|Doing a plantar fasciitis stretch at Kraft Family Blood Donor Center|
Well something is the same: The worry about plantar fasciitis. I think if you counted the number of times over the course of this blog that I mentioned concern about the dreaded heel pain, it might equal or exceed the number of times I expressed worry about leukemia.
At ECP last Wednesday, a doctor and a couple of nurses were all sharing their experiences with and cures for plantar fasciitis. One of the nurses demonstrated how her doctor told her to stretch, and when I got out of the bed I tried it for myself.
A new-to-me resident is overseeing me because I went to a different time slot, 4 p.m. instead of 3. My nurse, Esther, told the doctor that she never saw anyone with graft-vs-host as active as I am. I told her that I still had ripples in my skin and the feeling of a band around my stomach, but the procedure has softened my skin, lessened the swelling in my hands, and important or not depending on your point of view, helped my tennis game.
I'm still planning on doing the race, but the weather has not been conducive to running, and I can't say as I could five years ago that I have run six miles. I did five, so slowly I'm not even sure you could call it running.
Saturday I went to spinning, and on Sunday I ran three miles. I would have gone today but I didn't because of the snowstorm, during which my only activity was going out into the driveway with Maddie. A huge black Lab, about as big as our dog Winnie, bounded into the driveway while her owner shouted from across the street. Maddie seemed to be intimidated because she lay down in a totally submissive position.
I'm not sure when the roads will be cleared enough to get in a good run. I hope I can do it at least once. I would like to not be the very last person to finish. As previously stated, I have gotten incredibly slow.
The other night I dreamt that I was on a dance floor, shimmying up and down. Joe was off to the side watching, and I wanted to show him how I could go all the way down and back up without falling. Up and down. Down and up. It was easy! (When Joe was living here he never wanted me to crouch down on the floor to kiss him goodnight if he was sitting on the floor in front of the TV: He thought I wouldn't be able to get up.)
Interestingly at a tennis clinic the next day, George said I was doing my best forehand slices by bending my knees and leaning over closer to the ground than during a regular swing. So in my dream I was sort of modeling the movement.