Post

The stretch always feels good.

Then. Opposition.



Then the flippity-flopity.



Counting.




Always better after, which is very encouraging. At day 12 post fracture, inclusive.

Yesterday. Shopping cart trip for catsoup poultry, other groceries, not really a long walk, long enough. Everything takes 3X as long, twice the effort, half the progress. The floors are all filthy. I'm struggling to keep dishes cleaned, kitchen counters semi-clear, my own hand washed. Spring light and mud, and here I am trying not to notice too much. Waves of despair, aches, and exhaustion. Took drugs last night, slept better, feeling more able today. Dylan off to see a movie, with my blessing. I pulled weeds and grasses. Walked for beer, which keeps me from being tempted to take opioids. Did, a half, last night, slept better than since the 14th. Pre break days.

Glad I haven't shaved since 1988.



No damn shaving.

View

In December, if asked, I would have said I needed a month off. Perhaps the beginning of burn out, not quite there. A week in February was nice, but not long enough. I came back saying, 'not long enough.'

And here I am with at least a month off work. No option. Can't even go to meetings. (FMLA. Which makes sense when flipped around.) Here I am scraping the lesson out of the turd. But it's a damn fine gift, however packaged. A chance to walk, slow waaaaaay down, garden one handed, let the left hand rule and teach. Practice patience.

Two phone calls today, Workers Comp and hospital safety, keeping on top of admin. Kindness, thoroughness.

Not just making the best of bad, but accepting the gift and it's price and strings, as valuable entire. It's hard, it's none of it a pleasure unalloyed.

Oh, the view is magnificent.

Like hiking with the ex, with my inadequate gear and prep and altitude sickness, through the Grand Tetons. Cold, sore, wet, already regretting the marriage. The beauty stays with me, and my own toughness, and I cannot regret those. The path to here and now.

Absolutely gorgeous.

Found

We found art in the neighborhood.

Derecho

So, once I feel safe, I am allowed to drive with the brace on. Not yet, I certainly don't feel I have control of my hand yet. But not as long as another four weeks either.

I find myself encouraging Derecho like a small, timid child.

Gardened ridiculously slowly, sitting flat on the ground, one handed weeding, put down a wildflower/mulch pellet mix. New corner neighbor out in her garden, a former landscaper who plans to open an airbnb and coffee shop. Wound up offering the long term loan of my rarely used push mower, she offered to help with weed whacking. More stories of injuries, a common theme of my life now, everyone has a story, and I am the current designated Listener. Well, that's fine.

The formal x-ray report:

There is an acute comminuted impacted fracture of the distal radial metaphysis with dorsal displacement of 1 full shaft width, 1.3 cm of fragment overlap, and approximately 50 degrees of dorsal angulation.
The remaining imaged osseous structures are intact.
Mild first metacarpophalangeal osteoarthritis.
Prominent surrounding soft tissue swelling.

So there.

Titanium

Resplinted, exercise routine in place, Surgeon happy with healing & strength so far. I can get incision wet. Compression bandages on to reduce swelling. Supply person showed me the same plate implanted, with ten, count 'em ten, screws. Exercises as expected, still not too bad. Tired.



Shiny. Titanium.

Zing

Thunderstorm yesterday afternoon, raining this morning. Friends over to watch Yojimbo and eat last night. Slept well, woke with shin splints - walked too much. Took no pain meds yesterday at all. Not to say it's painless, but not enough, not persistent enough, to take drugs. I'll save them for PT days. Lots of weird little pulls and zings, mostly transient.

Lots of songs running through my head. I seem to be focusing on art as much as practicalities. Dying my hair (yes I did) taking care of nails, weeding, the silly photos, writing, all seem of equal importance, based on how much time & effort I'm putting into it all. Lefty is improving on getting caps open, buttons, combing. Right is stretching further every day. Thumb twiddling has commenced.



