Crutching: 10 Things I HATE About Crutches

Achilles, Greek hero of the Trojan War, was shot in the heel with an arrow creating a small wound that was ultimately his demise.  Although I am sure to physically recover from my Achilles heel injury, my mental state is another story…

It’s been six long weeks since I tore my right Achilles tendon juggling a soccer ball with my family at the Long Beach, CA airport while awaiting our flight home.  That means it’s been six long agonizing weeks since I have been loping around on crutches.  Or, as it is called by the informed, “crutching.”  While my balance is improving every day, and I am sure I will be unbeatable at Twister, here are ten reasons why you should avoid crutching (or really injury) at all costs.

#1. It’s freaking exhausting!  All that hopping, loping and dragging yourself up and down while precariously holding onto any protuberant surface makes boot camp seem like a walk in the park. Someone should come up with the “Crutching Work-Out/Diet.”  You use all sorts of big and small muscle groups, sweat constantly, need to nap for a good two hours a day and don’t have the energy – or strength – to eat.

#2. Peeing in the wee hours: Nothing is more dreadful than waking up at 3AM only to realize that you have to take a one-legged pee and that your mode of transport is crutches.  Sound asleep and weary, you must watch out for the stray fallen pillow and the rolled up bathroom mat as you ease yourself down onto the awaiting seat, only having to make the treacherous journey back.

#3. One-legged showering:  It took me two weeks to figure out how to shower with one leg out of the shower, and a few handy implements.  My first shower lasted about 30 seconds, or as long as I thought I could balance while frantically washing all body parts and my length of hair. My husband stood by and lifted me in and out.  It was far from relaxing and far from practical.  While I did get better at hopping in and out myself, and mastered the art of tying plastic garbage bags around my cast, my mom saved the day when she brought over a shower chair.  It’s a must.  While it does get slippery when you soap up, it allows you to relax under the soothing spray of hot water.  The second implement is the waterproof cast cover.  Although it didn’t initially fit over my heavy-duty post-surgery splint and wrap, it now fits nicely around my bright pink cast (I figured, why not go pink?).

#4. Enjoying your morning coffee.  Forget about leisurely drinking your hot coffee while reading the Wheaties box for the umpteenth time.  With crutches, you drink your coffee over the sink, as fast as you can.

#5. It’s treacherous and “ouch-y.”  You’d think it was enough that you’re still suffering the discomfort of having your foot re-attached to your leg. But watch out for all of the new “ouchies” that come from crutching.  Currently my own list includes a bruised hand, stubbed pinky and big toe, abrasions on both knees and two sore armpits. 

#6. Stairs become your arch nemesis.  Two things on stairs.  One: All stairs are not built the same.  While I am adept at hopping and tushy-ing my way up and down my own in-door banister-ed stairs, there are other stairs that take real courage to tackle, and the arm of a strong friend.  Two: Hopping up and down stairs is strenuous and tiring!  (See #1, “It’s freaking exhausting!”)

#7. You can’t carry anything.  Now why don’t crutches come with pockets?  Although I love wearing dresses and skirts in the summer, these days I am resolved to wearing shorts with pockets.  But try carrying a load of laundry in a 4-inch back pocket.  Useless.  These days, crawling with whatever has to get from point A to point B is the new walking.

#8. Speaking of USELESS…:  This should actually be listed at #1.  Using crutches is exasperating, frustrating, and arduous!  And, as I tore my RIGHT Achilles, I can’t even drive!  As all who know me can attest, I am not a restful spirit, happy to sit around and watch mindless TV.  I am high octane and like to get things done!  Nothing makes me happier than getting in a good work-out, being productive at my job and then checking off all my personal “to dos” for the day. Schpilkadik is what they call people like me in Yiddish.  That said, I am also exhausted (see #1, “It’s freaking exhausting!)

#9. No more than one alcoholic beverage:  Okay, well I’m a total light weight so if I go beyond one drink, I get tipsy. Suffice to say, the combination of alcohol and crutches is just a bad one. Unless you want to risk breaking, tearing, twisting another bone, tendon, etc. – keep sober.

#10. Handicapped parking: While my mom has been singing the praises of handicapped parking, it goes against my better nature (and my delusional state that I am still a young and spritely, 25) to seek out handicapped parking and be happy about hanging my sign on the car mirror.  I am too young for this!  However, I am also exhausted, (see #1: “It’s freaking exhausting!).

ONLY SIX MORE WEEKS TO GO!  AARRRGGHH!!!!

