The Day I Woke Up with a Cankle

And the horror of realizing it was attached to me

I'll be perfectly honest here: this post might be complete comprised of me bitching. At least half of it will be. There, now you've been warned, so read at your own risk.

Last week I was exercising, which doesn't happen as much as it should during the winter. I was doing squats, and my knee felt funny. I didn't think much of it, and in my mind the smart thing to do was stretch it out. Of course it continued feeling not fantastic, and the next day my calf was a little sore. I didn't think much of it since I haven't been exercising much. 

Well, this Tuesday evening my knee started to feel uncomfortable. On Wednesday, it was a bit swollen and more uncomfortable. Thursday, I woke up with a cankle. Like a big, nasty, uncomfortable, gross cankle. The entire lower half of my leg was swollen and I conceded that I probably needed to get it checked out. 
I called to schedule an appointment and they asked a couple of questions: if I was on birth control (yes) and if I'd done any traveling lately (no). Thankfully, they were able to squeeze me in that day. 

At first my doctor told me she'd thought I sprained my knee. This is what I was expecting so I just grumbled a little at the annoyance. She still didn't like what was going on though, and asked again if I'd gone anywhere far away over Christmas or something. Well when they asked about travel, I'd only thought of the last few days, so I think I was surprised and said "well yeah, Paris for New Years." 

Then it got crazy. I really trust my doctor and I think she's great. She doesn't catastrophize, but she also doesn't fuck around. I could tell that she was really concerned, so I became very concerned. She told me she thought I had a blood clot, probably in my calf. I didn't really get it at first...mostly because I'm not 90. Well once I understood I was pretty freaked out. I had to start blood thinners right there, was given a prescription for a support stocking (STOP LAUGHING!), and was scheduled to get a doppler (kind of like an ultrasound) done in the early afternoon. 
I was still freaked out (I think understandably), and kind of felt like my leg was this evil parasite that was trying to kill me. Like I kind of wished I could cut it off except, you know, I'd die. 
So I went to get the doppler done and the tech asked what was going on. I gave her the quick rundown, and she goes "you're a little young for a clot." GEE, THANKS. Somehow I'd missed that part! And, I obviously didn't come here on my doctor's orders. Because why would I do that? I get random hospital tests for fun in my spare time! 
Okay, so the doppler was actually really interesting. It showed the veins on the screen and she could also listen to it and show heat type sensors that showed where blood was flowing and which way it was flowing. And I really liked that she explained it and showed it all to me. But there was still a lot of human interpretation, and at the end she decided that she didn't see a clot; just a lot of fluid. She ended with "that's okay, you don't want to have a clot anyway." Well, yes, but now I don't know what fresh hell is going on in my leg. So, it's good and bad.

After my doctor talked to the tech, she wanted to talk to me (which she'd already told me would happen). She reiterated what the tech had said, but sounded very skeptical. She wanted me to go ahead with the blood thinners and support stocking (okay, it's not that bad, it really just looks like a thick thigh high), and that we'll decide when I go back to see her this week whether it's a clot or not.
So, needless to say, it was a lot of stress packed into a little bit of time, and it left me kind of worn out. My doctor said I probably could go to work on Friday, but I was concerned and wanted to stay home. Which means I've basically spent the last...three and a half days laying around. It's hard to do anything really...it'll get sore laying around, and it'll start to hurt standing up and doing stuff, and it starts to swell and throb sitting down. I keep trying to tell myself that it could be so much worse. It's very uncomfortable and makes me crabby.
The worst part is that I just don't have the patience for an injury. I hate laying around doing nothing. And, I know that they're only doing it because they love me, but I cannot stand my parents hovering and babying and asking every 5 minutes how my leg is. That's so bitchy, right? I'm annoyed that they're taking care of me! But it also made me kind of lonely; another reason for me to stay here I guess.

