Mutant

Day: 386

Photo taken on Monday, August 22, 2011 in my office at 350pm.

There is something seriously wrong with me.

I accidently cut myself with long scissors and the first thought I have upon doing it is, "why isn't this healing faster?"

Why isn't this healing faster?!

Most people would say "ow", or "shit", or immediately spring into action and get a Band-Aid but no, not Kate. Kate thinks to herself, "why does this hurt so much?"

I think the problem lies in the weekly Marvel games Justin has been holding. I'm reading so much manga and comics and playing the role of Megatron so well that I am starting to believe I have super powers. As I'm watching the blood ooze out, I am actually annoyed that the cut is not sealing itself Naruto/Wolverine style. What the hell? Do I really need a bandage?


I'm a little worried about Kate. I think she's gone mental.

Case Against Boobs

Day: 372

Photo taken on Monday, August 8, 2011 before early showertime at 651pm.

No matter what super-duper sports bra I buy into it has to chafe me somewhere. After the three miler today I feel a burning in the middle of my back. Sure enough-when I complain to Steve- he finds the culprit: the clasps that hold this contraption together.

Oh it's going to be so pleasant when the water hits it in two minutes!

That's hot.

Day: Three Hundred and Fifty One

Photo taken on Monday, July 18, 2011 after my shower at 950pm.

So this is a new place to chafe. Wonderful.

Um...Ow.

Day: Three Hundred and Forty Seven

Photo taken on Thursday, July 14, 2011 at Heartland Golf Park in Brentwood, NY at 406pm. (Injured foot belongs to me, putters belong to Steve, Chris Reed, Pher, and myself.

Besides me getting my ass handed to me by Pher, Chris Reed sucking it up on the even holes, and Steve silently winning at this point, we're all having a good time. That is, until I misjudge the length of my feet again and the tip of my flop gets stuck on the wooden bridge. I don't know what happens but I trip and a sharp pain races from my toe to my brain. Immediately my hand goes to my toe and presses down; I fear the nail has been ripped up and I can't bring myself to look at it.

Apparently I must have yelped because Steve races over asking me what I did. When I tell him, he bends down to take a look, as do I, and we see a lot of blood leaking out from under my fingers. "Did you break it or is it just cut?"

"I'm afraid to look," I wince. Steve braves it and I peel my fingers away to reveal...

"Just a deep cut," he says and he takes off at lightning speed for napkins. The game gets put on hold until I can staunch the bleeding enough to finish the round (which I lose, as per usual).

I swear, you can't take me anywhere.

Pin Cushion

Day: Three Hundred and Thirty One

Photo taken on Tuesday, June 28, 2011 in the downstairs hallway at 1109pm.

I don't mean anyone to take offense to this but I have been stuck by needles so many times this week that I'm on my way to track marks if we don't figure out what is wrong with me and fast.

Today was my annual physical but I need to go back there in two weeks for even more blood work and then in another two weeks after that. I have more blood work ahead of me from my allergist plus more injections under the skin of my arms for the next round of testing. I don't mind the pinch-unless it's the fingertip, that gives me the shivers-and I don't mind the doctor visits, it's the not knowing that's frustrating. At this point, I'm ready for a liquid diet and I'm okay with that. But one thing is for sure, these doctors will never have trouble finding my veins with my pale (almost blueish) skin of my arms.

Pain Scale

Day: Three Hundred and Twenty Three

These series of photos taken today represent my pain scale. I'd like to think my tolerance to pain is pretty high but I am sure if you punched me in the face I would proceed to cry like a baby. However, I have made a pain scale that only goes from 1 to 7 because I have yet to experience pain that goes past a 7 since there are many things I have not-and hope to never-feel.

PAIN is at 0:

Obviously I am not in pain. See how the smile reaches my eyes? Today is a good day for skipping rope and playing hopscotch.

PAIN is at a 1 or 2:

The smile faded from the eyes but I'm still in a good mood. I might have a paper cut or an annoying gas bubble in my chest.

PAIN is at a 3:

I'm most likely sore but a good sore because I must have worked a muscle group that hasn't been worked in awhile. Today sneezing induces sharp pains in my torso or I might be unusually stiff in my bad joints due to the weather. Regardless of the weakness I feel, I'll still go about my day as normal.

PAIN is at a 4:

Okay, I'm uncomfortable. I'm probably starting my period and my boobs feel like watermelons and every step I take is like a knife in my heart (though a knife in the heart will be higher on the pain scale for stuff I don't know about). My cramping is irritating so I go and run a few miles and although it hurts the boobies, it stops the cramps.