The Other (Cat) Woman

(Letter written by Dakota Furby Cronin, the Cronin Family's affectionate and needy cat, to his darling Amanda Cronin, while at sleep-away camp.  Note that "one-legged version" - or, "The Other Cat Woman -  is Audrey Mann Cronin, who is currently sporting a pink cast after surgery on her achilles tendon.  "Red-headed person" is Audrey's mom who is taking care of said "one-legged version," and "big guy" is Rob Cronin, father of Amanda Cronin.)

July 31, 2013

Meow Amanda,

Meow miss you!  Are you an outdoor cat for the summer?

Alas, I remain an indoor cat, much as I meow my head off and paw at the front and back door begging to be let out for a scratch on the cement, a roll in the grass, a bite of a lush green leaf or weed.

I have found comfort in a taller, less playful, one-legged version of you.  We snuggle a lot during the day, and at night we spoon and I drape myself all over her like a scarf.  She doesn’t seem to mind and I am often rewarded with a good scratch around the ears.  You know how I love that!  Here we are in a few photos of us.   I hope you are not envious and I promise that I will be all yours when you return.

Here is the big news!  There is someone sleeping in your bed!  I have tried to see what goes on in there at night, but she locks the door, and I can’t muscle or sneak my way in.  Last night, however, she got up to go to the bathroom and I was able to push open the bathroom door to see what she was up to.  She screamed from her seat and I ran, like all smart cats would do!

This new, red-headed person confuses me greatly.  Although she gives me water in the mornings and talks to me gently all day, she doesn’t ever seem to want to snuggle – or even pet me.  I have tried…believe me!  A couple of times, I have walked under her legs while she is seated on the sofa, tickling her with my fluffy tail.  “Out!” she yells!  And, when I have tried to jump up on her lap, she screams!  I am determined though to keep trying.  That big guy in the house keeps telling me that she will come around eventually.  I hope he is right.

Speaking of the big guy…he and I have also shared many tender moments together.  He gives the best scratches and as you know, likes to wrestle!  We spend most of our time together late at night and on the weekends.

So, where are you?  Are there other cats where you are?  We love your letters but they say nothing about the variety and flavor of the grasses, the best scratching spots, the most cozy corners for a nap in the sun.  If you find all of this pleasing, can you take me with you next summer?

Meow miss you and love you!

Dakota (aka Kody-Cat, Kota, Daka Cracker, Senior, etc.)

Ps. The taller version of you sends her love!  She really is awfully nice and misses you a lot!

My Achilles Heel

I have found my Achilles heel. My right achilles, to be exact. It is a new weakness that has thrust my less than peaceful self into days (and maybe, heaven-forbid, weeks and months) of forced relaxation and anxiety-ridden emptiness. I now find myself in an endless game of twister where my right foot is never allowed to touch down on any color or surface. I long for a call of "right foot blue!" but my new three limbed body is learning a new balancing act.

This is all recent history. Just six days ago we were at the Long Beach, CA airport after a spectacular family vacation that took us on a tour of California's central coast - from San Fran to Monterey to Carmel to Big Sur to San Simeon, to San Luis Obispo to LA to Newport Beach.  While awaiting our delayed flight home, my husband, son, daughter and I played soccer in the airport courtyard, juggling the ball back and forth.  After a bit of practice, I was feeling pretty good, and was up to three juggles in a row, the kids and my husband laughing hysterically as my long giraffe legs kicked and flipped in the air.  Then, on perhaps my finest go - right, left, right, left, my right foot came down and sort of wobbled.  I hopped to the nearest bench and touched the back of my ankle to find that there was nothing attaching my foot to my calf.  My foot just wobbled like an upside down bobble head.   The pain was intense but mostly I focused on not passing out.

After the initial shock, my family jumped into action and I found myself in a wheel chair headed to Long Beach Memorial Hospital.  We spent the rest of the day there and didn’t get home to New York until 4:30AM.  I am now with a cast and crutches and according to the nurses, will need surgery.  

I am so bummed.  That means no driving or swimming or spinning or yoga anything for me this summer.  

If you are reading this, and would like to do a mitzvah, please come visit.  Or better yet, come rescue me from this long, potentially very boring, summer.

For Dad

I know I made a promise to keep this blog populated with content, but times have been tough as my lovely dad has been in his final months, weeks and days.  He died on April 11th and the funeral was on April 12th.  

