Limping along

Yep, that’s a picture of my real-life meniscus tear. Sassy, isn’t it?

I’ve been busy trying to play catch-up after my drug-induced stupor last week. My prognosis: good. I started to turn the corner on Saturday and even limped to church and to a friend’s dinner party on Sunday.

I had my follow-up appointment today and the doc said I’m healing nicely. He encouraged me to keep doing low-impact workouts the next four weeks until the pain completely goes away.

I’m opting out of physical therapy. If this was a total knee replacement or ACL, physical therapy would be a must but a meniscus tear is not structural. I’m confident I can tackle healing with my own home exercises because 1) I’m delusional and 2) Our deluge of medical bills has started to hit.

And like that picture, it ain’t purdy.

On my one-week anniversary of my knee surgery on Tuesday, I went biking.

Or rather, made the attempt. I looked like a one-legged gimp trying to bike up the hill to my house without putting pressure on my sore knee. But I felt triumphant after doing it, despite the resulting pain the next day.

My motto these next weeks: One step forward, two steps back.

Fat Kitty’s Soul Mate & Internet Sensation

Thanks to everyone for your well wishes during my painful recovery week. The first five days were decidedly hellish but I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Jamie has been a tremendous help though he’s been struggling with some pretty severe rheumatism attacks of his own so I have felt guilty every time I ask for assistance. It’s so like him to steal my thunder.

Case in point: after birthing baby Bode, I sent Jamie home from the hospital immediately thereafter stating “you’re useless to me.” He was sicker than he’s ever been and instead of his mom helping me with Bode those first few days, she had to tend to poor Jamie.

My only constant last week was Fat Kitty. I’ll admit it: sometimes when I’m overwhelmed with stress, I look at his lackadaisical life and think, “I’d just like to be him one day.” Let me tell you: I was him–passed out all week long and it was highly overrated.

When Jamie walked into the bedroom one night, he confirmed, “The only thing more pathetic in this house than you is the cat.”

While on the subject, there is a lot of curiosity surrounding Fat Kitty, usually re: what he eats. I hate to disappoint but he honestly is a light eater–he has about 3/4 of a bowl of kitty food per day and the occasional kitty treat. He does not eat human food.

So, how did he get so fat? He was big when we brought him home from the shelter. Possible explanations are that the fat dude is just big-boned (and large stomached). Or maybe he has a thyroid problem.

But my friend Stacey in Calgary sent me an article about a cat that is assuredly Fat Kitty’s evil twin. I mean, take a gander.

Fat Kitty:

Evil twin, Fat Boy.

Fat brothers from another mother.

Anyhew, for anyone who has ever been on diet, you will get a crack out of Fat Dude’s weight-loss plan…and his MacGyver-esque moves to swipe food. He has become an Internet sensation in Canada.

For obvious reasons. Read on:

A fat cat living at a Saskatchewan animal shelter has managed to squeeze his way into the hearts of many.

Fat Boy, an eight-year-old tabby cat, has eaten himself into becoming the Moose Jaw Humane Society’s poster kitty for healthy eating — even if he isn’t entirely sold on the idea.

Even so, he’s generated quite the fan base, which is growing thanks to the society’s Facebook page that includes what they’ve dubbed “Fat Boy Fridays.”

Karla Pratt, the fundraising and promotions director, said Fat Boy was surrendered to them in 2006 because his then-owners said they couldn’t keep him because he was eating their other cats’ food.

In those days, the tubby tabby was known as Boots — but that soon changed after he was allowed out of his kennel and into the free-range cat population.

“We have free-range feeding stations around the shelter for these cats so they can kind of come at their own leisure and eat,” Pratt said. “This was probably not the best idea for a cat that was already a little bit big. He was able to help himself and he did so gladly, and over time he assumed the moniker of Fat Boy.”

It was during one of the feline’s yearly checkups that the vet warned that if staff didn’t get his weight under control, he’d end up with some serious health problems. It was during that visit they discovered he weighed 23 pounds — almost 10 pounds more than he should.

By then, Fat Boy had already developed quite a local following, drawing regular visitors to the humane society to see him. (He is now a permanent resident and no longer up for adoption.)

“People will make a special trip to the shelter just to say hi to Fat Boy,” she said. “We’ve got our regulars who come to visit him and they’re always upset if they can’t find him.”

But there is a place where the popular puss can always be found — Facebook. The society started its site several months ago, and when Fat Boy’s diet officially started five weeks ago, it became a weekly event on the page — with weigh-in Fridays referred to fondly as “Fat Boy Fridays.”

It’s a slow process, to which many dieters can attest. With a goal to weigh 15 pounds, Fat Boy has some distance to go — and he isn’t making it easy for staff. While he hasn’t lost his easygoing, couch potato personality, he’s shown staff he can be quite the resourceful furball when it comes to food.

They were stumped during a previous weigh-in when they discovered he’d gained back the two ounces he’d lost the week before. The answer soon became clear.

“We went out into the main cat adoption room and here he was stealing food from one of the caged cats’ kennels,” Pratt said. “He had reached in, tipped the bowl over and was scarfing it down off the floor as quickly as he could like a ravenous wolf.”