PAIN is at a 5:

Okay, today officially sucks. I'm in a lot of pain. I fell down the stairs and have a huge bruise on my tailbone so when I sit it hurts, when I talk it hurts, when I pooh it hurts. I might also have eaten buffalo wings that were a tad too hot for me too. I think I may have strep and a fever and what is that sound? Oh that's me whining.

PAIN is at a 6:

Holy shit I've just been shot! Oh wait a minute...the pain is gone...oh right that's just my sciatica from the herniated disc in my back that is laying on the nerve to my left leg. Though short lived, the pain takes your breath away for a few seconds. But also at a 6 includes pouring hydrogen peroxide in a cut, being pushed through a glass door, falling off my bike, getting hit with a man's slap shot, crashing into a boulder while skiing in the woods, and anything else that is stupid that I have done that landed me in the hospital, like slamming my thumb in the car door.

PAIN is at a 7:

This is unbearable. I need to go home. I want to die.

This is pain that has not gone away all day or daySSSS, or weeks or for a year. My GI issues can get to this point. When I'm crying, I'm at a 7.

PAIN is at an 8:

I've broken a foot and toes before but never anything significant like an arm or a leg or a rib. 8 is definitely for bones that can be clearly seen sticking out of the skin. 8 is also reserved for anything that is shown on Tosh.0 that the audience says, "OOOOOHHHHHH!" for.

PAIN is at a 9:

Dismemberment. I can't imagine the pain one must feel upon losing a limb. I am sure the aftereffects of losing an appendage is also hard to come to terms with as well as the phantom pain they experience.

Some types of torture would be here as well. You may use your imagination to think of the gruesome details but I do not have the stomach for it.

PAIN is at a 10:

I'm on fire. This has to be the worst pain imaginable. Nothing can be worse than any kind of burn. I never want to be on fire or have acid thrown on me either. I never want anyone to be on fire. Even when stuntmen are on fire I don't like it. Fire is just scary.

Sticks and Stones

Day: Two Hundred and Ninety Five

Photo taken on Monday, May 23, 2011 in the Valda Smith Recovery Room Suite inside the Surge at 240pm.

As we are getting ready to host our Survive the Rapture Luncheon on Saturday, I cross the living room and find the only walking hazard then proceed to trip over it. It is the video game holder and my third metatarsal catches the cover without me noticing (yeah, my feet are that big). As I take a step down the cover opens up, keeps the toe securely in its grasp, and when the foot lands that's when the pain shoots up my entire leg.

A slew of F-bombs pierce the quietness of the Reab Household. Steve appears in the doorway. "What'd you do?"

Rather than admit I still do not know the length of my own feet, I blame him for leaving the games out. He takes no offense to this, being that this is not the first time I have stubbed my toe in his presence and every time I usually blame him for rearranging the furniture when I leave the room. "That couch was definitely three centimeters to the right when I went to go get the iced tea from the fridge!"

As the day wears on, the bruise gets darker and the swelling bigger. Today I ask my buddy, Dr. Mwando, if it's broken. He gets down to foot level and squeezes the toe. "Ow."

"Nope. Not broken. But come down to Recovery later and we'll throw you in the C Arm."

Yay! The C Arm!

One of the residents did this for me two years ago, right when Das Boot came off and I was clear for running but a day later-no joke-I decided to vacuum my apartment then stubbed my pinkie toe on said vacuum after I was too lazy to put it back in the closet. I successfully broke that little guy (the toe not the vacuum even though throwing it through the window did occur to me) and had to push back the running debut for another two weeks until I could wear my sneaks again.

So I go on down to Recovery once all the patients leave and we awkwardly stick my foot in the C Arm and take the picture. Drs. Zong and Mwando, Peggy, and Kise look at the x-ray and all come to the conclusion that it is not broken (phew!) and I should just not run for awhile (I'll probably run later). Feeling left out, Kise then sticks his ankle in the machine because it's been clicking lately so I get to press the big orange button to take the picture and then I get to join the doctors and the tech as we decide what to do about Kise's ankle-clicking problem which is nothing. Just don't walk on it, Kise, then it won't click.

Problems solved!

Thunder Thighs

Day: Two Hundred and Forty Six

Photo taken on Monday, April 4, 2011 in the Surge bathroom at 309pm.

