It’s been pretty cold this week. I’m back to wearing pants now, but my toes have really been cold. The cast is too big to fit a sock over.

I asked Peggy to try to find something that will fit over my toes without being too tight. My piggies need room to flex.

She went to a sporting goods store and came up with a very creative solution.

If you watch football, it is an UnderArmour cap that many players wear under their helmets, but it is a “youth” size. It fits over the end of the cast perfectly, and then the non-walking walking shoe holds it neatly in place.

I shouldn’t be surprised that Peggy is creative. She is an actress, singer, dance instructor and personal trainer, all of which require enormous amounts of creativity to do well. But this creative solution tickles me for some reason.

Necessity is the mother of invention. I think Peggy was afraid I was going to ask her to start driving me again…

My surgeon explains things in a way I can understand. Unexpected, especially for an Ivy League punk. I like that about her.

Today I got the first cast removed. Today is the end of four weeks without being able to put my foot on the ground. She said “IF”, so I have not put my foot on the ground since about 7:00 am on December 20, 2016.

They put another cast on today, and they gave me a “walking shoe.” This is where the explanation comes in. It’s not really a walking shoe, it’s a peeing shoe.

That is the only time I am allowed to put my foot on the ground. That’s all the weight she wants it to bear for the next two weeks.

I asked if I can put it on the ground to get out of the car. Nope. But I can drive. I’m not sure how I am going to get the scooter out of the car without putting a foot on the ground, but I will figure it out. Peggy has got to be tired of taking me everywhere.

To be honest, it doesn’t look a whole lot different than it did two weeks ago, so I just have to take her word for it. I’ve waited four weeks, so two more ain’t gonna kill me.

As long as I can drive.

We had a wonderful holiday season with family in the house. It was really great of them to come and visit since I couldn’t go anywhere. Once LSU whipped Lamar Jackson and Louisville in the Citrus Bowl on New Year’s Eve people started heading back to their own homes.

Today is a big day.

We went back to the doctor today for the first time since the surgery. Got the news that everything looks good so far. The surgical bandages have all been removed — kinda gross — and replaced with a cast.

I still can’t put my foot on the ground, but I don’t have to keep it above my heart any longer, which means I can return to work. I’ve worked half-days from the recliner for the past week, but now I can actually return to the office. Of course, I can’t drive so poor Peggy has to take me and pick me up each day. She’s amazing. And probably ready to get me out of the house.

I’m excited to go back and see everyone. It’s a lot easier to harass people in person. Plus, all of the meetings will have to be in my office, and that is a tremendous home court advantage.

The real deliverance will occur when I can bear weight again, but in the immortal words of Bill Murray in “What About Bob?” — baby steps. Until I can take real steps, I’ll take it.

No one who knows me would consider me to be a workaholic.

A little background will help…

In 2005 I needed back surgery to correct a disc problem. Microsurgery, quick recovery, but still surgery with its requisite dangers and warnings. I took two days off to have the surgery on Thursday morning with the expectation of returning to work in some capacity on Monday.

After I regained consciousness post-surgery, Peggy walked into the recovery room to discover me on the telephone solving a problem for one of my employees.

I had been sedated for more than three hours. I have no memory of putting my phone under my pillow before the surgery, but when it rang I reached under my pillow and answered it. And answered Greg’s important question. Peggy was not amused.

So, when we scheduled this surgery she was very insistent that I schedule sufficient time off to be able to heal completely.

Today is two days post-surgery. I told everyone in my office to give me the rest of the week since I was going to be taking pain medication for three days — I take no responsibility for decisions made while under the influence of prescription narcotics.

So, today is December 22 and my entire family is coming to town for Christmas. Actually, my Dad came for the surgery so he is already here. Everyone else is arriving this weekend. Which means grocery shopping, or as many of the natives down here say, “making groceries.”

I was set up in my chair with everything I could possibly need for a couple of hours, so Peggy and Daddy went to the grocery store. Got all the stuff we need for the weekend. Got a few extra things just for fun. And came home to this…

Yes, it was a work call. Yes, I am under the influence of prescription narcotics. But I am also not very good at being still and I am just a little bit bored. Two days in. Out of two weeks.

The call came from the CEO, so not one of the people I had warned not to call until next week. I did give her my narcotics disclaimer, and then we talked for the next thirty minutes about a problem she needed help with.

