Castitude

Castitude. It's an attitude of gratitude induced by leg-cast-wearing humility. Castitudinations for today include:

1) Taquitos and sludge.
In our search for "real guacamole," we failed. The good news is it's so awful that Angel won't eat it and that leaves it all for me. Wait. That's good news? The real good news is that I am able to knee walk myself to the kitchen and warm up my own taquitos now. Bon appetit!

2) Denim capris that fit over my cast.
When I learned that the cast would go up to my knee, I wondered over the tapered legs of my favorite denim capris. Visually, I didn't think they would work. But this morning, I braved the precarious perch, hovering over my knee walker, tugging and pulling my pants on. It's so great to be free from elastic waste shorts today! I feel almost stylish. AND I found a black v-neck shirt in the recesses of my suitcase that I haven't worn since the surgery. It's a whole new me! I insist on getting out of this house at some time today. I even wore mascara.

3) The absence of free range ants in the living room.
Last night was going to be a good night. It was, it was, it was! Until the ants decided to congregate en masse over whatever AJ spilled on the rug. Since I am stranded on the island of the longer couch near the dining room, I did not notice the great pasta and cereal spill of the love seat archipelago. However, when Angel sat down with dinner after a long day at work, he settled down into a pool of ants. Tonight will be much better because the ants have been vacuumed into oblivion.

4) Being able to explain the webcam in the bathroom so that guests return again, unafraid.
Yeah, there's a webcam in the bathroom. Sorry I didn't tell you before you went in there. Don't worry. It's for the snakes. Sorry, Katie. Glad you're coming back today!

5) Arming my friends with the knowledge that when they IM me, it may be Angel answering them instead of me.
Enough said. Sorry, Cathy. Although, I read the transcript, and that was pretty funny stuff!

6) Time to write, even if I'm in sponge mode presently.
I might just rewrite the first chapters of Seneca tomorrow. Really. For real! No, I mean it. When I asked Angel if there was anything at all, anything, really anything, he needed done today while he was at work, he calmly repeated (because he's said it before) that I could perhaps, oh, I don't know, WRITE SOMETHING???

Oh. Did you mean me?

7) Looking forward to the imminent arrival of the cast cover and back (cast) scratcher.

I am better than last week, which is all that matters, right? My hip and the bone graft site and radiating from it are giving me issues. More so than ever before. I will need to get used to it, because it will last for "several months." Otherwise, I am dreading having to get in and out of the bath with a trash bag on my leg again. That's hard with my big posterior. I freaked out a day ago because I thought a drop of water drizzled into my cast. I am so afraid of itching! I had an itching spell one morning from 3 to 4 a.m., and I used a chopstick because that was all I had, and I hurt so bad later, and the itching just wouldn't stop! It kept getting worse. So I ordered a pink plastic back scratcher from ebay and hopefully it will arrive soon. Otherwise, this is expensive, but I'm thinking about ordering one.

Hey, does this count as writing? I only have four more weeks to go in my butt-on-couch recovery. I'd better get typing! My nails are far too long.

Pictures

It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words, but in the case of Silly Moments, the sketches I received this morning are worth more words than can be contained in any dictionary! I am so excited! AND there will be a coloring book edition of the book, as well as the illustrated version! So much fun! I am so pleased. The sketches display the vitality of the book, along with the homey feeling and the sweetness of the child-cat interaction. This is a baby's picture book, but it is a feel-good book for all ages, too. The child being read aloud to, along with the reader, will both come away from this book feeling like there is joy in the simplicity of life.

Diane

I wasn't going to devote a blog to Diane. I wasn't going to share how I feel with anyone. After all, these are my feelngs, and if I choose to keep them to myself, who's going to stop me? Who's going to care?

She would. She does. She cares. That's her, always caring, for everyone. She is here right now with me, I don't care what anyone says. I can only touch her with my thoughts and emotions, but she is here. And she wants me to not only get this out, but to share it. I don't know why, and I don't know what to say, exactly.

I feel that it has been communicated to her already, all the emotion, and the history and the gratitude and the feelings of inadequacy in reciprocation for all she's done for me and Andrew and then the acceptance of the need for me to RECEIVE and then the thanks for that, as well. I need to absorb her friendship into my life and carry on. Take all those lessons about family and friendship and giving and receiving and use them as I go about my business. Kindness and caring, all of that. Those are heavy lessons to rely on when the going gets tough, and she reinforced all of those for me. So I'm lucky to have them, and to have had her in my life.

I am reminded that it is the time we spent together that was the most special, and that we made that time, even though we were both busy and preoccupied, and that the time you make for others is really time you make for yourself. And if we hadn't made that time for each other, we wouldn't have had the time for ourselves. So it is a gift, the time, to relax, to think, to feel, to share the thoughts and feelings, and to experience the world together. It's so much better than alone. And if you are lucky enough to find someone who clicks with you and streams along on the same wavelength, or at least the one traveling close enough to you to collide happily from time to time, then you need to treasure that time together. And when the tears are more cleansing than sad, you know you can go on.