Bruised up by the elbow, ulnar side. Not really painful. Not the orange prep, my surgeon doesn't use that, as I should bloody well know, having prepped hundreds of his cases. The little bruises are from the nerve blocks.


Lie still, little bottle, and shake my shaky hand
Black coffee's not enough for me, I need a better friend
One pill at the bottom is singing my favorite song
I know I must investigate
I hope that I can sing along

There's no time for metaphors cried the little pill to me
He said, "Life is a placebo masquerading as a simile"
Well, I knew that pill was lying
Too gregarious, too nice
But as he walked I had to sing this twice

Lie still, little bottle
Don't twist, it ain't twistin' time
With every move you make you just disintegrate my ever-troubled mind

Lie still, little bottle, and shake my shaky hand
Black coffee's not enough for me, I need a better friend
One pill at the bottom is singing my favorite song
I know I must investigate
I hope that I can sing along

-They Might Be Giants

Nails

Woke too early, got catsoup started at 0430. Dishes run, showered while Dylan was home, walked to get groceries. He's got the allergies, trees. Napped around 0900. More walking, got beer, odd/consignment clothes shop had harem pants. Got home, did not fit. Getting menopause-spread bad. Walked back, exchanged pants, met Dylan at the library, read Rolling Stone's Jordan Peele, in part, waiting for end of shift.

Sat out with Moby a long stretch, as he basked. Eton Grasse.



Keeping myself busy, moving, engaged. Have not had more than a week of vacation... since moving out to Boston? Oh.

Went for a pedicure, toenails a mess, Dylan anxious about hurting me. Best thing to happen to me all week. Feet and lower legs cleaned and tended, young woman with a lot more English than I have Vietnamese, which is none as should be obvious. (If I go in again, I will learn how to at least say thank you.) When she put the hot towel over my feet, I cried, quietly, in humble gratitude. The color on my tiny toenails is silly, but irrelevant.

I find having my feet washed more humbling than washing another's feet.

Fingernails are my own issue, Dylan trimmed my left hand for me. My damn right hand can just fuckoff.

Acronymics

Sam is helping, good bear.




Since my legs are working just fine, we went out to walk. Lovely lunch, picked up an item ordered pick-up-in-store from last weekend, all on public transportation and feet.

Warm enough to be out in short sleeves, sat on the porch a long time as Moby basked.

I'm cheerful and well, except for the injury and a host of little bruises and sore spots. Getting in better shape, in every way I can. Taking very few pain meds, none since last night, and cut in half. Moving my fingers more every day. Left hand getting the idea, enjoying the challenge. Feel patient and kindly to all.Getting help all over the place.


Lots of forms and admin, as this is workers comp, FMLA, PTO, other letters sure to come for my ORIF. Like being in the army again. FUBAR.

Piano

It's been a unholy week, with grace notes. The full moon through our front tree this morning, Eleanor like a furry, purring tumor on my chest through the night, the greening garden running off grinning - taunting "you can't catch me!" Beats kneeling in a grim church praying to an absent god. I will sit out in the sun later today.

Moving my fingers on the damaged side, proof of progress. Taking minimal pain meds, half doses at longer intervals, not letting the pain overtake me. This has let me sleep sufficiently. When I was a kid, cough syrup came with codeine, OTC. I remember a flu, and that stuff, and the most lovely cozy sleep. This is very much the same, not drugged up, a soft respite. I know to be cautious.

My training as a scrub is proving worthwhile, getting creative with one, non dexterous hand. I don't know how to do what I need to do, I do know how to approach the problems. I am my own patient in that way.

Dylan is my other hand. And having an on site IT guy is vital.

We can't find Eleanor's hairball treats that we got Sunday. The pitcher we ordered came in at tarjay, picking it up is harder. Getting to the plant sale in May could be difficult if I'm not driving yet. I can't shave Dylan's head. I don't want to cut my long hair, but keeping it tied back is a bit of a bugger. He has no future as a hair stylist.I keep thinking of places I'd like to pick something up, realizing getting there will be a problem. Nail clipping for felines and humans will be fun.

