Overdue.

I stopped by the W.A. Library to pay my library fines.  Don't ask me how I remembered the fact that I owed money to the library for six months, but I knew.  In the back of my head, I knew it was under five bucks, but part of me wondered if it was an obscene amount...like the 30 I had to pay for late movies.  Don't rent movies from the library if you ever forget anything.  Ever.

This week has been full of little things like that.  Paying library fines, hanging pictures up on my wall with little 3M strips, calling my old workplace, grocery shopping... Some people call it "settling in", but I don't like to use the word "settle" because I don't want it to seem like I'm just settling.  For this house, for Milwaukee, or just nestling down into a giant pile of sticks and straw.  Does that make sense?  I'm not settling.  Snuggling into my giant nest is what I've been doing for the last six months, and I'm quite ready to migrate across the Atlantic Ocean, if you know what I mean.  Technically speaking, I'm gearing up for the next three weeks/three months, and they're gonna be huge.  Maybe that's why my body has decided to pack on a few pounds...you know, for the figurative "winter flight", if you will.

My blog post is also way over-due, and I apologize to those of you who had asked me how my doctor's appointment went.  Here's how the visit went down:  I got there (by myself!) 12 minutes late because I forgot to account for the fact that I always always always get lost in this area.  And I forgot about the the fact that I now move at the pace of a turtle.  I knew that going into it, but for some reason I just forgot to live it out as I was planning my time allotment.  (Major mind adjustments have to made, my friends.  Major adjustments.  I'm a last-minute type of girl, and this pace might be the end of me.)

I got there and apologized to the secretary for being late (shouldn't have opened my mouth), and she was like, "Oh, well Dr. Marks is very picky about his patients being on time...how late are you?"

*sheepishy* "Well, about 15 minutes."

"Oh, that's okay, you should be fine."

Thank goodness.

I was able to hop right up onto the x-ray stairs (which was a big deal), and didn't have to have any re-takes (also a big deal).  Got into his office, and his assistant came in to chat.  Apparently, arthritis can kick in any day now, which I didn't realize.  My left foot is especially at risk, but my right one is too, which I also didn't realize.  So, that was iffy news, but I'm not that worried about it.  What will come will come, and I am going to try to live my life to the fullest in the meantime.

As a side note, I think it is really easy for me to fall into the thinking trap of only living my life until the arthritis comes.  Like I have to wait for it to get here.  But that's a lie.  I am SO thankful that I am able to be up and walking around, and I can't live in fear of future pain.  I think that is such a huge life lesson for me.  Don't live in fear of future pain.

The doc came in a little bit later, and had nothing but good things to say about how things are healing.  I no longer have to use the bone stim, and I am out of my boot!!  Whoot whoot!  My new walking contraption looks like this:

Pretty sweet, huh?  I think it's a little quasi-Forest Gump, but whatev.  It works.

Here's the best part of the entire day.  So, right before Superman walks out of the office, he turns and he says to me, "You know, Catie, your bones should not look this good."

I had nothing to say at first.  It wasn't me.  I was not the one that expertly knit my bones back together, or designed the human body for the capacity to send cells to repair broken things.  All I could say to him was thank you for doing such an amazing job on helping my body to heal to the best of its ability, and give God the credit for doing the healing work.

Man.  I took the elevator downstairs, and just started sobbing as I was walking out of the hospital.  I saw glimpses of what had happened in the same exact steps and spaces in the last six months:  I saw my dad walking beside me as I tried to figure out how to use crutches, and then I saw him farting around with them while we waited for our van, trying to make me feel better about feeling like an oaf.  Then I saw my feet up in the air on the wheelchair, my gigantic toes purple and swollen.  I remembered when I had to pee so bad, and they had to lift me onto the toilet.  I felt my mom pushing me out the door into the chilly air, and I saw them both lifting me up into our van.  I remember wondering what my life was going to be like after I was up and walking again.

And there I was.  Walking out of the hospital.  By myself.

As I was waiting for the nice valet men to bring my car around, a woman started talking to me about her injuries.  She had gone through chemotherapy several years back, and as a result, her bones were very fragile; as a result, she had broken several of them in strange, little accidents.  She was in a lot of pain, and she struggled just to stand.  She had two walking sticks with her, and really sweet old-people shades covering her eyes and streaky auburn hair.  As we were talking about what things that she had gone through, and things she was about to go through, she said something along the lines of, "That is what life is about.  Living it to the full."

I could not have agreed with her more.