Bunk’s AchillesBlog

2 week post-op visit. Got a new cast and told to come back in 2 weeks for another cast, then one week after that for another cast, then finally a walking boot at my 6 week post-op mark. I have spent the last 2 weeks reading dozens of blogs and articles and told him Id like a boot at the 4 week mark but he said no. It seems to me most people are in a boot and at the partial weight bearing stage within the first 4 weeks of surgery, but I wont be so lucky. Apparently I will be starting PT as soon as Im in the boot, and it will be an aggressive PT, so I’m glad for that.

Meanwhile my spirits are up. I’m probably at the tail end of the 5 stages of grief. I dont get many “what happened to you?” questions anymore. God that was annoying. Everyone seems to treat me like a normal person again, without looks of pity on their faces. Im back at work too, so that helps. Life with crutches is terrible. My wrists and elbows are sore. I get so tired that I crutch with bad form so its just a continuous cycle of pain and misery. Im tired of hopping up and down stairs. Pooping is awkward and annoying. Bathing/showering is a daily adventure all in its own. The level of respect I now have for people with permanent disabilities is astronomical.

Went to see the doc for a 1 week checkup. He just cut a hole in the back of the cast to check the wound. All was good. Putting on a happy face in front of everyone.

Im not happy.

The reality of my crippled existence is setting in. Popping percs to combat the emotional lows. I fucking hate crutches. I hate being in the way. I hate being slow. I hate being a burden. I hate asking for favors. Learning quickly who my real friends are.

Nerve block wore off. Holy shit.

Surgery day. I’ve never had surgery of any kind before, but I wasnt nervous. It was the best sleep I’ve ever had actually. Everything went well—was put in a fiberglass cast and given a bottle of percocet. Still numb and in shock about the whole situation.

The snap heard around the world. Playing pick-up basketball—probably the first time I’ve played in that intense of a game in years. My 27 year old left achilles couldnt handle it and down I went. I knew immediately what it was when I tried to stand back up but my foot would collapse within it self. ER doc confirmed it and I was officially a member of the club.

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