I could list specifics and try to count endless Cobb salads at Lilly's Place, which no longer exists, and all the nights when I was at Cal State after work and my son was with her, and the weeks when I was at Spalding and my son was with her, and all the family events where I was invited and did attend, and the long phone calls, and the topics of discussion (mainly men, for each of us, but that subject is fodder for many conversations), and the shopping trips and birthdays and Christmases and Thanksgivings where I would normally be sitting alone, but was instead included in this boisterous family atmosphere and embraced as someone worth knowing and wanting to have around.

But if I listed all that, it would take forever, and seriously, I need to get on with my life and stop hiding in the corner, because I am now armed with the knowledge that I don't have to do everything on my own, and I can count on some people, because there are some trustworthy humans in this world. You just have to know how to recognize them, and when you see them, you need to hold onto them, because you never know how long they will be here to spend time with you. And when they call and ask you to lunch, your answer really should be yes, because you are robbing yourself of a lot more than calories if you decline.

Fax: Stranger Than Fiction

And the adventures of a reluctant patient continue. When I was last at the orthopaedic surgeon's office, I was told I needed four things: an X-Ray before the next ortho appt., the film or disk of the X-Ray, an appt. to see the ortho again, and then to go to the place where the CAM boot will be fitted and then given to me. In my Norco-induced haze, I attempted to communicate through the pain that I can only return one time. ONCE. I cannot drive, as my right leg is non-weight-bearing. I am an hour and a half away one way. I have to rely on my friend to take me, who also has a life (and three children) of her own. No way could I possibly return three or four times. Please, could this all be handled on one day?

After some argument, which mainly fell on my deaf ears, due to the narcotics and the nausea and the pain, I reiterated that I would only be able to return once. How could this please be accomplished? It was explained to me that the cast cannot be taken off without X-Rays first. The ortho is not allowed to take the X-Rays because I have an HMO, even though I passed a door at the ortho's office that said, "DO NOT ENTER, X-RAY IN PROGRESS."

My PCP, through my HMO, must authorize the X-Ray, and would likely prefer to do it at their own facility on a separate day from the ortho appt., and then will take a day or two to process the film and then I would have to return to that facility to pick it up to take with me to the ortho appt. The other option I have is to beg the PCP to please, pretty please, with sugar on top, allow me to go to an imaging place nearby that has the ability to take the X-Ray the same day as the ortho appt. and put the X-Ray immediately online for the ortho to see. I was told by the girl at the ortho office that I need to explain the situation clearly and request earnestly that I be allowed to visit the imaging place on the same day as the ortho appt.

After I returned from the dr.'s appt. and settled in on the sofa, I called the PCP and explained the situation to the nurse, who sighed in frustration and explained to me that I was supposed to bring the piece of paper with the radiology exam request on it straight to their office, which was already an hour and a half away from me when I called. I asked if I could please fax the document to her attention, and she said I could, and that when she received it, she would ask the doctor what the doctor would like to do. I asked if the fax number was on their internet site, and she said it was.

I discovered that the fax number is NOT on their internet site, nor is it available through any google search. The next day, Friday, I called her office again, and asked for the fax number to reach the nurse. I was given a number, and thanked the person who provided it to me. That number woke up some nice lady twice this morning, who yelled through the phone that this was not a fax line. So I called the doctor's exchange today, and was transferred to Urgent Care, who gave me yet another fax number for the nurse. This number rings eternally. The doctor's exchange does not have the fax number. There is no e-mail address available anywhere, not even on the internet. A search for the owner of the medical group's domain was not helpful, as no fax numbers or e-mail addresses were provided there, either. Three subsequent attempts to have the doctor's exchange transfer me to Urgent Care were fruitless, as the single line she is given to transfer people to is constantly busy and she cannot take a message.

So I have this lovely fax that I wrote on official "me" letterhead, explaining the situation, pleading my case, and begging for mercy. And it will never see the light of day or be submitted to the perusal of a doctor or a nurse, because the medical group still functions technologically 100 years behind everyone else.
_______________________

One more phone call to the Urgent Care was successful. They only have the wrong fax number also. BUT they provided their two fax numbers, and then when they receive the fax, they will interoffice mail it to the correct office. They explained that there is no e-mail address for their offices at all.

Huh.

The Road Less Traveled

Yesterday, Katie took me and the boys to the doctor's office for the fateful appointment. Because I predicted painful stitch removal, I took a pill for pain before we left. By the time we arrived, an hour and a half later (because that's how far away it is), I was loopier than a loon, shaking, and trying not to vomit. I also used the knee walker for the first time to get from the car to the lobby and then to the exam room. I don't have great balance to begin with, so the shaking really added that extra element of adventure.