That particular problem was fixed by putting the caged cats’ food dishes at the back of the cages where they’re out of reach. Staff have had to be equally resourceful in keeping up with Fat Boy’s other methods of securing extra food while contending with restricted-calorie food and smaller, controlled portions.

“He is very determined to get any food that we have down,” Pratt said. “He’s in there like a dirty shirt, so we really have to be careful where we leave the food even around the shelter now. We do have a food room and we have to keep everything else locked up in cupboards where he cannot open the doors or else get a big Rubbermaid tub type of thing where he can’t get into it — because he will actually rip the bags open. So we need to be very strict with him, that’s for sure.”

One method they’ve tried has been a box with a hole cut out — big enough for only the slimmer cats to squeeze through to get the food inside. It’s still a work in progress as staff discovered Fat Boy was reaching in and grabbing the forbidden food.

“He’s a bit of a MacGyver,” Pratt said.

Throughout the process, Fat Boy has had plenty of support, with the Facebook page showing comments from right across North America.

Fat Boy’s girlfriend, six-year-old Mama Cat, has been equally loyal, Pratt said.

“He is her big ball of fun,” she said. “She has told us that she will not judge him by his size and she will remain loyal to him no matter how famous he gets.”

Pratt said she hopes pet owners learn the importance of keeping their furry family members at a healthy weight.

“He’s going to set a good example for all the other overweight felines out there, and dogs too for that matter,” Pratt said. “It’s never too late to lose weight and get onto a healthy regime.”

(See Fat Boy on CNN).

The party continues

I’ve already made it clear I despise being forcibly stuck at home but to spend two entire weeks out of the past three flat on my back? Tedious.

My first couple of days after my knee surgery, I was so doped up on anesthesia and Vicodin, I barely noticed. In fact, during one of Hadley’s half-hour-long “I don’t want to read and you can’t make me” tantrums, Jamie was shocked when I didn’t get frustrated at all. It was a new side of me I didn’t know existed: drug-induced patience.

Now, if only there was a non-narcotic solution for dealing with homework hissy fits.

But yesterday, I hit the wall with the whole thing. Sure, I was in very little/no pain but I also hadn’t slept in a few days, had major internal plumbing issues and was in a miserable haze.

And so I’m weaning myself off the hardcore drugs. This meant Thursday was my most painful day yet but I’d much rather figure out a way to naturally manage my pain than stay up all night hallucinating about cotton balls and rainbows.

Recreational drug users who think it’s fun to live in La La Land are just stupid.

Today, I have a whole new set of problems. I was in an excruciating amount of pain last night due to Said Plumbing Issues so I sent Jamie to to buy me some drugs. I took the maximum dose last night and then again this morning…and nothing.

That’s the maximum dose twice over the course of 8 hours if you’re keeping track.

But then they finally kicked in and I’ve had a whole lot of something which amounts to bathroom trips every five minutes on my painful knee, along with exhaustion and nausea. As miserable as I am right now, I’m trying to remind myself I’m just four days into my recovery and this, too shall pass.

And I can go back to just getting my knee better.

After all the drama, that somehow sounds like the lesser of many evils.

Why there will be no pumpkin weigh-offs this year

Life has been rather silent in the pumpkin patch these days. The reason? There is great mourning in the land.

When Jamie first started his season with two seedlings in his makeshift growroom last spring, they were literally busting out of the pots within a week. Jamie planted them in the ground a bit early, covered them with a hoop house and warmed them with a heater.

That first night, they froze to death.

Since it was still early in the season, Jamie’s pumpkin buddies came to the rescue by giving him a couple of starter plants. He commenced the process again and before long, he was growing one of the biggest pumpkins in Colorado. “Ricky” (Gervais) was on-track to top 1,100 pounds, Jamie’s personal best.

Then August 19, 2011 happened: Jamie discovered a crack in the cavity.

Personally, I think it looks like a pumpkin butt crack picture.

This shot is much better:

An internal crack called a Dill Ring formed inside the pumpkin and intersected a deep rib and split the pumpkin open. This means it is now rotting out. Any pumpkin with a crack in it is automatically disqualified from the weigh-offs to prevent cheaters from pumping water into it to up the weight.

Personally, I’d go for lead.



That left Jamie’s only other pumpkin: Jerry (Seinfeld). From the start, good ol’ Jerry has grown a lot slower and Jamie didn’t have big hopes for it.

Then August 27, 2011 happened: Jamie discovered a crack, which means his pumpkin season is now over. Over the next couple of weeks, he’ll try to fill the cracks with sulphur and caulk to prolong the plants from rotting out before we can showcase them on our driveway this fall.

So, how am I feeling about it all?

I’ll be honest. When Jamie’s pumpkin got taken out from the tornado a couple of years ago, I wasn’t very sad. He was far enough into the season that he couldn’t start over but it was early enough that I could have my husband back for the rest of the summer.

This latest hit is the worst. As a pumpkin widow, this is the one time of the year I actually look forward to. September is replete with pumpkin festivals, our annual pumpkin party and the weigh-offs. Now, he’s put in the work the entire season and has absolutely nothing to show for it.

The other day in the car, I confessed:

“This whole season has been a roller-coaster ride with a big letdown. I have to admit I’m over it.”

Jamie: “You have to be ‘into it’ to be ‘over it.’”

Touché