Peggy is, again, not amused and is making noise about taking away my phone. It is currently under my pillow… 

I’ve never seen anything like that before…

I’m sure there are situations in which this proclamation is a positive thing, but I really can’t think of one. It certainly is not what you want to hear coming out of your surgeon’s mouth. Fortunately, I was still unconscious, but that meant it was Peggy that got the news.

The morning started well enough. We arrived at the surgical hospital at 5:30 for our scheduled 7:00 procedure. The doctor came in to see us — in her scrubs and wearing no makeup she looked about 17. Drew on my leg in Sharpie to show where the incision would be (and, I suppose, to make sure she didn’t operate on the wrong leg, though that didn’t occur to me until later). Told me what she was going to do. Sounded like something she had done before.

The anesthesiologist came in and told me what he was going to do and gave us instructions for what we were supposed to do when we got home. Again, great information delivered by a man who has clearly done this thousands of times. I nodded off to sleep with great confidence.

When I wake up Peggy is in the room with me. After nearly thirty-seven years together I’m pretty good at reading her. What I’m reading is not comedy.

“Remember how young she looked when she came in this morning? Well, she looked her age when she came back in,” was her opening. “She told me she had never seen anything like that before.”

While we were preparing for the surgery the doctor had explained the plan. Go inside, reconnect the severed ends of the tendons, even tighten them up a little bit so that the ankle would be better after surgery than it had been before the injury. Not bad for an ankle that has been broken three times and injured several other times. I’m pretty sure that while she described how great it would be that little blue birds flew into the room and lighted on her as she spoke.

The birds are dead.

When the surgeon got inside my ankle she discovered that all four ends of the two tendons were essentially ribbons; she was unable to reconnect them. Instead, she used all of the “usable” pieces she could find and attempted to make one good tendon out of them.

“If this is going to have any chance of working you have to follow the recovery and rehab directions to the letter,” she said.

What I thought:  It’s my damn ankle so of course I am going to do whatever it takes to make it work. And my wife is a personal trainer and an inveterate rule follower so she is not going to allow me to do anything other than what I am supposed to do.

What I said: “What do you mean IF?!”

I am at home in a lovely red recliner chair. The anesthesiologist was correct and I have felt no pain because we followed his post-op suggestions. Peggy picked up a very stylish scooter for me to use when I need to go to the bathroom or move from my chair to the bed. My foot will not touch the ground for a month. My family is coming to visit for Christmas because I cannot travel. We are going to follow the rules.

If…

Not ever. Before ankle surgery.

Christmas Party 2016 is in the books. Our company always does a good job with the Christmas Party and has so far resisted the urge to begin calling it a Holiday Celebration.

I always host a pre-party with the leaders of my team, and that is, without question, my favorite event of the year. Virtually all of the leaders attend and bring their spouses — for a person to whom family is very important this is always a heartwarming sight. And I try each year to let each spouse know how important his/her mate is to me.

I try to host the pre-party close enough to the real event so that no one has to drive. This year many of us stayed at the same downtown hotel, so I hosted the get-together there. Then we all walked over to the actual party.

The only downer of the evening was that I was not able to dance as much as usual. Peggy, however, made up for it and led the group out on the floor for most of the evening. I love to watch her dance, and from what I saw so did many of the others at the party.

We left at a reasonable time and walked back to the hotel. We had breakfast in the hotel restaurant on Saturday morning then headed out to begin our weekend. We have only this and the next weekend to get everything in that we want to do before I am unavailable for a month. So, we’re making the most of it.

It makes me wonder — what if we lived each weekend like this? Always trying to find a new experience. Always trying to see people we love and admire.

Judging from this weekend it might just mean we end up broke. But it is still a nudge to get everything we can out of life while we are well enough to do it.

Next weekend is lining up to be just like this one. I’m really looking forward to it!

Tonight is our last night in Vegas. We fly out in the morning.

As usual we had a blast. Peggy basically won enough money to pay for everything. Does it get better than that?

So, tonight we had a luxurious dinner at a restaurant inside MGM Grand called Craftsteak. We had never heard of the restaurant but had walked by it innumerable times while we were here and decided we had to try it. Boy, are we glad we did.

Apparently, the guy who owns it is a big deal in food circles. Appears on the television show “Top Chef”. We didn’t know any of that. Location, location, location…

If this wasn’t my “best ever” experience in a restaurant it is certainly in the upper echelon. Great service, incredible food, wonderful atmosphere — once you are inside the restaurant there is no clue that you are inside a hotel casino. It’s truly a top-notch experience.