When I hit the floor, apparently I screamed, but after that I only swore with the words shit and bugger, which I'm oddly proud of. Shit is our business, so I always considered it a fair swear at work. And bugger isn't acknowledged as a swear here, but since I know it is, it still helps. Swearing helps pain tolerance.

Cone

That ain't right.



Better. Stable. Enormous improvement. Up several times to the toilet, seem to recall this as a thing after anesthesia. Can't quite remember what.

What my amusing surgeon Wrote. A YES or initials on the correct side is policy, they still get creative.



The card.



Now I want to make myself a Cone of Shame, take a photo & sent it to them. There were also flowers and candy.

Oh. I should wear it to my first post-op visit....

Auto fill is my left hand's new best friend, if occasionally a bit erratic.

community

home. feel much more stable, screwed back together. dense block, and no crepitus sensation. treated as a valued and loved person. they gave me flowers and chocolates and grippy socks. the last being a joke or joshing. it is funny.

more tomorrow.

thanks for all your kind support.

Irrelevancies

I've seen it so often, when there is a traumatic event, people focus on little things. It's a useful coping mechanism, I've done it myself. Yesterday, last night, I exhibited it profoundly. My short term memory was shot to hell, not much improved today. I worried about handing off my room, getting my pouch secured in my locker, as mild shock set in.I though about PTO & workers comp, and blowing two holes in a schedule already snug for staff, and if they would do the ORIF with a surgical block since I'd had lunch at 1100.

I was clear, tried to be funny, reassuring everyone that I was not going to panic, was accepting help, did not have a brain injury.

Last night I got up so I wouldn't keep Dylan awake. He needed his sleep. I'll get mine this afternoon anyway. And I read up. OF COURSE I did. Dr.Hand* gave me both immobile and surgical option, depending on X-rays. After X-rays I could tell it was still not absolutely clear, but when I said my gut feeling from the first moment was that I would need surgery, I could tell he was leaning that way, but did not want to sway me.

The block is holding, but the fracture is not stable. Movement feels awful, even though it's still largely numb.

I confessed to Dylan that I'd taken him for granted yesterday, and would do so today. I promised I never would. He says that's fine.

My head is making lists, then misplacing them.

broken

hi.

I broke my arm. three hours ago. at work. slipped, fell, knew immediately

surgery tomorrow

bugger

right arm

fastest response team ever

best block anesthesiologists got me numb

Dylan got there right after X-ray,filled out incident reports, worker comp, paperwork done.

I have paid time well accrued



so, for a bad thing, I'm in the best situation

still

bugger

Candyman

Continuing to dig up foxtail grasses and transplant wayward mint plants instead. Let them take over the verge. With the rain falling and snow expected, it will settle in well. The earlier moving mints are alive and promising already. Got a half inch of water yesterday. This won't end the drought, it will help this summer's garden.

When I was small, I attended an Easter party at All Saint's Church. There was a guess the number of jelly beans contest, that I won. Got the softest stuffed bunny, in real bunny colors. As I waited on the church steps for my mother to pick me up, several bigger girls that thought they should have won, took the bunny off of me. My mother showed up later, and told some of the church committee people about it. I don't know if the girls were ever confronted, but the church men gave me another bunny, bright yellow. I was well enough taught that I expressed effusive gratitude. A bright yellow bunny was not at all the same, the injustice was not corrected. A valuable lesson, that stings over fifty years on.



Sometimes the world sends an apology. Being on geological time, it's almost immediate.

Dylan pulled bunny out of the bag when I got home. As I told him about the floor cloths we'd hoped to get that would not in fact be feasible, he held bunny. Suddenly I looked at him and said, "You got me a bunny! Thank you!" and hugged him. This is how we give gifts between us. He grinned and presented the bunny to me. Perhaps I'll call her Evelyn.

