’ve reached a stage in my recovery where I need to push on to the next level and she’s right; since early Jan I’ve been able to drive again, walk with a limp (some days quite an obvious limp, others much less so) and generally function fairly normally again. I’ve been swimming a fair bit and doing my home exercises, but she’s of the opinion that I need to ’step it up’, or I’ll ‘plateau’ in my recovery. Which is what I don’t want; whatever my sporting ambitions are from now on (squash is definitely out, competitive football too - I love the game, but who am I kidding? I’m 34 and hadn’t played properly for over a year before my injury anyway) I want to be able to chase my kids in the garden this summer and kick a ball around with them without struggling.

So, she fixed an appointment for me at a gym just around the corner from work. I met her there. It’s a pretty smart place, used by a few of my work colleagues, and the gym has an arrangement with my physiotherapists to treat injured clients there.

Once changed, it was on to the work. Low resistance stuff on the bike, low resistance stuff on the cross trainer. Bike was fine, no problems there. Cross trainer a bit tricky, especially when my physio told me to take my arms off and make the legs work. Then some heel stretches (standing on the edge of a cross trainer, trying to push heels down) and finally, some work on the leg press. That was tough, but good. I did well with both legs together, then did injured leg on its own with much lower weight, and the good leg the same.

I was pleased with how I did. After doing barely anything for four months, it was tough on my legs, and the injured ATR/ankle area was not so much screaming as muttering under its breath afterwards. Not pain, just that kind of fatigued ache, almost a pleasant soreness, afterwards. First time it’s been worked for a while. Good for the confidence, too, to do some leg press reps with the injured foot and feel okay.

I iced at home later that night because I did feel tender, and I’m feeling it more than usual today. But I have an appointment with the physio later today, which is well planned and timed on her part, to work away any little aches.

The only downside came when I enquired about a short term membership to the gym (three months) and was quoted a huge sum by the manager. Plus, he asked what injury I had and started banging on about ‘you know surgery makes a quicker recovery, don’t you? You know that, don’t you?’ Which obviously hacked me off no end. Perhaps I should have listened to a gym manager four months ago instead of my GP, the fracture clinic consultant, the studies I read online…

So I doubt I’ll sign up to go there. Shame - great facilities, lovely wooden lockers, coffee bar, etc. The one close to my home is shabby by comparison but still has bikes, etc, so I think I’ll start going there instead!

Best wishes to all of you.


Reality Check

Nothing like a visit to the physio to bring you crashing down to earth…

My first visit of 2010 (actually since Dec 23, so over two weeks) to mine was last Friday, and it’s fair to say I was in decent spirits. Now driving again with no discomfort, leading a reasonably normal life again, walking without aid, albeit with a limp (but it’s only a limp, right?) Over Christmas, I’d been sensible, not even attempted driving until the whole holiday was nearly over, not pushed myself, taken it easy, and made a conscious effort to walk heel to toe (as instructed) rather than hobbling.

Well, I certainly noticed my two-week absence from physio. The calf muscle was very tight, and the massage painful (though still, oddly, enjoyable). Then my physio moved on to heel raises. First time I’ve tried those. And those were an eye-opener. Both feet together? Not bad, even if I obviously used left foot first, then tended to transfer weight. But when I was asked to try right foot on its own… no chance. A combination of reluctance and lack of power kept my foot flat.

So, now I realise what a long, long, way there is still to go. I’ve been given a stronger theraband for my exercises, and I’ve got to do 3-4 sets of heel raises a day. They’re going okay. And I’ve been told to go swimming and cycling (gym bike for now while the weather is like this) to increase strength and flexibility. The resting stage is over, I think: time to step it up (with caution!) and start working my ATR.

A new year…

Happy New Year, everyone. I sincerely hope you all had a lovely Christmas.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I last posted. I decided to use the holiday period as exactly that - a holiday period, not just from work but also from worrying about my Achilles tendon. It’s dominated the last two months of my life, and I wanted a rest. So, though I’ve been reading blogs and comments on here, I’ve refrained from posting.

An update from me: since I posted last, it’s been a case of progress. Steady? Perhaps. Slow? Absolutely. I’ve been out of the boot for two weeks and I can’t say my walking has improved drastically, though maybe I’m being hard on myself. Stamina’s definitely improved, but I do feel as if I have a pronounced limp still.