So, with an incredible meal and great wine in our bodies, Peggy and I began reflecting on the trip to Las Vegas. We talked about all the great things we experienced on this trip, some of which I have chronicled for you in previous posts.

Then, in vino veritas, she said, “We have to talk about your ankle.”

I was expecting a slightly more romantic subject and was more than a little taken aback.

“You did great with the brace and there wasn’t one thing we wanted to do that we couldn’t do. But it just looks terrible when you walk. If it flops with a brace on it, what’s going to happen down the road?”

Of course, as usual, she’s right. Really no more discussion necessary. The night returned to its regularly scheduled programming.

We’ve had a great time, and it was a fair test.

When we get home I will call the doctor and see what we need to do to schedule the surgery.

Damn…

Well, we are two weeks out from Rockgate and the news is not good. X-rays and MRIs are done and the little ankle that could is starting to look like it just can’t. Because of a freakin’ rock…

Other than wanting to slap the doctor for insinuating I don’t really need two ankles to live my active lifestyle, I’m now in the process of figuring out what to do. When I originally hurt the ankle the pain and swelling was tremendous. We (which, of course, means Peggy) kept it elevated and iced it regularly the first night. When I got up on Monday morning, the swelling was still there but the pain was gone. Turns out that was not a good sign.

The MRI revealed that I severed both tendons on the outside of my ankle. It doesn’t hurt because after the initial shock, damage to tendons doesn’t cause pain. I just have no lateral stability in my ankle. The doctor gave me a very sexy brace to wear but the only way to potentially fix the problem is surgery. I really hate that word. Potentially.

I know what you’re thinking — “sucks for you, Jeff.” I’m sorry if it isn’t riveting theater, but it is my leg, one of only two that I own Go for a little empathy here and feel it along with me.

What I thought was a knot on my ankle is actually the two tendons rolled up in a little ball. Kind of like a rubber band when it snaps back after breaking. Sweet.

I don’t want to have surgery. I’m 54 years old and I really don’t want to screw with it. But I am also only 54 years old and I need to have two working ankles. And my wife is hot and I really want to be able to chase her around.

Peggy and I are going to Las Vegas in a couple of weeks to celebrate her birthday. I’m going to take my brace and we’re going to walk our butts off (like we do every time we go to Vegas) and see how it goes. If I can make it there…

Life is just kinda that way sometimes.

Last night Peggy and I had a great time at the LSU-Ole Miss football game. A wonderful afternoon of tailgating and seeing old friends on the first crisp, cool day of the fall — it really doesn’t get any better than that.

Unless you happen to be hosting guests for the game. Guests who are proud to be Ole Miss alumni. And then LSU runs all over Ole Miss and wins the game easily. That just might be better.

And when I say “runs over” I mean that literally — Leonard Fournette broke the LSU single-game rushing record on his first nine carries of the game, and ran over a defensive back on one of the runs that will be played over and over on ESPN for the remainder of the season. Suffice it to say it was a glorious night.

We went to church this morning and were greeted by the same kind of crisp, wonderful day. Sang our hearts out for Jesus. Paid attention in Sunday School. Probably even helped an old lady across the street, though that part is hazy.

Then, walking out of church, I stepped on a rock. Not a boulder. Not a brick. Not even a stone. And heard a pop.

So, tonight I sit in a reclining chair with ice on my swollen ankle. Since we’re into descriptive comparison, the knot is grapefruit sized. Texas Ruby Red. With seeds.

My dreams of running like Leonard Fournette dashed in an instant. Hoping it doesn’t turn into a reality of walking like Fred Sanford.

I’ll keep you posted.

Peggy and I have season tickets to LSU football. Our life doesn’t revolve around it, but we do love it. And we especially love it in October.

If you are going to visit Louisiana, I would recommend visiting in October or April. I would also recommend not moving to Louisiana based on what you experience in October or April — this is the only time of year that Louisiana feels like this.

We live three miles from the campus, so a lot of our tailgating is on our back porch watching the early games on television and grilling. We have friends come by on their way to the stadium and it is just a very relaxed atmosphere. We wrap up about an hour-and-a-half before the game and head to campus. That gives us time to park and visit with other friends before we go into the stadium. It is a glorious way to spend a Saturday.

We didn’t do anything to deserve this life. We just enjoy it to the fullest.

And if LSU wins we enjoy it even more.

Geaux Tigers!