Moma wanted me to come down this past weekend to run the Ukrops Monument Avenue 10k and once I find out you are allowed to participate while wearing a costume I am so totally in. As I put my “Dark Angel” garb in my carry-on Thursday night, I search the apartment for my body glide but it appears the stick has disappeared during the slow-going process of packing up the apartment. I give up after awhile thinking, “it’s just a 10k, how bad can the chaffing between my thighs get?”

Bad actually. Very very bad.

By mile four my stride shortens considerably so the stinging lessens a bit but when I finish, I’m walking like I’ve ridden a horse (or a cowboy) for 15 hours straight. When I hit the showers I am momentarily breathless as the water runs over the raw flesh but luckily it has scabbed over two days later and I can wear jeans comfortably again.

I have to splice the pictures today because trying to get a shot of both my thighs at once looks very pornographic. Even though I am wearing underwear and everything is adequately covered, I still feel it looks like an amateur crotch shot. Plus my underwear selection for today is bordering on embarrassing with its stripes and little pink bows.

In The Cut

Day: Two Hundred and Twenty Five

Photo taken on Monday, March 14, 2011 in the bathroom at 953pm.

We don't have to beat around the bush here. We're all adults, we understand my plight with this issue...

I have big boobs.

Abnormally large TaTas. A jugtactular rack. However you want to describe this nuisance dangling from my weak chest muscles is fine by me but I know they are a size I wish they weren't. I have flirted with the idea of a breast reduction for years now and probably would have wanted one in the fifth grade when they annoyingly budded early, well before most of my classmates. I would happily trade them in for something smaller especially since no matter how high tech my sports bra is, it leaves behind lasting damage. Maybe it was a good thing I broke my foot before the wedding. It enabled the deep cuts on my shoulders to be less visible in the professional pictures.

Speaking of pictures, most people have subfolders in their digital picture section of their computer that probably say things like: "My Awesome 27th Birthday!", "Vaycay in Cali 2009!", "Surprise Pool Party!". I have a subfolder that says: "Case Against Boobs". This is the folder that pictures like the one above go, the ones to show my insurance company the damage my Bazooka Joes inflict open other parts of my body in hopes they will pay for the reduction. I have even racier photos, ones when the underwire has bruised my breasts because I participated in a trail run with lots of hills. I'm sure those would look hot on an amateur site!

They also get in the way of normal day to day things like reaching across the table for a chip only to find half my right breast covered in salsa. Sometimes when I lean forward something brushes across my stomach and I freak out thinking there's a bug in my shirt but then I realize it's just my boobs resting on my abs. I'm also pretty sure I'd knock five minutes off my 10k time if I had less knockers because half my energy is wasted in the pendulum swing.

Most girls want bigger breasts but I hope my torn skin might sway you to stay small. Size shouldn't matter but it really does...the bigger they are, the more they hurt. ;p

Pity Party

Day: Two Hundred and Sixteen

Photo taken on Saturday, March 5, 2011 in Great Neck, NY at 1114pm.

I'm feeling a bit negative today.

My original plan for this weekend was to do my first ever 25k. Moma, Kim, and Pres even come up this weekend despite the fact I'm not going to be able to run it tomorrow morning. Because of my digestive system breaking down, I haven't been able to run or pretty much do anything athletic for the past month. My training took a nosedive into nowheresville and I gained a ton of weight (even though I did not consume half of what I normally eat) just for me to learn there is nothing physically wrong with me. The colonoscopy, CAT Scan, and Small Bowel Study are all clear which is definitely great. Turns out, it's just all stress.

You know what relieves my stress?

Running.

You see my dilemma?

Besides being in pain everyday, I can no longer fit into my wardrobe because I am so bloated. And because of the pain, running hurts. Hell, even sitting hurts. I think I have finally gotten to the point where I'm about to go all Nancy Kerrigan "Why me?!" on everybody because I think I already have enough ailments to last a lifetime: Chondromalacia Patella starting at 13, Snapping Hip Syndrome appearing on vacation at 15, herniated disc in my lower back popping up during hockey at 19, arthritis in my lower back flaring up on the hockey bench at 20, an acting up left shoulder since tearing it during hockey practice at 19, bum right foot ever since breaking it before my wedding, and now this. I already live with my physical pain everyday since middle school to the point I'm so used to it that when the sciatica occurs and shoots from my back to my left knee, I barely even wince.

