Today, my splint is removed, my stitches are removed, I get new X-rays and a new cast. Which means bye-bye to the splint I've been hauling around with me for the past 14 days. I'm feeling all the feelings right now, mostly fear of impending pain.
Yesterday, my two 4yr old friends and my two 40something friends decorated my splint. Really wishing I'd had them do it sooner. Art like this is meant to be appreciated longer than 24hours. It also makes the thing that is attached to my leg less trauma inducing at 3am when I realize it's not going anywhere anytime soon.
Who knows what joys - and hairy smells- today's appointment will bring Broken Ankle but for now, I'm honoring the friend that's kept it safe these last 14 days. I apologize for the unintentional Uma Thurman 'Kill Bill' toe shot. Sometimes Art ain't pretty.
So - you'd think with all the down time I'm forced to partake in because of my stupid broken ankle I'd be writing more.
You'd think with all the drugs I've been taking to numb the pain of the broken ankle I'd have plenty of nonsense to babble.
You'd think that the combination of drugs and down time would inspire grand plans about what I can and will do when I'm mobile again.
But my immobility has made the Dumb Asses that did this to me even more destructive. Nurse Shrek has been fetching and carrying for me so much they're feeling neglected. So neglected that new things have joined the menu of 'Things we can eat' at the Dumb Asses favorite restaurant known as Our House. The office chair, my bath scrubbing poof, my sleep eye mask have all been on the menu of late, usually preceded by an appetizer of tissues or paper towels and dog bed. It has been downright brutal around here. Thank goodness our garbage bill isn't by the pound.
And yesterday, while it was thundering outside, my shoes were apparently added to the menu...
Well, not shoes but shoe. And not any shoe but the one left shoe I've been wearing the few times I've be upright and outside since I was T-boned by the Dumb Asses 20 days ago. Note the difference in color of the insert. Left Shoe's insert is that color because the 60lbs Dumb Ass gummed it while he was busy munching on the straps. And by gummed I mean soaked it so throughly it was dripping. Just... Ew!
Nurse Shrek and I are outnumbered and we're running out of things for them to eat. I've seen them eyeing my cast. I stay still long enough, I'm pretty sure I'm next on the menu.
Silver lining- while I'm not writing and not babbling or coming up with my purpose in life, I will be now waiting for the straps of the My Left Shoe to make its way out of Dumb Ass Joe's ass. And, because I'm bedridden because of the Stupid Broken Ankle, I'm not the one who has to deal with it when it doesn't quite clear the exit.
Is it wrong that it makes me smile...?
The below was supposed to be my post on Friday but I procrastinated and then Mother Nature threw a wackadoodle of a storm and lightning blew out a transformer and we lost power for 20hours and it was a million degrees inside the house and I had a migraine and my phone died so that didn't happen... I know this is so 'but the dog ate my homework' but for once the damn dog had nothing to do with this delay... anyway, last week's burt below
I had surgery six weeks ago on stupid Broken Ankle.
The best part about the surgery was the nerve block they put into my leg which made it numb for almost 24 hours. I could pretend that I was just being pampered by Nurse Shrek for no reason. Well, if I ignored the 30 minute round trips to the bathroom to pee with Nurse Shrek as witness holding my drugged self up, I could.
The worst thing I that remember wasn't the needles or the cutting or the new very expensive jewelry they attached with power tools to my ankle bones. Nope. The worst part was when I woke up from the surgery and told the nurse I needed to pee and she said that she'd help me with that and started unplugging me from the various wires attached to my chest but then got distracted by a fellow nurse who took her into a corner of the cold room and started whiper-fighting with her.
Which would have been fine if she came back. But she didn't.
The two of them whisper-fought for about 45 min while I lay there, numb everywhere but my bladder, slowly getting more and more uncomfortable. I asked another nurse if she could help me out and she told me she would let my nurse know, which she did. But my nurse just nodded and kept whisper-fighting with her co-worker and ignored my floating back teeth. Finally I sat my groggy self up and started pulling tubes and wires off me as I looked around to see where the bathroom might be. Not that I could see anything because Husband had taken my glasses everything past my nose was a blurry mess. And not that I had a plan once I was not hooked up to anything because not only did I have the nerve block in my leg, which meant my leg wasn't going to do a thing I told it to, but I was totally not allowed to put any weight on the stupid Broken Ankle to get my stupid self to a bathroom.
Good thing my ineffective attempts to free myself from the wires set off an alarm and Nurse decided her whisper-fight could wait.
Why am I babbling about this six weeks later? Well, this morning, while shifting things I haven't dealt with since Broken Ankle happened seven weeks ago from one pile to another, I found this lovely card the surgery team sent me.
A lovely gesture which would be all the more meaningful if I knew who any of these people were!
Honestly, a little note next to each would have been helpful - like, Kim (the only one you remember because she gave you the first drug and drew 'Cut this one' on your leg). Or ??? (the one who stabbed you with the wonderful needle of no pain) Or ??? (the nurse who whisper-fought while you needed to pee.) Because then I could send each of them a personal thank you back, just like my mother taught me. And the one who gave me the nerve block would get a large bottle of booze and a monthly subscription to the chocolate of the month club. Because obviously she was my favorite.
You can just guess what whisper-fight would get. And what finger I'd use to sign the card...
FIVE. MORE. DAYS.
(Of course, because of the power outage and the git who forgot to flick the switch and turn our section back on, it's now TWO. MORE. DAYS!!! I, of course, am not counting today because TWO. DAYS. is MUCH better than THREE. DAYS. And in TWO. DAYS. I get to see my withered ,hairy, smelly mess of a leg maybe be allowed to put some weight on it and begin to walk again. TWO. DAYS!!!)
Last night, the nerve block wore off before I got enough pain numbing pills into me. Waves of screaming hate began coursing through my foot/ankle/leg. When I say the pain was f-ing significant, I'm not exaggerating at all. It hurt worse than the actual break and the subsequent wrenching of the bones as they put them back into place. Which is to say A LOT!
I was actually moaning out loud until the pills took the edge off, scaring dogs and Husband alike. Pretty rough for a bit there.
So, at midnight, when the pain started ramping its way to excruciating again, I popped the two pills Nurse Shrek/David had left by the bedside and quietly whimpered until it was beat back to a slight throb.
At 4am, the pain train started to run again. This time, I had no bedside pill to take. Nurse Shrek is a responsible dealer. Addiction ain't happening on his watch. I tried breathing the pain down but that bull**** doesn't last long when it's 4am and in between moans, I could hear my ankle cussing me blue. A wobbly stealth trip (snort) to the kitchen followed. There ain't nothing stealthy about crutches, especially not in the dark with a mumbling moaning sound track. Finally reaching the kitchen, I grabbed the two containers of pills, and foraged for something to layer my tummy with before sending the pill troops in to shut the pain sucker down...
But crutches means no free hands to carry my loot. And my ankle's cussing was getting louder so sitting in the kitchen and drugging up wasn't an option so back to bed I went. An agonizingly slow trip but the crackers, pills and I made it in one piece without too many collisions with the walls and only a few "Arg, I'm going down!" wobbles.
Dumb Asses may have broken my bones but my problem solving skills are still intact! My dignity, not so much - but I'm okay with that. Thanks to the pills.
My 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