By Ruth Ann Ruiz
The Post Newspaper Features Editor
Tropical flowers I planted in the spring are now dry stems hanging out of their pots. Vinca, which can survive through droughts, are blooming. There is a layer of dust covering the furniture inside my house. Under the table sits a camera bag, unopened for more than a month.
Why? Because I tripped on a sidewalk while taking photos with my camera in December 2020.
I limped several blocks home, after I tripped. My camera was okay, and I could walk — kind of. The injury seemed like just a bad sprain. The extreme pain of it lessened, but my ankle continued to hurt and to feel unstable.
In the spring of 2022, an X-ray showed there was a little piece of bone broken off my tibia, and some ligaments were not attached to anything. Inserting plates and screws to hold together what had come apart would repair this damage, a physician assistant said.
This proposed treatment plan was not cool. I had plans to be in Ireland, so I consulted with an ankle surgeon, who assured me I was okay enough for my Irish photo journey, though I would need surgery further down the road.
No one wants to go through surgery, at least no one I’ve known. I had put off having my left hip replaced till I couldn’t walk anymore without stopping every few yards. So, I figured I could put off ankle surgery and go enjoy Ireland.
Pain in my ankle escalated, and I was ready for surgery by late 2022. But first, I needed to make my way through a maze of medical red tape.
By spring 2023, I had cut through the red tape, and an MRI had revealed a torn tendon and a bunch of junk/ossification kind of stuff that would all need to be addressed. The surgeon I selected was confident that he could repair my damaged ankle very quickly in an out-patient setting.
The broken bone chip would be removed, and I’d have some surgical wire left inside to keep the ligaments where they need to be. I’d come out of the surgery with a lengthy scar where the surgeon would cut open my ankle to fix my torn tendon. Yuck. I didn’t want another scar.
But what caused me lots of anxiety was the post-surgery recovery process. Five to six weeks with a cast, and without bearing weight on my right leg was a daunting thought.
And prepping for the surgery took some thought and organization. Because I have a two-story house, I had to move my life downstairs. This process included adding a twin bed to my living room.
Hallelujah, and thank you, Jesus, and thank you to my daughter, Kristy. She was an angel. She arrived the day before surgery and assisted my move downstairs and made sure we had groceries in the house for both of us.
While my daughter was at the grocery store, I frantically called a friend. There was one detail that had slipped my mind.
Through my tears and erratic speech, I was able to communicate to her that I needed help getting up the four stairs and into my house when I returned from surgery. She was another of the angels God sent my way.
As Kristy was bringing me home after surgery, we turned the corner, and we saw that Cathy, my friend, was standing in my front yard with two young men who looked to me like surfers. The transition from car to my front door was managed perfectly and with great care for me.
Kristy was with me for the first week. She worked for her job remotely upstairs while I rested downstairs. Her attention to healthy eating may have started her mom on a new path.
She drove me to my first post-op appointment in Clear Lake. We had one of the young men come over, and Kristy and he assisted me down the stairs. Another friend came to help me back up the stairs.
The stairs up to my house became a formidable challenge that kept me trapped at my house.
As Kristy drove off to her home in Austin, I froze with fear for a few hours, I just sat and sat. That lasted for just so long, then I had to get stuff done — like make a sandwich and eat.
Food delivery after my daughter left was managed by a couple friends and members of the Society of St Vincent De Paul (STVDP) of Holy Family Parish. I have volunteered with STVDP for seven years. Now I found myself on the receiving end of STVDP’s work.
After my first meal delivery from a woman fondly referred to as Mama Jo, I knew I would need someone to visit me the next day, so I sent her a text asking her to please come visit again.
Even though Mamma Jo is in her 80s and the summer heat has been at its worst, she came over numerous times to visit. We both looked forward to our conversations which would meander from the history of the parish to solving problems for the less fortunate.
Other members of STVDP drove me to my medical appointments, and always, there were two people to help me down and back up my stairs. Though I did not call on all the members, they assured me if I needed them, they would be there for me.
One of my nagging sources of pre-surgery anxiety were the critters that are bothersome at nighttime in the Texas summer.
Sure enough, in the wee hours of one Sunday morning while the moon was still out, I was going after some of Texas’ famous wood roaches with bug spray. I rolled over my toes with the scooter that night. Managing the knee scooter was a breeze when I rehearsed pre-surgery. It was anything but a breeze after surgery.
Though it is a cumbersome device, I truly am glad it was invented as mobility assistance. This device with four wheels, a steering panel, brakes, and a basket for carrying things, has allowed me to accomplish daily tasks that otherwise would have been unmanageable.
Nonetheless, the roach chase obviously didn’t go as well as I had hoped.
After the chase, I sent out an SOS message to my bug company.
In the daylight, another of God’s angels, Hal owner of Animal Control Wildlife & Pest Inc., accessible online at Varmitbusters.com, came to my house. Still dressed in his church attire he exterminated my entire house.
So far, it doesn’t sound like any possums or cats have been fighting beneath my home this summer. Thank goodness!
Also, thank goodness for Netflix and Showtime. Sleep is a chore, a dreaded chore. Each of my legs wakes me up with some sort of discomfort. I incorporated stretching techniques into my nights to get out whatever kinks settle into my legs and entertainment has provided me with welcome distractions during the daytime and during sleepless nights. There were a lot of good movies produced in the 80’s ‘90s and early 2000s that I finally watched.
When planning for my recovery, I visualized myself conducting Zoom interviews and taking online classes, along with reading some classic literature. I brought some of my professional wardrobe downstairs. Contrary to what I envisioned, none of those clothes have been worn since before my surgery. As for classic literature books, they are collecting dust, and I did not enroll in any online classes.
Instead, I’ve navigated daily living with limited mobility and with a plaster cast dragging me down. The leg that does all the work of pushing the scooter is slightly swollen from all its unusual activity.
Still, my recovery is progressing. My cast comes off this week, and I will be in a boot/brace for a while.
My experience in stage one of my recovery has enlightened me as far as how much to push myself. I’m giving myself the liberty to expect to move in slow motion and to accomplish fewer tasks than normal in stage two. The most important task will be to allow myself to recover fully so that I can return to my normal routine.
The surgeon predicts I’ll be wearing closed-toe shoes and moving about in a normal manner by early December. Until then, what I’ve learned is that ankle injuries that require surgery take time to heal and you can’t rush the process.
With God’s blessing, I hope to attend the Salvation Army fashion show without assistance on Thursday and write about it for The Post Newspaper. Perhaps in the second stage of my recovery I’ll take some on-line classes and read some classic literature?
Thank you to everyone who held me up in their prayers.
