Because of Broken Ankle, the dogs getting let out the front door more often than the back door, an unusual amount of rain this summer, the usual amount of humidity, the lack of lawn care due to lawn guy getting fired for running over the light and generally making a mess of the yard, and my inability to do anything yard related, this guy has moved in to the patio wall. Though we delight in yelling “Beaver” every time we see him, this is not a Beaver. This is a Woodchuck or Groundhog. (For size reference, that's Pepper the Wannabe Cat's chewed up frisbee bottom left.)
Right now Mr. Woodchuck is cute and shy and runs every time he sees our shadows watching him from the den window but one day soon, the dogs will find him and the digging will begin. And when the digging begins, the yelling starts and when the yelling starts the neighbors will hate us. Not to mention our wallets can't handle any encounter our dumbass dogs are likely to have with Mr. Woodchuck. Especially since we know dogs will not win. So, as entertaining as we find our shouts of “Beaver!” Mr. Woodchuck’s eviction notice will have to be served. Since I am still incapacitated, I nominate Husband to do the evicting. He did such a nice job with the 5ft Rat Snake last summer. I’ll stand by with one hand on the video record button and the other on 911. Either way it goes, it’s sure to be a story worth telling – especially if any or all of us end up in the ER again. Until that day, we will continue to entertain ourselves by yelling; “BEAVER!” at the top of our lungs and then watching the dogs go mental and Mr. Woodchuck scurry away. We’re really just children in overgrown bodies…
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Eleven weeks ago yesterday, I broke three bones in my ankle. Well, I didn't break all three. Dumbass Joseph broke the first one and I broke the other two step-cussing after. Anyway, this is finally happening... I’m slow as the forty-year-old molasses Mom found in Grandma’s cupboard after she died - and then used. I now have the added benefit of being heard as I walk as both the front and the back of Broken Ankle crack - but I’ve always wanted to be musical. I'm only doing it in the house when I’m in dumbass dog-free zone because I'm still feeling fragile around them - oh and everything else. Broken Ankle vacillates between a lovely 'dusky rose' and not so lovely 'red purple'. And I haven't attempted stairs or anything more complicated than to and from the bed to the bathroom or the couch to the kitchen while holding a crutch or the wall or the couch but it is progress - I am technically walking
Small gentle dance of joy. The next step (ha ha) will be driving. Now that Husband has replaced the tire on my Smart that he put a hole in last week. Likely on purpose so I wouldn't sneak out and try while he was out of the house. Whatever. I'm onto him. Anyway, Doc told me I could drive once I could put 100% weight on my foot and I was to drive with a shoe on and put Boot on when I got out. Small tiny problem with that is that Broken Ankle is not small or tiny. In fact, not one of my shoes fit Broken Ankle anymore. I managed to get one on the other night but it felt like I was breaking a bone again getting it off. So, unless the swelling goes down in the next day or two, I’m going to be pulling up to a handicap space in my Smart, swinging out my feet with one of my shoes on Good Foot and one of Husband’s on Bad Foot/Broken Ankle, removing that monster of a shoe and then slowly slapping the on dozen straps Velcro strips that tie me into Boot. I'm going to guess no one will challenge my handicap placard with that fashion disaster mess happening... Little things! Little fat swollen dusky rose things! This morning, when I went to grab a glass out of the cabinet for my morning chug of 10oz, the cupboard was empty. “That’s right,” I said to myself, “The dishwasher hasn’t been emptied.” So I grabbed a smaller glass from the cupboard and drank twice as much. Then, after letting the dogs out to do their thing, I came back into the kitchen to empty the dishwasher and found that Husband had already put the silverware away. All of the other clean dishes were still tucked in their little spots in the dishwasher but the silverware was nestled happily in their slots in the drawer.
Why did he put the silverware away but nothing else? Likely because when he went to make his breakfast yesterday, he needed a butter knife and the butter knives were all in the dishwasher so he pulled out the silverware caddy, put them all away, grabbed his butter knife from the now full slot in the drawer and went about his day not doing a thing about all the other clean dishes who wished to go home. I’m sure, if I were a psychologist, I could label him and ensure me that putting the silverware away but nothing else was not a conscious thing and not a dig at me. Whatever. I think he does it on purpose. I think he thinks, “Hum… ej hasn’t had much to ponder or complain about so why don’t I only do one part of a job and leave the rest for her.” And then giggles to himself manically while buttering his bread. I'm some psychologists would have something to say about my interpretation of Husband's actions but they can bite me. Why? Because normally this would send me into a rant. I’d build up the silly dishwasher inconvenience into an irritation and fan it until it turned into a fight. But today I’m choosing to see it as this: I’m healed enough for him to quit his Nurse Shrek job and just be Husband again. And so, instead of waiting until he woke up to launch into a list of things he’s done wrong, I covered Boot in a pillowcase, strapped that sucker on and went out and weeded the front yard. I didn’t last long. And I’m pretty sure I just pulled the tops of the majority of the weeds. And Broken Ankle is now swollen to the size of my thigh – the good fat with muscles thigh - BUT I am no longer Whiney Useless Patient ej. I’m back to being mostly me. Albeit I list to one side and have a very big fat purple foot and I won't be moving the rest of the day but I’m ME again. Half full clean dishwasher and badly weeded patch of garden aside, it’s a good day! So, it counts as walking but it sure ain't pretty. The very attractive lurching is partly because it hurts to step - not every time but enough for me to anticipate it will not be enjoyable - and partly because Boot is taller than my shoe but not tall enough for heels. I know, small world problems. But my world has been pretty dang small for the last two months! Also note my focus on the ground is something akin to a toddler trying to get a piece of fluff off the floor and into its mouth - INTENSE! That's because any variation in the level of the ground I'm walking on will tip me up or back or sideways. The evil squirrels have peppered the driveway with tiny oak bombs guaranteed to do just that. I’m sure they’ve got money on whose nut brings me down. Then, after taking off Boot, Broken Ankle looks like it's gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson in the ring. Or my mom's face after the "chunk" of wood hit her eye. I have purple tree sized cankles with some serious edema. Things Husband finds icky: Feet. Wounds. Scars. Swelling. Wife asking him to touch all three is a sure way to get him to leave the room. I've stopped many a fight this way.
I'm using my powers for good. Yesterday was my two-months anniversary since dumbass Joe ran his stupid head full speed into the back of my ankle; broke the bone and I step-cussed and broke two more. Two-months since Husband became Nurse Shrek and was suddenly responsible for the care and well being of three dogs, the house and all that comes with running it and one whiney weepy drugged up broken wife.
It’s been a looooooong two-months. I figured I have spent a lot of that time focusing on what I can't do with stupid Broken Ankle so today I'll just focus on what I can do: I can walk WITHOUT crutches! Yee Ha!!! So what if with every step I’m lurching like a drunken toddler walking on a ship in a storm? And so what if every time I take Boot off Broken Ankle is swollen to the size of my good left thigh? And so what if Broken Ankle and Foot will forever be purple and twice the size and I’m going to have to get a whole new set of shoes? And so what if Husband/Nurse Shrek still won’t look at the scars or touch any part of my right leg despite my emphatic pleas to “Please look at it. It’s really cool how my finger print stays in the swollen bit for hours.” I. Am. Walking. So, there is that little bit of light in the darkness that is our crappy world today - me, wobbling about the house, hands outstretched, feeling for the closest wall or couch or table but doing it WITHOUT CRUTCHES! Which means I can let go of my self-imposed 'no drinking while on crutches' rule and I can drink again!!! Heck, I already walk like I’m drunk so guess what I'm having for breakfast... |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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