Anyway, so I cried like a baby when they took the stitches out. They did put a cast on my leg. This was best case scenario, so I'm happy. But the entire experience was painful, and each medical professional who came in contact with me commented that the pain meds were much too strong. They took me off those pills so fast it made my head spin. Actually, the room was spinning. And it just wouldn't stop.

So now I have new pain pills, and I was able to practice with the knee walker in the aisles of the pharmacy when we got back in this area. And the cast is much lighter than the splint. Later, Cindi came over and brought dinner, nail polish, Sharpies and my own custom scented lotion. I feel human again, and with sparkly toes!

Today, I was able to move around on my own, and even made it to the living room with relative ease. I need to determine how to carry things, but just being able to go from one room to the other is so huge that I can wait for the rest of it all.

Since AJ was supposed to visit with his father this weekend, he and I made the trek to the meeting place. It took me 12 minutes to knee walk over there, and the heel of my cast was pressing heavily on my foot. I thought I was going to topple over a couple times because of rough terrain. One minute before his father was supposed to pick up AJ, he called and said that he isn't going to pick him up this weekend after all because he has to work Sunday. So we made the trek back to the house. In the heat. Past large stinging insects. Over bumps in the asphalt. All the way back. And then I tried to go up the stairs. I tore up my knee on the threshold, trying to crawl in. Then I raised myself up by using a chair and the crutches and AJ retrieved the knee walker from outside. When I transferred myself back to the knee walker, I slipped and fell into the counter, twisting my ankle inside the cast just enough to evoke a scream that they probably heard in the middle of the ocean. AJ settled me on the couch and brought me ice, and here I am, not crying anymore.

Each day is a little (or a lot) better, but it's still a long road to recovery.

Untitled Blog Blurb

Yesterday, Diane passed away in her sleep. Amid a flurry of phone calls, I decided not to blog about it. Instead, I chose to talk to her in my mind, and I said everything I needed to say. I'm not going to repeat any of it. Or at least I'm not ready to divulge how I feel about this situation. I may never be. So be it.

On another note, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning, early, to which Katie sweetly offered transportation and company, and I am very grateful.

One of three things will happen tomorrow:

1) Best case scenario: I get the splint off, stitches out, and a cast on.

2) Doable scenario: I get resplinted for a little while before the cast goes on and the stitches are removed.

3) Unthinkable scenario: I have to have surgery again.

I have fallen so many times that my splint has shifted under the bandages. This cannot bode well for my appointment tomorrow.

What a Day

I have not felt well most of the day. I was convinced I had a fever due to an infection relating to the surgery. I felt hot, then cold, then hot back again, and I was shaking and weak and my brain felt fuzzy. I have felt all of these things ever since the surgery, on a regular, if not constant, basis, but today felt...I don't know how to describe it exactly. It felt different, somehow, worse, more intense. It was hard to walk on the crutches due to the shaking, just like normal, but AJ is here now to help me, and he did catch me when I fell against the sink. I usually fall at least once a day, if not more than that, and it can be pretty painful. I thought I might have done enough damage from one or more of those falls to cause an infection, and so I sent AJ on a quest to the neighbor's house to find a thermometer that worked, because Angel's needed a new battery. He did find one, and had to communicate in 4th Grade Spanish because his friend wasn't there, just the older family members. He held up the non-operational thermoter and they got the one they had that worked and then he said, "Gracias."

So anyway I just feel like I have a fever, but I don't actually have one. That, on top of the pain, is enough to ruin anyone's day. But wait, it gets better.

I was trying to get rid of the headache, laying here silently, on pain pills, sipping ice water, and the phone rang. I didn't recognize the number so I didn't answer it. I waited and then listened to the voicemail. It was Diane's brother, George, calling to tell me that Diane is unresponsive and that hospice says her time is near. I called him back and he reiterated the message tearfully, and asked me to notify any others I felt appropriate to contact, and ask them to please visit her if they wish to do so, even though Diane would not be able to speak with them. I logged onto the work e-mail account and sent a quick message to those I felt would be interested, and then laid here some more, trying to not feel anything, physically or mentally. When that didn't work, the phone rang again, and it was Anna 2, the last person Diane spoke with on Friday morning before she fell into her sleep. She filled me in on the medical details and confirmed that the time is near. There is nothing I can do, and I did visit her for the last time before my surgery, and she did know I was there for most of the visit. I'm glad I went. I even took a picture of her, even though I probably shouldn't have. I like the ones I have of her when she was healthy so much better.

Reality check. I am grateful that I am expected to recover, and that even though I may have some bad days, such as today, when I feel worse than normal, they will pass, and I will be able to walk without pain. Diane doesn't have that to look forward to. But I'm glad for her, because she will be out of the intense pain she's suffered for almost a year, and she will not have to worry about bills or anything else, and she will be able to just be, and not worry about these human forms that require so much upkeep. I'm glad she is already asleep and hope her passing will be gentle and swift.