In other news, there's not much other news. Lindbergh is on his way over...I haven't seen him in about a week. Dylan's started texting me again. I'm not sure how I feel about that. He's a very nice guy, I just know nothing's going to happen with that. There are certain personality traits that I know don't mesh with mine. Foxx has been a mixture of supportive and slightly uncomfortable with this leg thing. Actually, my coworkers have been great...I'm looking forward to going back to work tomorrow.
For the near future, though, I'm going to try and keep the cankle at bay!

Holding Back

Still being your own biggest enemy

Okay, so I've been back from Paris for a couple of weeks, and it's haunting me. It's literally everywhere! It probably was before, I just didn't notice it then. 
I took this silly quiz about what city you should really live in...Paris. The White House Black Market campaign this spring...Paris. The Eiffel Tower is everywhere in stores. Yeah, I know, these aren't big things. 

See, I do this pretty much whenever I come back from a vacation. (Except the one I took to Alabama. Blech. I'll be happy to never set foot in that hellhole again! Except to get food. The food was deliciously Southern.) Alright so I get back from a lovely, glamorous vacation (because I only go on lovely, glamorous vacations! Again, except for the one we don't speak of. So I'll stop speaking of it now.) and realize that my life is sad and boring and I want more. And if I listen to everybody around me, I should be doing more. 
OH! Did I mention I got my suitcase? Five days late, but I got my suitcase. Everything was even accounted for and intact! But I still hate American Airlines. They're customer service was crap till the last minute. They're dumb and lame. 

Anywho, I'm now trying to figure out how I can have the time and money for more adventuring. And I've started to look into civil and foreign service. Kinda crazy. But, I'm feeling cramped and bored and I need a change. Whether or not I'll actually make a change remains to be seen. I have a habit of getting scared and not taking any big risks without some outside influence. 

There's not much movement on the guy front. A few friends I've been chatting with, and Dr. Stephen calls every couple of days. I still go back and forth between knowing that Lindbergh is a good guy and hating everything he says and does. It's a lot of little things. And this is the part I hate...I've met his family and friends and am friends with half of them on the Facebook. It makes me feel guilty that I'm not seeming to make this work. 
At the same time I think about not having anything to do if Lindbergh and I stop hanging out. Most of my friends have moved away and, while I love spending time alone, there can be too much of that. And, of course, I still get lonely sometimes. 

Well, I know this is a short one. But I figured you all deserved an update. Hopefully there will be a fun story to report soon!

Becoming a World Traveler

Sampling culture and patience

Paris was incredible. In.Cred.Ible. I mean, what a gorgeous city. The mix of the modern and classic...just breathtakingly gorgeous. 
So, let's see. We visited the Eiffel Tower (of course), Sacre Coeur at Montmartre, a couple of Christmas Markets, Printemps, an artist's square, Musee d'Orsay, Champs Elysee for New Year's, Pere Lachaise, Moulin Rouge, and Notre Dame. We window shopped, had lots of AMAZING food and wine, shopped (though not enough), had some good conversations, and laughed a lot. One of the nights out at dinner, there was a "gentleman" sitting at a table near us who was old enough to be *at least* my father, possibly my grandfather. And he was definitely a gross, creepy old man. He started talking to us and told me how pretty I am. He said he would have been happy to marry me the next day. Uhh...I did not take him up on that offer. 
And that was the extent of my torrid affair in Paris. It did get a little lonely; Paris is a perfect place to explore with someone you care about. 
This is a good time to break for an update on Lindbergh. I think it's really coming up to decision time. He's a little uneasy since I kind of bailed the last time we hung out...and it's completely understandable. But what I have to figure out is if I'm ready to get back into a relationship yet, with the label and everything. I'm not entirely sure. 
Also, Soldier was at church this Sunday. I haven't seen him in months; it was kind of a shock. A really sad shock.