Last physio appointment was Dec 23rd. I’m due back in this Friday. Last time out, the physio got me walking properly - ie, not just limping flat footed, but using and working the tendon. She actually said, upon examining me, that I have a ‘good looking’ Achilles injury (which is about the best compliment I’ve had for these past few months) because it’s not bumpy or inflamed. She said the strength is good, the range of motion needs work, so that’s what I’ve been trying to do with the theraband exercises.

The UK snow and ice meant I couldn’t do much walking in the week leading up to Christmas Day. The week since has been better. I’ve taken my daughter out a couple of times for long walks (walking with a buggy is good for the support!). I have found, at the end of some days, that my ankle is quite swollen and stiff, so I ice it up and that helps. Come the morning, it’s back to normal. So I know I need to look after it. In terms of walking, I feel okay but the limp’s still there. I can walk normally UP the stairs but not DOWN, taking it a step at a time, like a child.

Big news is, I’m driving again, which is brilliant. The physio advised me not to drive over Christmas and while the bad weather was on, and to wait until I returned to work (today, Jan 4). But after leaving it for 10 days, I drove to my local supermarket on NY Eve (only about a two mile round trip) and it felt okay. Two days later, I drove my son to his Saturday morning gymnastics class, which is further away, perhaps 10-15 miles all round (I think my wife almost wept with relief). Another short supermarket trip on Sunday morning, and then into work (about 7-8 miles) this morning. Taking it easy, it seems fine. It strikes me that there’s less pressure on the AT area driving than standing on my feet.

Overall, life is 100% better than two months ago, but the frustration remains: next week brings the three-month mark and I’m still limping, fairly noticeably. I look forward to my physio judging my progress on Friday.

Bye boot (sort of)

After last week’s fiasco, it was back to the hospital this morning for clearance to take off the boot, and move to ‘two shoes’. I was late arriving due to my lift running behind schedule and the poor condition of the roads (why does it have to snow this December? Of all the Decembers in my lifetime!?!) but the fracture clinic was pretty quiet and after waiting 30 mins or so, I was in.

Bit of confusion when the nurses saw me, obviously not needing anything plastering or cutting off, but as soon as I explained, all was clear. My consultant arrived and - for the first time during my treatment - examined the AT area. He ran his fingers along the tendon a few times, fairly slowly, and pronounced that it was ‘as good a result as you can hope for’. Very often, he said, you’d expect a small gap somewhere at this stage but he couldn’t detect one. Then he got me kneeling on a chair to do the old Thompson test. It worked. I passed. And he cleared me to ditch the boot.

I haven’t completely ditched it, though. It’s mine to keep and with the snow and ice on the ground, I elected to leave the hospital wearing it. Steady Eddie, that’s me. My consultant thought I’d be better off with the boot I’d bought - a kind of walking boot, the like of which I’d never wear other than on a snowy day, but it’s easy for him to say. He’s not making his first steps for nearly 10 weeks.

So I left in the Aircast. Later on, at work, I put the shoe on, and hobbled about a bit. Not bad. I think I’ll adopt this approach for the next couple of days - outside, while pavements are iffy, the Aircast boot. Inside, and when the weather clears up, the shoe.

Good news, then. Things feel okay. Been told I can drive when I can do an emergency stop (how will I know that, before driving) so when the weather’s a little better, I might have a tentative go.

More physio on Wednesday, then Christmas. If I don’t post again before the big day, Merry Christmas, all. We deserve a good one, this year particularly.

Not a good day

I’m still in the boot.

And here’s why…

Having arrived at the hospital yesterday morning, bright and breezy at 8.45am ready for my 9am appointment, clutching a bag containing a pair of Nike trainers and the right shoe to match the one I was wearing on my left foot, plus my crutches (for the first time in well over a week), I was ushered into the plaster room. A new nurse, one who I’d never met before, took one look at my bag and said: “what’s in that?”

“Shoes,” I said.
“Why have you got shoes?”
“Because I was told to bring them… I’m supposed to be coming out of the boot today, and leaving in shoes.”

Cue much puzzled looks as the nurse checked my notes before finally concluding that my consultant hadn’t been clear enough in his instructions, and so she was uncomfortable ‘clearing’ me to come out of the boot. Great.

The next 30 minutes were spent with her trying to locate my consultant (not answering his phone, or responding to being bleeped), calling my regular nurse (the ‘jelly baby lady’ who had told me she would be working that morning because it was important I see someone who knew me and my treatment - but she was absent and seemingly unhelpful on the phone, oddly), and attempting to contact several other consultants, with no luck. My main consultant - who I have never met - was in theatre.

