I got the most ridiculous letter in the mail on Monday. The author was a doctor whose care I came under last summer (2008, to be clear). She said she hoped the letter found me well. She informed me that due to 60 days of inactivity, she was closing my file. At first I was dismissive, ridiculing the correspondence because I’d actually been inactive for over 6 months and the bitch was LATE. But, the more I made fun of it, the more I thought about what it meant. My file was closed. It was CLOSED. And that stupid piece of paper morphed into a certificate of accomplishment. This morning I dug out my emergency stash of medication and threw it all away.

Thanksgiving. That’s today. We’re excited about it. That’s the royal “we”, man. A lot of people aren’t, though. There’s a certain dread a lot of folks feel around the holidays. I know because I talk to a lot of people and most of them have horror stories ready for the sharing. On the surface, folks spin yarns to entertain, but it’s all deeply rooted in emotions and personal truths. We laugh, wave a hand and utter cheerful exclamations. Then we sigh and think while we sip our beverage, waiting for someone else to tell a chuckler. And we’ve all got ‘em. But that’s not the important part of this paragraph. The important part is the thinking.

In between the stories and the laughs I’ll think about that letter; about the journey to which that letter vaguely refers, and to the ending that it signifies. And I will be thankful for it, among many, many other things.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Please pardon the agitated nature of the previous post. I hope that those of you who’ve been through clicker training (or may have started it and then…) can sympathize. Here’s a brief progress report: We all seem used to the click click click associated with feeding and treating Charlie. Hopefully on Monday Trainer Tim will think we’ve sufficiently “charged the clicker” and by the middle of next week we’ll be embroiled in another clicky challenge. Fingers crossed.

Public Service Announcement: Look, Something Shiny! is about the shiny new thing on my mind. Right now it’s Charlie. Don’t worry, soon I’ll start spouting off about something else. But for now let’s stick to the dog.

As of today we’ve had Charlie for about two weeks. Since bringing her home we’ve worked through involuntary urination, a tumor on her neck, resource guarding, numerous almost-dogfights, and four baths. As she’s gotten to know and begun to trust Jed and me, Charlie’s showing her more vulnerable side. And with that comes a laundry list of fears and phobias which so far includes:

Things That Cause Charlie to Tuck Tail and Run or Hide in the Bathtub

• The sounds and smells of cooking
• Rain storms
• When the blinds move in the breeze
• Those metal doors embedded in the sidewalks all over downtown
• Glass elevators (not when she’s in them, just when she sees them in operation)
• Our oscillating tower fan

She sounds like a total chicken, right? Well, get this:

Things That Every Other Dog in the World is Scared of, but Charlie Isn’t

• The vacuum (in fact, she runs up to “get” it)
• Getting taken into the back room at the vet’s office
• Being put into a bathtub full of water
• Emergency vehicle sirens
• Strangers who run up to touch her

Her veterinarian, with whom I’ve become all too familiar, agrees that she is a “weirdo”.

His words?

“Good luck with that.”

Click. Lamb.

Next up: Teaching an eight-year-old German Short-haired Lab how to fetch. Seriously.

Your throat is scratchy and you’re feeling like a cold might be overtaking your system. But then a bug in your ear compels you to grab the thermometer out of the first aid box. Crap–Temperature slightly elevated. You don’t panic and settle in with a cup of tea and some TV time before dozing off for the night. But the next morning the soreness is worse, you’ve got a bit of a headache, and the mercury is still showing a mild fever…

What do you do?

Let me make this easy on you: GO TO THE DOCTOR

Skeptics, I hear you. The only reason why I decided to make the trip to ZoomCare (doing justice to how much I love them will require an entirely different post) last Thursday was the fact that a coworker of mine was diagnosed with pneumonia two weeks ago. I’d ridden that horse in early 2008 and it was a trip I NEVER want to repeat. So last week I was proactive and zipped to the doctor’s office. While there, I learned that the flu can be diagnosed pretty accurately via a Rapid Test that the doctor administers in the office. Ten minutes later and BAM we knew I had the flu.