Crabtree&Evelyn; have always smelled wonderful to me, and I am repulsed by most scented products. Went to my local gift/stationary/bunny store, that has been in business a long, long time, to get the face cream that works for me. And was told that C&E; were going to only 'mazon&targay.; Ah, well, everything has a lifetime. Got one last stash for half price.


Remembering being taken with when mom would pick up dad from work. One car, no place to park all day near the factory*, she wanted it for errands anyway, and it was only a couple of miles. I was allowed, sometimes urged, to walk the block from where she could park, to stand by the door, and wait for shift change, to meet dad. The sidewalk was wider than usual in Detroit, and I would lean against the red brick wall, listening for the horn to signal end of shift. The men would trickle out in ones and twos, then gouts and a torrent, and it was a little frightening to be standing out there all alone, pressing back out of the way. It was also a time that I could be by myself, unseen, unnoticed anyway, out of the house. All the legs. I only remember legs and feet.

Wolverine Tubing is a ruin today.



I don't remember any women. The men in regular trousers, not suit pants, but not denim either, not when I was very small. They worked in coveralls, but changed clothes, (I found out when the factory had an open house when I was maybe 7 or 8.) I wasn't eager to see my father, except that it meant I could stop standing there. But he would arrive, sometimes pick me up, often he'd have gotten me a treat from The Candyman. A ball of sugar that would change colors as I licked through the layers was my favorite. Not for the flavor, the artistry.

My father was never angry then. I think he liked showing off to the other men that his little girl waited for him. I'm certain I was always in a dress, at that stage. I expect my older brothers did the same when they were little. It's an oddly neutral memory for me.

I expect I met whomever it was that sold/gave him candy for me, not that I remember him. Only the name, and that he was the source of candy.

*The copper tubing factory closed and moved in the 70s. My father got a job in a steel mill, then more layoffs in the recession, during my adolescence, misery multiplied. Then he hired on at the cemetery as a groundskeeper, which got mom flowers and he lost another finger, but also a decent retirement.


“I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of the other.”

Rainer Maria Rilke

Out

Dylan headed out to walk, Moby says, "oh, good, I'm going out."



We take care of each other.

I'm soaking up tea and resting everything but my sore foot. Sore foot has PT to do. Screw sore foot.

Turds

Saw my physical therapist yesterday to dry needle my foot. She also did a full evaluation, after reading the foot PA's notes from January. She went way over how much this would be unpleasant, making sure several times, full disclosure... blah, blah, blah. All with me certain and both of us laughing. PTs are funny people, I think they have to be. Mine is delightful.

She oversold the pain, it was nowhere near as bad as a full calf/foot spasm that would wake me at night. My leg and foot did tap without my volition, which amused Dylan. Gave me further exercises, which I have also now done. And I woke this morning sore, but less stiff, and without that hard deep spasm that I never could break. Walking around the house is easier, and I hope to walk miles soon.


I knew it would help. I knew she would help. And I'm glad I got my foot to this point first.

The other good news is that Moby's bowels are working. Yesterday, hard turds were followed by a substantial soft one. I'd started giving him an abdominal massage the evening before, which he totally relaxed into. I only stopped when he vocalized an "ok, enough" sound. (He's a very communicative cat.) So, when the little log was spotted, Dylan and I were joyous. The kind of rejoicing that floor nurses with gut surgery patients have for them at the first post-op farts. It means the gut is waking up, and they cheer. Moby get's a daily belly squish from now on.

Moby's been sitting up on the back of the couch, we heard a thumpathump, he'd gone off the wrong side. So last night, we laid down padding for him.



This morning.

"Hey, this is good."


I got called off for low census. Given that I'm not feeling so hot, this is a gift. Cold sores on my lip and up my nose. I will rest, putz around the garden a little, and do my PT.

Keys

Addendumb:




Put more stuff on, with a larger ring, so it's harder to lose. We just don't carry as many keys anymore. No separate trunk lock, or apartment building and apartment door, or even front door back door. Two keys are easy to drop and not notice.

