May 15th, 2008 by Dr. Val Jones in True Stories
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I spent my senior year of college abroad in Scotland. Between the fall and spring semesters I went on a ski trip to Austria, and in usual Val fashion did something klutzy out of enthusiasm. I was racing down a slalom course in a snow storm and was so excited to have finished without missing a wicket that I looked up at some bystanders to give them a thumb’s up and I tripped on a clump of snow and fell down. Unfortunately my binding didn’t release and I ripped some ligaments off my knee. I heard them pop too. It was quite gross.
Anyway, I was shipped back to Canada for a complex ACL repair procedure by the Olympic Ski Team’s surgeon (I was NOT Olympic material in case any of you had the slightest doubt – I was just in the right hospital at the right time). What followed my fine surgery was a not so fine follow up – in fact I didn’t get any physical therapy whatsoever, and had no idea about how to make my knee functional again. All I knew is that it hurt like heck and I didn’t want to move it. And I pretty much didn’t. Not for a month or so.
Now the healthcare professionals in the audience just winced at that. Not moving a limb for a month is highly inadvisable. My knee became contracted so that I couldn’t straighten it at all. I could barely bear weight on it and I relied almost solely on crutches. I didn’t know how long knees were supposed to take to heal so I figured everyone went through this crutch phase for months.
I returned to Scotland for my spring semester, and I can tell you that traveling alone with one functional leg, a pair of crutches, winter gear and two suitcases is no piece of cake. But the most memorable part of this whole debacle was when I received my new dorm room assignment: the room was on the 5th floor – no elevators. I pleaded with the dorm warden (a humorless, underweight Scottish man with extraordinarily greasy hair and snaggle teeth) to have pity on me and reassign me to a room on the first floor or maybe the second. He handed me the 5th floor room keys unflinchingly.
So it took me about an hour to drag myself and all my stuff up to the 5th floor. I was really in a lot of pain, and totally exhausted from the multi-stop flight overseas – hadn’t slept in about 36 hours. Of course the room was the last one at the end of the hall and no other students had checked in yet – the whole place was deserted because I’d come back early to see if I could get a more conveniently located room (thinking ahead).
When I got to my room I was nearly overwhelmed by the smell of vomit. Apparently the winter session kids had been using my dorm room for drunken partying and had puked on the mattress. I was so tired all I wanted to do was go to sleep but the options were the cement floor or the pukey mattress so I called down to the front desk. The warden picked up – I really couldn’t understand much of what he said in his thick brogue. I explained to him that I’d made it to my room but that the mattress was covered in vomit and I wondered if (now) I might be eligible for a different room. He said he’d come up to check on the mattress.
It took him about 40 minutes to show up. He made no eye contact with me as I limped after him into the room to show him the vomit. He looked at the mattress, smiled wryly, dragged it to the edge of the bed frame and flipped it over. Then he walked out of the room and went back down the stairs to retake his post at the front desk at the entrance to the building.
Now that’s cold.This post originally appeared on Dr. Val’s blog at RevolutionHealth.com.
May 13th, 2008 by Dr. Val Jones in Uncategorized
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This is day 2 of the Woman Challenge, and I’m supposed to take at least 10,000 steps a day for 8 weeks. So I got myself a pedometer and marveled at how sedentary I am. Then I dragged myself upstairs to a small stuffy white room (where my building has a treadmill and elliptical machine) and decided to make up the rest of my steps for the day (about 8000!) So I was jogging along, huffing and puffing, eyes fixed on a door jam, and at the 30 minute mark I checked my pedometer. I was at 3000 steps only. Now, my math isn’t that great, but I think I can do more than 1000 steps in 30 minutes of jogging.
On closer inspection, my pedometer had ceased counting. Argh! I started shaking it and I realized that there must be some sort of ball bearing inside, trapped like some helpless pinball in the recesses of the little metal box in which it lives.
So my question is this: does anyone know how to keep a pedometer functioning properly? Do I need to find a way to make more movement in the Y-plane when I’m jogging? Should I bob around or do the “funny walk” to keep the little thing from going into pinball “tilt” mode?
Maybe hubby was right – I need to find a sport that I’m good at.
Hrmph.This post originally appeared on Dr. Val’s blog at RevolutionHealth.com.
May 11th, 2008 by Dr. Val Jones in True Stories
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My regular readers know that I’m a very conscientious person, and that although I try my best to prepare in advance for all manner of SNAFUs, I still fall victim to the occasional malfunction or “blonde moment.”
My most recent episode occurred en route to interviewing Governor Huckabee. I was really looking forward to our interview and was quite determined not to have anything go wrong. I packed my briefcase the night before the meeting, and made sure that my digital voice recorder was working, had batteries, etc. and that I had a pad of paper and a pen in case of emergency.
I carefully gathered all my things together and hopped in a cab (a black jeep with a yellow taxi sign on top) to the interview destination – a hotel lobby near the Newseum. I was re-reading my interview questions when I reached into my briefcase to get out my wallet to pay the driver. My heart sank. I had forgotten my wallet! My car-less husband (the first person I hit up for cash) was at a doctor’s appointment across town. I had no friends meeting me at the hotel lobby (and I certainly wasn’t going to ask Gov. Huckabee if he could lend me $20). I explained the situation to the driver and sheepishly asked if he had a card or if I could arrange to meet him later on in the day once I had my wallet.
The driver saw how sincerely sorry I was – and told me that he had no cards, and that I should just consider the ride complimentary. I promised him that I wasn’t in the habit of stiffing taxi drivers, and that I really did want to pay him back. He would have none of it. “It’s not a problem, ma’am. Don’t worry about it.” So off I went to meet Gov Huckabee – and I only dropped my Blackberry once in front of him.