So, overall confusion. It seemed to have been caused by the fact that usually I’m in on Fridays, but am unavailable to come in this Friday, which I had made clear on my last visit, which is why something had been arranged for the 16th instead. As I explained - trying not to explode in a rage - to the nurse, this had all been arranged with my consultant and the usual nurse present. It hardly helped that I’ve probably been treated by four nurses in the plaster room over the last two months, and none of them were there yesterday. I felt like a stranger who’d gatecrashed a party.

In the end, we arranged something for next Monday, the 22nd. Which is fine by me - it’s actually no hassle being in the boot for another few days, but it WAS a hassle getting a friend to pull a favour at work to start a little later so he could drop me at Peterborough District Hospital en route to Cambridge, it WAS  a hassle spending so much time sorting things out there that I then missed - by a whisker, I saw the train pull away - my train from P’Boro station to Stamford, and it WAS  a hassle having to wait another hour for a train (I thought a ten-minute train journey was easier than dealing with buses). When I finally arrived at Stamford, I waited for a work colleague to come and collect me (he’d been there for the original train I didn’t get, had to go back to work and then come back out..) and stood in the drizzling rain feeling pretty hacked (a polite version) off.

So to  Monday. In the meantime, it’s another physio session with my saviour this afternoon, and I’ve also been on to my regular GP to see if he can refer me to the nearest private hospital for an ultrasound scan, and maybe some proper medical attention.

No gripes about how the nurse acted - she more or less confessed that I could sue the NHS if she just allowed me to walk/hobble out of the door and re-injured myself and I guess she hasn’t got the authority to discharge me - but I’m very unhappy about the administrative mess that caused all this. I was advised (by the nurse) to make a formal complaint as I’d been mis-managed (her words) but whether I will or not remains to be seen. I’d rather just heal if it’s all the same to you, NHS.

PS: still can’t post comments on your blog, chana, so here goes: great news about your progress! Delighted for you.

What (not) to wear…

The big question… not what I’m going to wear to my Christmas party on Friday, but what to adorn my right foot with on Wednesday morning when I report to the plaster room at the hospital. The boot is coming off (well, I can take it off myself, so that’s no drama) and I expect to be in two shoes (scary stuff). Given the attitude of the NHS so far, I’m expecting little in the way of advice, so it’ll be boot off, shoe on, see ya later.

Any suggestions what I should bring with me? My physio said ’something with a heel’ but that just induced us both into giggles and I then I forgot what we actually settled on. A work shoe, I think, with a bit of support. But I was thinking a trainer.

Any thoughts?


Determined not to ‘waste’ the three weeks before my next appointment – which should be when I’m cleared to take off the boot and therefore move to two shoes – I made some enquiries last week and arranged my first meeting with a physio. I’m fortunate enough that the job I started in April comes with private healthcare as part of the package, and although there’s an excess charge to pay every calendar year (so I’ll get clobbered for it now and then again in a month) I decided to go for it. I was dreading the thought of coming out of the boot a week before Christmas, then spending the whole holiday with no physio guidance and just waiting for an appointment in the New Year.

A place just outside Stamford was recommended to me (Graham, you’ll perhaps know it… where have you been going?) and I arranged an initial one-hour consultation.

I’m delighted I did. Apart from anything else, it was a relief to properly discuss the injury with someone who knows their stuff; my consultant has barely glanced at my Achilles this whole time, friends and family have done their best but I don’t think any of them truly realise what it’s all about (and why should they?). This site, and the people on it, have been my main support throughout.

So, we discussed the injury: how it happened, how it’s been treated, etc. Physio didn’t state a preference for conservative or surgery – just said there’s as much chance of a re-rupture after surgery as conservative as the surgically repaired tendon sometimes heals too thick, and there’s a rupture just below or above it. I think, by now, I’ve just about given up on there being a definitive cause of treatment!

Then we did some very gentle movement exercises (boot off, obviously). Just moving my foot forward and back a couple of inches. Tell you what – it’s a very, very, humbling experience when someone is holding your foot and helping you move it a matter of inches AND IS PLEASED with what you can do. I needed a bit of help and encouragement – and reassurance that nothing could go wrong doing the exercises – at first and then was able to move the foot myself. It felt okay, not sore. I managed to get plantar flexion (pulling toes towards me, right?) without too much difficulty; dorsiflexion (or pointing toes down) a little tougher, but not too bad.