After running the full ten hours yesterday, today was more lax. Breaks between cases, not late finishing. I changed, had my keys in my hand, walked out, and nurse K was in the elevator, so I got in as well, shifting my badge into my hand instead to be ready to clock out. After that, I reached for my keys. That were not there.

A frantic search, tracing my steps, questioning my memory, help from my cow-orkers, a mild to moderate panic. Messaged Dylan, who simply got a Lyft, as I did one more search. Finally figured my keys dropped down the elevator shaft gap as I fumbled, didn't hear it because I was chatting with K. It's the only explanation that makes any damn sense. There was nowhere else.

It speaks to how much Dylan has earned my trust over the years, that I never for a moment thought he would do anything other than solve the problem as best he could. After my childhood and failed marriage, this is notable. He called the dealership, which was horrifying. So I did a little more research, and AAA will reimburse us for the new key, and our favorite locksmiths will make us a new key. If it costs the same or less than the (awful) dealership, it'll be worth it. I do hate car dealerships, shady at the best.

So, tomorrow. Our reliable local locksmiths are getting our business.


Car keys are a security issue, but they shouldn't be the scam they seem to have become.

Not feeling so perky this week.

April

Since tomorrow is April Fools, please take extra care not to believe anything you read.



Helped with the tree limb clean up. Always nice to work with our neighbors, both James and Mike, since we live tetrused in this area. Used our yard waste bin, took all three to handle the bio burden. Getting out in the garden every day to weed, and dig up foxtail grasses and transplant mint, throw down black mustard seed.

Canary

If someone treats others badly, but not you, it's just not your turn yet.

I'm usually the canary, not the one they treat well until they hit all the other targets.

Gold

Last week, still grey. But a useful photo, so Dylan could re-set his set-up.



The first week in the House, when de-Ikkea-ing.








Still have to de-grey the hall, but it'll happen.



It's odd, this house seems to want different colors than I ever would have imagined surrounded by. My mother had dark green carpets and either pale green or blue walls. I do love blues and purples. But this house was greens and reds, and now greens and oranges and pinks. Maybe my heart is opened up to more color. I seem to crave more color, especially after the grey and dull blues of the precious owners. It's not just that I'm thoroughly sick of eggshell walls and beige carpets of all our apartments, although that's certainly part of it. The colors here before were painfully tasteful, overly designer-y, too dark and muddy for the space. House seems to come alive with more intense, clear and saturated colors. I have hesitated every time, as though to ask "are you sure?" And every time, I proceed, and feel the light enter joyfully.

Limbs

Our neighbors are really going to wish they'd taken this tree out some day soon. It loses branches with any strong wind, and there are larger ones broken above. I pulled it out of their turnaround area, this one did not hit their car. They are out of town until some time today, and did not need to come home to another surprize windfall.



The snow is nearly gone. We had a good 8" at it's fluffiest, it slumped pretty quickly, and was melted off all but grass and ground by afternoon.

I don't think I showed this, my birthday present.

Branching

The rain started late in the evening, heavy and wind blown. Sometime during the night, I woke enough to realize it was too light through the shades. Like when there is fresh snow. I got up, and sure enough, several inches of snow all over. At another point, there were bright flashes, not quite lightning, but got through the blinds and my eyelids. A transformer was going out a few blocks away, and arcing.

Heard Dylan go out and shovel.

The roads were thick with slushy snow, right lanes iffy. Most people driving well, taking time, leaving space. But a few idiots, mostly in large vehicles, cut in and out, stayed too close, and crowded the semi-passable lanes. Got to work fine, the parking lot in the middle of being plowed, since it was so much, so late in the might, not predicted, so I just found a cleared spot and called it good. Some of my colleagues got angry at the seemingly random plow path, taking the worst possible reading. Oh, well, their misery is theirs.


Our surgeon was late because of blocked roads from tree limbs. A wearing day, not bad in any particular


When I got home, the neighbor's tree also lost another limb, and a major branch is broken very high up. A bird was pecking at the broken area, likely a good meal made available. Another tree down the street lost several large branches, but the most rotten elm still has it's huge branch, maybe not for long.

