Category: blog

It’s been about a year since I’ve really been scared…of me.

 

For the most part, I don’t scare easy. I live in an old house that makes a lot of noises (many people believe I have a ghost) and has a heat vent in the basement that looks like a monster or something out of American Horror Story, but it’s never bothered me, even when I’ve been home alone, late at night, watching American Horror Story.

 

With nothing but down time on my hands as of late, I’ve been watching a lot of stuff from the library, to include The Godfather trilogy. 41 years old and I’ve never watched The Godfather – until now.  It was about midnight, the house was dark, and the only light in my house was that coming from the TV. Sonny Corleone had just been shot to death at the toll booth when all of a sudden I heard a similar noise, but it was coming from the TV. One of my helium balloons was caught in the fan light above me – scared the bejeebies out of me and, when you’re physically hurt, it’s not only scary, it’s painful.

 

A few days later, I returned home from art class with Sleepless to a very dark house. Unlike Motel 6, I don’t leave a light on for anyone. Or do I? Sleepless walked around to the back of the house to bring my bins to the curb for pick-up while I opened the front door. “You’ve got a light on in the basement,” she shouted to me while walking to the back and as I opened the front door I saw, in the back of my house, a figure. It took me a few seconds to realize that the figure was, in fact, my shadow.

 

Like I said, it’s been a while since I’ve really been scared, but these last two times we’re truly bone chilling.

 

Recently, a huge story made like my shoulder and ‘broke.’ As a result, I ended up speaking with several media representatives and received a couple of requests for on-camera interviews. It’s a good thing I got that shampoo set.

 

I had, however, just removed some of the bandages from my shoulder and it was looking a bit jacked. Since all of my wardrobe as of late was tube top style, I decided it would probably be best if I covered it all with a turquoise scarf.

 

I did so, and the photographers ensured me they would only film from the head up, but apparently that didn’t happen and, once again, I looked like I was breastfeeding a baby – this time on TV, during a work related interview.

 

A few days later I touched base with my boss about my shoulder status and mentioned the story that made the news over the weekend. “Yes, I saw that. What was that?” he asked. I started to brief him on the story and he said, “No, that blue thing you were wearing. What was that?” I provided clarification – the scarf was turquoise, not blue; I recently had surgery and didn’t think everyone wanted to see my incision; and next time I interview I am going to take my mom’s advice and attach a doll’s feet and arms to my sling so the scarf looks ‘normal.’

Due to my recent impairment, I’ve refrained from being impaired for at least a week – even professionally (despite the fact that the memo allows it).  Knowing Sleepless, Oreggano and I planned to have a night out on the town, I stopped taking my pain medications a few days after the surgery and a few days before our outing so that I could really tie one on with them.

 

It appears, however, my body was not entirely ready and returning to the drinking world full/fool speed ahead may not have been my best idea as of late. The margarita, penis shots, vodka/cran (totally medicinal to fend off bladder infections) and whatever was in the styrofoam cup totally kicked my ass. Two weeks to the day that I fell and broke my shoulder, I was falling off the wagon.

 

Although I slept relatively well, I woke up wrecked. “We probably shouldn’t have gone full force last night,” Oreggano said. “I think you may need a little hair of the dog,” Ice Cream Man advised after apologizing profusely to the three of us (and buying us “I’m Sorry” balloons, cake, cupcakes and a card) for sleeping through all of our calls/text messages for a ride home.

 

I opted against that choice since my pain appeared to have moved from my head and shoulder to my gut. Speaking of which, I have a gut feeling I should have stayed on the wagon a little while longer.

 

With Mother’s Day upon us, and me having been cooped up like a bird with a broken wing for the last few weeks, Sleepless, Oreggano and I decided to celebrate all of our greatness in the little town in which Oreggano resides.

 

We lined up the boys for daycare and rides and, prior to us leaving for dinner, Cream Of Tartar poured us an aperitif, set a lovely table for he and Ice Cream Man and then began making their dinner. “Dammit! The one night I’m trying to impress Ice Cream Man and my electronic ignition goes out.”

 

Knowing how much concern Cream Of Tartar had for Ice Cream Man’s comfort, we finished our aperitifs and made our way into town with confidence that they would both have that much concern for our safety when we were ready to return home. When we were ready to leave the restaurant (technically, when they were ready for us to leave – we closed the place down) and head to the tavern, they were ready to transport. We arrived at the tavern to find the marquee announcing a ‘Karaoke and Benefet’ for the kids. Karaoke and misspelled (or is it French?) good intentions for the kids – we’re in!

 

We immediately got on the karaoke list, tried to enjoy a penis JELL-O shot – it was for the kids, so not appropriate – hung my sling on the gun rack for a drink or two and let loose. Just like at the restaurant, we closed the bar down and Sleepless and Oreggano began texting and calling Cream Of Tartar and Ice Cream Man for a ride home. Unfortunately, we got no response and no ride.

 

So, with our benefet koozies in tow, we started making the trek home. “Maybe we should see if Live Longer could us a ride,” Sleepless joked. Walking a long way home from events is something she and are very used to – especially when someone was supposed to give us a ride. “Good idea. By the way, I’m peeing in the ditch. It’s for the kids,” Oreggano advised us. I decided to do the same and Sleepless didn’t judge us because she was in a similar situation a few weeks ago. Plus, by this time, it was Mother’s Day. Our day to do whatever we want wherever we want. Oh, and I have a disability. So, we dare anyone, anyone, to question us as we are walking home, rowdy and peeing in ditches. Mother’s Day – it clearly is for the kids, dads and Hallmark and not the mothers.

After several days of having friends wash my hair for me I decided it was time to swallow my pride and get in line with the blue hairs for Shampoo Set Saturday at the local cosmetology college.