Flash forward 4 days… I’m returning home from The Big Sleep Show (it was in Chicago) and waiting in the taxi line at the Reagan National Airport. This time I have hubby with me (he’s always good for a $20) so I figure the cab ride home will be smooth (though I’ve had some bad experiences with DC cabs in the past). As I get to the front of the line, I look over at the cab that we’re about to get into. It’s a black jeep with a yellow taxi sign on top.
I ask the driver if he remembers a woman who didn’t pay him for an early morning cab ride a few days prior. “Oh, yeah.” He said. “You mean the doctor lady?”
“That was ME!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know how I was going to repay you for your kindness. And now I can do it in person! This is quite a coincidence.”
The driver smiled and was quiet the whole ride home.
I paid him for both rides plus a nice tip. “Keep paying it forward, brother.” I said, “you never know when it will come back to you.”
What are the odds?This post originally appeared on Dr. Val’s blog at RevolutionHealth.com.
May 2nd, 2008 by Dr. Val Jones in True Stories
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Ask most men how many shoes their wife, girlfriend, or sister has and the
answer is: “too many.” I can’t speak for everyone with large shoe collections,
but I can tell you why I have too many shoes. They each hurt my feet in slightly
different ways – ways that are impossible to predict at the time of
purchase.
Some of my shoes pinch my toes, others cause blisters under the straps, still
others cause blisters on the bottom of my feet or heels. Some of them are
comfortable for short distances but begin to hurt after 5 blocks. I’ve tried to
purchase shoes from the major “comfortable brands,” but without consistent
success in avoiding self-injury.
My husband has difficulty understanding my predicament, as his feet haven’t
seen a blister in over a decade. He occasionally points to his baby soft feet
as evidence of a defect in my own. I protest that women’s shoes are not
comfortable, and he counters with arguments about my not needing any more
shoes.
A recent conversation went something like this:
Dr. Val: [Sitting down on my couch after a long day of
work.] Argh! I’m so disappointed… remember those shoes that looked so
promising when we bought them in the shoe store, honey?
Hubby: [Chewing a bite of sandwich and contemplating my
question.] Which pair might that be?
Dr. Val: You know the nice, wide, dress sandals with a low
heel? [I point to the shoes as I remove them from my bare feet.]
Hubby: The ones that cost a hundred and fifty dollars?!
Dr. Val: Yeah, those ones. Look at what they did to my feet!
[I point out two strips of raw skin on the top of my toes.]
Hubby: [Wincing] There’s something wrong with you.
Dr. Val: What do you mean? I try so hard to find comfortable
shoes and yet I’m always thwarted – no matter how soft they look in the store,
or how expensive they are, they always hurt in the end!
Hubby: Why don’t I hear other people complaining about their
shoes? Everyone seems to be fine with shoes except you.
Dr. Val: I bet other women have shoe problems too… The
only shoes that are comfortable are sneakers.
Hubby: Your sneakers are unattractive.
Dr. Val: I know! That’s why I keep buying more shoes, trying
to find ones that look good but are as comfortable as sneakers.
Hubby: Maybe you have a connective tissue disorder?
Dr. Val: [Eye roll]. I don’t have a connective tissue
disorder. I just need to find that perfect pair of shoes – ones that look good
with suits and shorts and I can walk for long distances in and don’t give me
blisters.
Hubby: You don’t need any more shoes.
***
Am I crazy or do women’s shoes wreak havoc on our feet? Do any of you have
tips for finding that perfect pair of black dress shoes?
(For summer shoe drama, check out my blog post about “flip
flop foot” and racing
in stilettos.)This post originally appeared on Dr. Val’s blog at RevolutionHealth.com.
April 30th, 2008 by Dr. Val Jones in Humor
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As my regular readers know, my husband has a really dry sense of humor. Couple that with a kind heart filtered by a data-driven mind and you get some fairly “harsh” sounding statements that are meant well, but come out oh so horribly wrong. I’ve heard that many men have struggled with “foot-in-mouth disease”… and so for you ladies who love them, and men who can relate, this one’s for you.
What not to say when you’re jogging
So, I’m not a natural athlete – but I try really hard to stay in shape and have been working extra hard recently because I’m leading a weight loss group here at Revolution Health. I like being outdoors so I figured that jogging would be the right sort of endeavor for a slightly uncoordinated person like me. Of course, hubby is part-human, part-gazelle, so running is right up his alley. I’m probably more part-human, part-water buffalo (if we stick with the African theme here) so let’s just say it’s a bit harder for me to keep up with hubby. Nonetheless I was brave enough to ask to run with him – I thought it would motivate me as well as get both of us out in nature.
We jogged every other day for a few days together, and I was huffing along doing my very best to keep pace and also not die. Hubby was quiet the entire time until one day he looked down at me thoughtfully and said,
“Have you ever considered doing a sport you’re good at?”
I was flabbergasted. I gave him “the look.”
“Well, I just mean that this is obviously quite difficult for you and you might enjoy something that’s more suited to…”
I looked at him, beet red, sweaty and incredulous. “More suited to WHAT?”
“Well… um… perhaps you’d like to hike?”
“Hike where? All the land around us is flat. Do you mean WALK?”
“Sure, walking might be a good option for you.”
And so ended my jogging routine with hubby. I’m vaguely looking for a running partner who’s more my speed. But perhaps I’ll just default to having my husband walk next to me while I jog?This post originally appeared on Dr. Val’s blog at RevolutionHealth.com.