Back to Paris. My sister and brother in law are awesome people, and they're so in love. He takes such good care of her, and she deserves it. I was a little bit apprehensive, thinking it might be kind of weird being the 3rd wheel for a week...but it wasn't at all. It was just fun and great, and they really seemed like their focus was for me to have a good time. 
I really didn't want to leave. 

Aaaand...it turns out I shouldn't have, because that's when the problems started. 
The flight from Paris to Newark, NJ was great. The plane was comfier, the food was better, I sat next to 2 nice people around my age, and there was an abundance of free wine available. I was all ready when we got back into the states with my passport and customs form and everything, but of course there was a long line. That was to be expected, I suppose. What wasn't to be expected was the fire alarm. The shrill, awful fire alarm. SO SHRILL. SO AWFUL. For 15 minutes. 15 SHRILL AND AWFUL MINUTES. On the plus side, we didn't have to run screaming out into the cold. The alarm went off and there was a collective, audible sigh of relief. Until it promptly started again. Then it stopped again. Then it started again. Then it was done for realsies. I got through passport control easy peasy, then picked up my luggage to go through customs. This was also a breeze. Having already gotten a text from my mum that my next flight was cancelled, I (intelligently) didn't recheck my luggage. 

Well, I found out that I needed to be in a different terminal to rebook my flight. Apparently the tram had just decided to stop working, so there was a bus you could take. I was already stressed and frustrated, so I wasn't about to deal with a million other people trying to get on a bus with my 45 pound suitcase that I could barely lift. So I asked around and found out that I could walk to the next terminal, which I did. EFFING FREEZING. Every winter I say I'm going to move south, I have no idea why I haven't. I waited to see a ticket agent for about an hour and a half. I always try to be nice, because they're dealing with a lot of frustrated people, but they're like freaking robots. So she clickity-clacks away at her computer and tells me that she can get me a flight with two layovers on Sunday. It was currently Friday early evening. I was less than pleased. 
I asked her to book me for that and I would check out my options. So my next idea was to rent a car and drive the 12 hours home. After trying 3 different rental car agencies, I realized that was also a no-go. So, just like any logical, mature adult would do...I sat on a bench and called my mom and sobbed. 

I ended up staying in New Jersey that night. I'm so grateful to the staff at the Newark Liberty International Airport Marriott...they were rockstars. They didn't do anything crazy, but they all had fantastic customer service and it meant so much to me when I was feeling helpless and lost. 
The next morning I woke up at like 5 and figured I'd call the airline to see if I could get out earlier. Well, the heavens opened up and the angels sang and I was able to get a flight for that afternoon, and everything seemed to be going well. 
Then I got to Chicago. I had a few hours and found a chic little bar to grab a drink. Then my flight got delayed and I got panicky. It kept getting delayed; they were waiting for the captain to get in from another flight. It kept getting delayed. We were supposed to have taken off at 1750 and ended up boarding at around 1930. Then we sat on the tarmac for another hour and a half doing I don't know what. Finally we left Chicago around 2100. 

I couldn't have been happier to be home! Oh wait, yes I could. You see, somehow, 5 hours of me waiting around in O'Hare wasn't enough time to get my luggage onto the plane. And not just me, there were 6 or 7 other people who also did not get their luggage. Three days later, I'm still sitting around waiting for them to locate it. 
Congratulations, American Airlines, on your Richard Cranium Award. This debacle has overshadowed what was an awesome trip and possibly the most adventure I'll ever have. 
You are douchebags, and I have no idea how the company has been in business for this long. 

This was the short version of the story, of course it seemed much worse at the time. And it still does seem worse not having all the stuff I bought in Paris. I'm trying to be patient and not worry about all the material goods, but it's really hard. And when you spend $1200 on a plane ticket, you expect your stuff to be there with you. I'm saddened that this is making me not want to fly anywhere in the near future, as I really like flying and traveling. 
I also don't care about getting reimbursement or some sort of consolation from all this...I just really want my stuff back!