It's mostly melted now, since the temperatures warmed up to 49˚F.

Moby doing a bit better today, so the ominous decisions can be deferred.

Such is March, brilliant and dire together.

Answers

The vet not sure what's going on with Moby. But a weekly subQ fluid and enema as an answer... we are not, and Moby would certainly not, be happy with. It's not clear, and we are not. We know that decisions will have to be made, but not today.

This is about language and sounds, worth watching.



Rest.

Beaming

Eleanor enjoys a sunbeam.



This golden orange yellow has cheered this grey room up considerably. My usual messy style. Part of my enjoyment, is not having to work to professional standards. Change the color, never mind the corners. Clearing away accumulated dust and fur bunnies. The black paint will come off in time, when I can open windows. Dylan can return the art to the walls, without regard to where previous owners had nails.

Another coat to come, but even just this is such a mood improver. And a sense of accomplishment, which means a lot this week.


Warm and windy, Moby out in the grasses earlier.

Golden

The charge nurse issue has intensified, and not just with me. Manager is on it, and I have faith that she will work on it. Busy day, then distressing, then home early. Dylan prepped the music room's walls, so I painted.

Very bright clear golden, in sunlight a bit strong, but in evening light, rich and warm. Two coats, about half the room done, will finish tomorrow. He's very happy with it, the grey hidden. And not just one grey, but two walls are a very blue grey, the other two a slightly different more purple grey. Both dull and depressing, tastefully ugly. The orange is cheerful and intense.



Didn't cover well, took me a while to realize why. The other walls were in a matte surface, this room was in a semi-gloss or satin. We aren't picky perfectionists, so the increase in light is enough. But a couple of coats, and it's much improved. The rest tomorrow. Dylan very pleased, wishing we'd done this sooner.

But sometimes it takes getting really sick of something to appreciate the change.

Like taking a year or so to decide on a tattoo.

Mess

I love you so much.
Life of my life, all my life.
Every speck and mess.

Butt

Finished reading Never Home Alone, and I wonder. How much being in a house, with attendant bugges and microbes, garden soil, fungus and viruses, have inoculated me. I've been more well over the past year and a half than ever before in my life. Some of this is that I feel more safe, less stressed. The dirt has likely helped. My biome has changed.

Moby is doing alright, not entirely comfortable, hates anyone going near his butt. Well, understandable. We tend him as best we can, and leave him to find his own place.

We have paint for the music room, will start on that later this week.

This weekend we suffered from moodiness. Dylan has to work today. I'm annoyed with a nurse who seems to think I'm lazy, incompetent and rude. I'll accept the last one, since I don't see it as such a terrible sin.


Raining well all morning. The garden is happy, but so is the foxtail grasses. I've been out in the mud pulling, transplanting mint to crowd it out, ready for the ongoing battle.

Blackberries

Went to the Berries and Brambles class this morning. No wonder my strawberries never did well. Made nearly every mistake possible. Maybe every one. I have new plans for new plants. Serviceberry and blackberry will work better, hardier and need less feed and water. I have a better idea about pruning, too. The raspberry in back will get a pole to be tied to, and more water.



So, the Veronica is an opportunistic cover crop, which I have learned to appreciate. I'm tending to the compost better. The Hen&Chickens; reliably returns and slowly spreads. Denuding the scavenged xmas trees for mulch and future poles for blackberries.



Moss finding a home between the blocks, stolen from the landscaping of a nearby store. Probably not intentionally planted by them, so fair game. Better than the stink trees dug up two years ago that were trying to shove up and take over.



Serviceberries, the instructor says, were called that because in the northern winters where the ground was too frozen to bury anyone, when the serviceberries bloomed, it was time to dig graves. The symbolism of putting one in the raised bed from the wood that I decided was from my father, struck me.

I think the comfrey is coming up.