So, great. The flu. Now what? Stock up on facial tissue and get the ol’ barf bucket ready? Nope. If the flu is diagnosed within the first 48 hours, the doctor has the option to prescribe an anti-viral medication to help dampen the symptoms. It’s not a cure, you’re still going to be on the couch for about five days, but it’s SOMETHING. And looking back on the past six days of my life, I can say totally worth trying. The doctor actually put me on two anti-virals because the strain of influenza going around seems to be especially resistant, so it was kind of a bummer swallowing two pills twice a day with a nasty sore throat. But the discomfort was worthwhile, as my flu symptoms were thereafter limited to weakness, sinus pressure treatable with ibuprofen, and runny nose/sneezing. No puke, no chills, no sweats, no aches, no wanting to DIE for days in a row–Worth it, don’t you think?

Let me reiterate that it’s not a miracle. I still missed three days of work. My motivation behind sharing this story lies in the fact that everyone I’ve told since returning to the office yesterday did not know that these diagnosis and treatment options were available. So, in the name of love (you know I heart you, my dear readers) I share the story with you. Hope it helps!

I’m feeling very encouraged health-wise. After wearing the same loose-fitting cowskin boots and driving/bussing everywhere for three weeks, the inflammation in my right heel has subsided significantly and I’m planning to begin walking to work on Monday. Which means I’ll be getting the exercise I’d been counting on for the Shiny New You 1/3 Year Challenge. Watch out! The Nyco train is a-rollin’ once again!

You would think that the “convenience” of having a car would mean less stress than planning ahead to make a walk somewhere, but I beg to differ. The key word is planning. When I’m not relying on Nitrobob to take me to the office by 9am each morning, I wake up earlier and am more conscious of using my time wisely. I don’t push the clock either. In other words, there is no option to get behind the wheel and speed across the river at 8:50am.

In fairness, there probably isn’t any way these past two weeks could have happened without the car. There was Lunch 2.0 to shop for, which involved buying 25 two-liter sodas and returning the heavy catering equipment. Jed and I had the pleasure of spending evenings with Kim, Jason, and Rachel Vinson this past week, and because of the chill it made sense to drive for our dinners out. With Nitrobob around, our visitors didn’t have to pay for a rental to take them out to the Gorge. Doctor’s appointments, equipment shopping, picking up food for office meals… The car did it all. It’s breaktime, though.

Even if there is a bit of a surge to get out the door, the ~45min walk is plenty of time to de-stress and think about the day ahead. I miss that time. I need that time. Tomorrow I will get it back, thank goodness.

So I’ve been walking to and from the office (2.2 miles one way) Mon-Fri for about four weeks and the health benefits have been amazing. My blood pressure is at a new low of 98/64, my resting heart rate is 65 bpm, and I’ve lost over 5 lbs. That’s all great news, right?!

Ready for the bad news?

Yesterday a doctor diagnosed me with retrocalcaneal bursitis in my right foot.

You’re probably like, “What the hell is that?” Well, if you haven’t clicked the above link because you’re all enthralled in my story, here’s my first-hand description (one, so I can whine and two, so you know for like, reference and stuff):

On the back of my right ankle, at that top of the knobby bone that attaches to the heel, there is a white hot ball of fire that ignites whenever I put a shoe on. It’s the pressure of the shoe that causes 99.99% of the pain. When I’m shoeless, I’m fine. When stand on my tiptoes in bare feet, I’m fine. When I thump the sides of that knobby bone it doesn’t hurt. When I jump up and down it doesn’t hurt. BUT. Put on a pair of shoes and I’m like, dude, kill me now.

Know how I got it? New flats that hadn’t been broken in yet. Sure a little discomfort is easy to ignore when you’re toodling around, but walking over four miles in them was my undoing.

It’s not a quick fix, either. For two weeks I have to wear extra heel support in both shoes (and forget the cute ones for now), pop 800 mg of ibuprofen three times a day to battle the inflammation, ice my heel at night, stretch often to keep the tendon from becoming taut, and and cut down on the walking. That last one is the toughest for me to swallow.

Call me limpy. Call me gimpy. Call me dummy. If there’s a lesson to be learned, it’s don’t take your body for granted. In the back of my head I knew it was a bad idea to wear those damned shoes, but I thought the worst that could happen was a gnarly blister and an ache that would go away overnight. Now I’ve got a legitimate injury that, if I don’t follow doctor’s orders, could cost me an achilles tendon and make my favorite passtime, walking, a much less carefree experience.

Fashion is fun and all. But it’s not worth wrecking your feet. Or the embarrasment of having to take your shoes off in a doctor’s office after you’ve been wearing them for eight hours. Just sayin’.