I seriously don't mind being broken with my old ailments because it helps build character and I have not let it slow me down in the least but this new problem is seriously kicking my ass. It is totally defeating me. Sometimes I just lie awake at night and silently cry, the cramping keeping me from a decent night's rest. Some days I push on, go to Zumba even though I want to vomit from the pain, hang out with friends even though I want to curl into a ball and wail, and eventually I free myself from the anguish. But then there are days like this, when my body is so exhausted it's screaming at me but there's nothing I can do to stop what is happening. I have no idea how to relieve the stress without being physical.

I know I should just suck it up. I know there are so many people out there that have it much worse. I know I should never feel sorry for myself because I have a very good life. But today I don't have the energy to be positive and I think it's okay that once and awhile, I let myself crumble into a pile of "woe is me".

Sagat

Day: One Hundred and Five

Photo taken on Sunday, November 14, 2010 behind the King's Chair at 424pm.


I love Tiger Balm. I love the smell. I love the feel of it on my skin. I even love the little jar it comes in. I love it so much that sometimes I overwork my muscles just to get the chance to use it.

"Yup, works on everything except nearsightedness and cavities."-Spike Spiegel

Icing

Day: Thirty Eight

Photo taken on Wednesday, September 8, 2010 in the dining room area of our apartment after my training run for The Great Cow Harbor 10k (which I'm not racing in this year but want to train for it for fun anyway).

Steve is my own personal sports medic; he's truly the best. After every time I run whether it's a track workout, speed run, short easy run, or a long haul, he's there ready for me when I return to wrap and ice any part of my body that hurts. The pain that used to radiate in my left calf has now moved down to my foot instead since getting new kicks (solve one problem create another). The right foot automatically gets wrapped due to me fearing a repeat stress fracture. There is no way I want to be out of commission for three months again and especially not now since I've come so far in my training for the Diva half marathon.

The best memory I have of my stress fracture is the night before my wedding when my family plus Christine and Steve are congregating in my parents' hotel room, sharing a drink and some laughs when Kim suddenly turns to me and says, "You're not actually going to wear that cast tomorrow are you?"

I look down at the monstrosity on my right leg that I have been donning for two weeks now and shrug. It looks like a moon shoe and reaches up to almost my knee but I've already grown quite attached to it. "I'm going to wrap it in an ace bandage to start but if it hurts I'm going to have to put the cast back on at the reception."

Kim looks horrified at my answer. "You are NOT wearing that under your dress. Don't be an asshole, Kate."

At this point, Christine laughs because she finds the whole thing comical. I try to assure Kim that it won't be in any of the wedding pictures but she still shakes her head at me for being so stupid for breaking my foot two weeks before my big day. I have to agree with her, I was careless with my running mileage and upped it too fast. So after we finish up our drinks and Steve heads back to our place in Farmingdale, Christine and I make our way back to our respective rooms. The whole way there Christine keeps giggling about Kim calling me the A word. The next day whenever a good moment arises she makes sure to repeat that phrase to me and it makes me laugh. Even to this day, Christine will find the most opportune moment to say the phrase:

"Kate, don't be an asshole."

And it burns, burns, burns

Day: Eight

Photo taken after my nightly shower on Monday, August 9, 2010.

Remember the raspberry I posted on Saturday? Well we had a make-up softball game tonight and I reopened it either sliding into first, second, or third and didn't notice the sticky blood until I returned to the bench after being batted in. Steve and I wrapped it up real good too so I have no idea how it happened to rip open again.

This is the face I make when hydrogen peroxide is applied to an open cut. I think it's time I invest in a sliding pad...

Scraps

Day: Six

Photo taken around 11pm really quickly because I lost track of time today. I really have nothing creative to show you so instead here is my newest injury:

The first time I leave for a Hawks game in my green lacrosse shorts, Steve takes one look at me and warns, "You really should wear pants if you're going to slide."

I wave him off. "Pssh. I'm not going to slide."

Three hours later I return with a dirt and blood smattered left leg.

"I slid." I manage a sheepish grin and he just shakes his head in disappointment.

At least I was safe.

So now before heading off to a game I wrap my calf in an ace bandage (because right now I'm nursing an on-going running injury there anyway) so it adds sliding protection and then I place knee-high softball socks over it. Needless to say, I still receive raspberries sliding into that damn second base! People tell me I should wear pants but on certain occasions the dirt would rip my skin up through my Tri-Village issued uniform pants anyway. I was like half my size back then so I think my weight is the leading factor to me constantly hurting myself because really, no one weighing in at 175 should ever run as fast as they can and slide in dirt. The physics of it just points to disaster.