Then there was a spot of massage – relatively pain free. Physio thought I should be feeling a bit of pain at least, so not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing. Finally, some treatment on something which looked like an industrial-sized Tens machine; ankle strapped and electronic pulses used on it. Intensity gradually increased as I could stand it. Was fairly painful, in a pins and needles kind of way, but bearable. It did take a while for me to feel anything, though – physio said she thought I’d lost some of the sensitivity in the area. She also thought, because of the way my foot/ankle was positioned at rest, that I may have tweaked my ankle ligaments too at the same time.

In conclusion, I’m looking at a lengthy course of physio, but at least I’ve got started. I’ve another session later this week, then it’s boot off (she’s advised me to keep the crutches for then and also take some painkillers before I go to the hospital), and another session the day after. She’s hoping to squeeze a couple of sessions in over the Christmas break, which is fine for me as the physiotherapy offices are only about two miles from my home.

A couple of interesting points: just like the staff in the hospital plaster room, my physio commented on my right ankle bone (outer leg) and assumed a too-tight cast had caused its dryness. Not so: it’s always been prone to looking dry and a bit puffy, ’scruddy’, as my little boy puts it. Now the physio thinks that might be a tell-tale sign that all was not right in the ankle/Achilles area. Secondly, she says once I’m ‘fixed’ she’s going to do some further work to try and find out why it happened in the first place, and to try and make sure whatever weakness caused it is also fixed.

So, so far my recovery programme has been:

2 days in over the knee emergency A&E cast

3 weeks in Equinus, just below the knee cast

3 weeks in mid-Equinus just below the knee cast

3 weeks in the Aircast ‘Beckham’ boot

I’ve been given some hand-written exercise instructions to do at home (gentle movements in or out of bath, knee raises, icing, massage) in the meantime.

Take care everyone.

Boot Camp

So. I now have an Aircast boot on.

Last Friday was my third appointment at the fracture clinic and the scheduled date for coming out of cast, and into a boot. I wasn’t convinced that would actually happen and spent the morning thinking I’d end up in a fresh cast instead. But, on arrival at the clinic, I was handed my notes and saw I’d been authorised for the boot. My spirits were pretty high; more so when I sat down in the waiting room, saw it empty (usually packed on a Friday) and realised I was first up.

Be careful what you wish for, they say.

My cast was removed, a brand new boot unwrapped, and my foot eased into it. As is his way, my consultant strolled in, smiled his movie star smile, said hello, and went to stroll off again. I collared him to ask him my questions (as he edged closer to the door) and then he left me to it.

“Put a wedge in,” he said. “Take it out after a couple of days. See you on the 16th, when we’ll take it off.”

With that, he disappeared.

The two nurses (nurses?) in the plaster room eased me into the boot. It felt okay. A bit of a pull on the Achilles, but not much. One of them explained the air valve system, and pumped me up. Then they told me to stand.

I panicked, and lunged for my crutches like a drowning man scrabbling for a lifebelt. No way was I giving the crutches up, just yet.

I hobbled out of the plaster room. The clinic was still empty. I looked at my watch; I’d been in about 20 minutes. I went to the coffee shop. They were out of milk and so, confusingly, couldn’t make me a black coffee. I bought a soft drink, found a seat, and sat.

And sat.

And sat.

I pondered. I now had a hefty contraption on my foot which felt like a lead weight. I had no idea if the injured ATR was healing. I’d been given no guidance on physio - other than it would be discussed when the boot came off in three weeks time.

When I got home later, it felt as if I’d gone backwards. Still using crutches, but feeling more inhibited. Couldn’t get comfy to sleep. Awkward getting dressed.

Now it’s several days later, and I feel better. Slowly, I’ve got used to the boot. I can walk on it quite well. I’m rarely using both crutches - only really if I’m actually outside. Inside, it’s one crutch, or none. Progress.

As for the Achilles… it’s been great to get it washed and bathed… but also scary. I do a lot of staring at it. And quite a bit of talking to it too, if I’m honest. This is the right foot that - allow me to brag a little here - has scored some pretty spectacular goals when I was playing football regularly. Now it looks forlorn, and lost, and weak. I’ve barely moved it.

So where am I now? Well, last night’s bath showed me that the swelling has gone down considerably - since I’ve been able to put weight on the foot, that has improved drastically. And, mindful of my next appointment and the close proximity of Christmas, I’ve arranged a physio appointment for Friday afternoon. It’s an initial consultation, obviously, but I’m looking forward to having an hour of someone’s time to properly talk about the ATR and what I might be able to do right now in terms of some basic, gentle, movement exercises.

That’s all for now. Keep reading, and keep healing, folks.

Next Page »