Here is my eulogy:

What do you say about the kindest man ever created?  A man defined by his big smile and twinkling blue eyes.  There is so much to say.  He was a loving father and caring grandfather always concerned and interested in our lives.  He had an incredible work ethic and never complained.  He gave to charity after charity – particularly those that supported women.  He was a prolific reader, a Civil War buff and an expert on British history.  He loved music, Gilbert & Sullivan, playing pinochle and decadent desserts.  He was an exemplary husband whose love and respect for my mother was always apparent in everything he said and did. 

I have been so incredibly blessed to have Irwin Lawrence Mann as my father, my dad.  His is the kindest soul.  The sweetest, most generous, hard-working, caring and witty, husband, father, grandfather and friend.   

Elie Wiesel once said, “Life is not made of years, but of moments.”  It is all too true that dad fought so hard thru all of his sicknesses and until the very end because he wanted to spend every moment life gave him with the love of his life – his amazing Doris.  She was his rock, his “beautiful wife,” his best friend. 

Many of you were at the send-off party for my brother, now Brigadier General Michael Mann, (ooh, my father was so proud of him!) – when he went to Afghanistan - which coincided with Dad's 80^th birthday.  My mother spoke about how fortunate she has been with the men in her life.  Especially, her husband.  We have all been so blessed to have Irwin Mann in our lives.

Dad’s kindness radiated and he could always brighten your day.  When we were kids, he would wake us up with, “Rise and Shine!” and send us off to school or work with a promising, “Good-bye and good-luck!”  He would welcome his shoe store customers with an enthusiastic, “Afternoo-oon!” And, we would all smile at hearing his always cheerful voice greeting us on the phone with an exuberant, “Hello from Eastchester!”  

No one had a more keen wit and he loved to tease.  He had so many silly nicknames for us.  And, although my dad left the joke telling to my mom, he could deliver a great line.

My father was very fond of offering advice – and one of my favorite lessons was to “make lemonade out of lemons,”  -- to find the good in situations, people, work, and day-to-day living – which he practiced every day.  And, though I fought it as a kid, I now I understand the wisdom of his advice, “put on a hat!”

My oldest and fondest memories are of my nursery school years and driving with my dad to Tiny Town. What fun we would have.  We would sing, our favorites – “K-K-K Katie,” “She’ll be Coming ‘Round the Mountain,” “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” And we would discuss our favorite colors – mine always changing and his always blue.  I never wanted to leave my dad and he would have to give me a gentle nudge into the arms of the awaiting teachers. Over the course of two years, there were so many legendary Tiny Town stories…A favorite was about how I insisted on only peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, but then tried the hot lunch on the very last day – spaghetti and meatballs – and loved it.   He often would retell these stories and I would love hearing them.

Dad studied to be an accountant, but ended up bringing his bright spirit and unmatched work ethic to his shoe stores – Corner Shoe Outlet and Step n’ Style.  He worked 6 long days a week. But he was always there for us, doing the big family food shop on Sunday mornings, making our school lunches, braiding my hair, quizzing us on our school work, and helping my sister Bev and I care for our guppies and cat fish, Sniffy.  Sniffy even got to share in our Friday night Shabbat chicken dinners, dad using his thumb nail to mash up a tender morsel of chicken just for Sniffy.

Dad was an attentive and loving grandpa.  Mom and I love remembering how he  danced with, toddler Amanda to “Beauty & the Beast.”  How she curtsied in front of him as he took her hand for the waltz. And with Jakey, Dad always was quick to ask how he was doing in hockey and soccer – and for both grandkids, a constant interest in their school work.  And, he loved Rob from the moment he met him and welcomed him into our family with open arms – with Rob’s powerful bear hugs often eliciting a compulsory, “Oy!”

I recently learned that Judaism has a long tradition of angelology – which does not subscribe to the notion of angels with wings, halos and flowing robes.  Jewish tradition teaches that angels are spiritual entities created by God to perform a task – to protect, praise, or rescue.  My dad, Irwin Lawrence, was and is our angel – always protecting, praising, showing us the meaning of gratitude and always with us, in our hearts, minds and souls.

I think of dad:

Every time I wrap a gift - he was the expert

When I stir my ice cream into a thick creamy soup

When someone says, "Make lemonade out of lemons!"

When I sink my teeth into a black & white cookie or chocolate éclair

When I read Dickens – especially “Great Expectations”

When I hear the song or reference to “Tipperary” or any Gilbert & Sullivan song

When I’m awake.  When I’m sleeping.

I think of dad, Every Day and FOREVER.