 

Live Longer joined me, not for a shampoo set, but for a manicure. I advised my stylist of the need to protect my shoulder from moisture but apparently failed to mention the importance for complete protection because as she was blow drying my hair she hit my shoulder with the roll brush several times. I had also decided to have her color my eyebrows so, when she finished my hair she began to apply the color. She had already applied one coat when she asked, “You allergic to pinot?” “What?” “Are you allergic to peanuts?” she repeated. “No,” I replied. Good thing I wasn’t, because at that point we were two coats in.

 

As she finished the color I told her I had been considering cutting my hair short and possibly coloring it something vibrant. “I think maybe you shouldn’t make any big decision until after your thing,” she relied pointing to my shoulder.

 

Probably best I stick with the shampoo set.

While visiting with BeCuz, Sleepless and Ice Cream Man about my recent surgery, Sleepless informed me I had a catheter during the procedure. “I did? Are you sure?” I asked and said, “I don’t feel like I had a catheter. I would think that is something I would remember. They definitely didn’t put one in me before getting on the table.” “I’m pretty sure you had one. They put one in everyone who has surgery,” Sleepless replied.

 

“Really? I was under the knife for about 30 minutes recently. Wonder if I had a catheter,” BeCuz said. “No way,” Ice Cream Man, who is a huge fan of catheters, piped in. “No way. Neither of you had a catheter.”

 

It’s nice when a third party knows better than you whether or not you had a catheter. Based on what I’ve read, there’s no way in hell I had a catheter without knowing and, if I did, my shoulder is the least of my worries.

Even though my abilities are limited, I still try to get out and about for a few minutes each day so that I don’t end up completely homebound and eligible for Meals on Wheels.

 

The bandage on my shoulder is doing it’s job protecting my incision and is also doubling as an ad campaign featuring part of the Michelin Tire Man. It kind of looks like a mix between him and a very large 80s shoulder pad. As a result, when in public, I cover it and my sling with a scarf.

 

When walking into a restaurant recently the hostess said, “Two and a baby?” “Yes, no,” I replied and clarified, “Just two, there isn’t a baby under here just a large, prosthetic looking, Michelin Man arm in a sling.”

 

I really should have taken MiaMamma’s advice and attached a doll’s arms and legs to my sling.

 

Prior to going into surgery the nurse gave one last word of advice, “After the surgery, you need to be with a responsible adult for 24 hours.” Sleepless and I looked at each other, realized we may be in trouble, and asked, “Can we go back to the waiting room and look for someone responsible?”

 

Fortunately, during the time I was under anesthesia, Sleepless was able to enhance her responsibility level by reading up on after-care procedures. Turns out that, in addition to needing to be with a responsible adult for 24 hours, I was not to make important choices or sign legal papers. I was also to refrain from activities/sports/gym that required alertness, balance, coordination or judgment. The latter will be very easy, I follow this advice 24/7.

 

As instructed, I opted against important choices and let Sleepless and Ice Cream Man select what we would eat for dinner. I also avoided signing legal papers and online shopping even though I had a hankering for assistive devices and large print magazines.

 

Although I received loads of restrictions, I also received permission to “swing like a pendulum often.” Roger Miller would be so proud and, ever since I’ve received these instructions, I haven’t been able to get his song out of my head.

 

“England swings like a pendulum do,
Bobbies on bicycles, two by two,
Westminster Abbey the tower of Big Ben,
The rosy red cheeks of the little children…..”

 

I’m hoping Sleepless will soon learn the song and we can, responsibly, sing it together.

 

 

 

 

A day or two before my surgery I received an email from the hospital. I opened it to find an ‘Express Pass’ that I was to print and bring with me the day of the surgery. As Sleepless drove me to the hospital, I informed her of the pass. “Express Pass? What does that mean?” “I think it means we won’t have to wait in line for the Indiana Jones ride,” I replied.

 

We arrived at the hospital to find no one in sight. We did, however, find the Express kiosk and were a few steps into the process when a hospital employee informed us, “I can take it from here.” She checked me in and then an admitting nurse invited us into one of the neighboring rooms. In the room, on the table between the two patient chairs, was syringe paraphernalia. “I hate it when these are left around,” she told us and put the plastic pieces into her pocket. “I know I had your hospital band. I must have left it somewhere,” she said and, a few minutes later, another employee opened the door and handed her my band. “There it is,” she stated. Consistency is key and my medical experiences are consistently quirky.

 

The nurse took us to a patient room, provided me a hospital gown and instructions, then left. A few minutes later, my surgeon entered the room to discuss the surgical procedure and post-procedure with me, “You can’t get the bandage wet, so you’ll have to sponge bathe. Be sure to stick a dry towel under your arm and clean it good. It gets musky.” At some point he added, “It’s easy to get all backed up around here.” To be honest, I don’t recall if he was talking about the surgical facility or  my bowels. Either way, it was noteworthy and, if it got all backed up, my Express Pass was printed and ready to go!

 

When I told and showed That’s Not Chinese what happened to my arm she told me about an episode of Law & Order when a man abducted people, broke their arms, and then turned them into marionettes. “Were they alive when he would move their limbs?” I asked her. “Yes,” she replied. “Was the whole show just screaming?” I asked and then screamed for a long, loud time to make a point and asked her, “Do you realize how bad that would hurt?” “There was a plot. No screaming,” she informed me. “That is just one more reason why I don’t watch that show – it is totally unrealistic,” I informed her.

 

A few days later my brother dropped by and shared a story about a friend who fell 30 feet, shattered both of his feet and, after surgery, one of his feet got infected. Unfortunately the infection spread up his leg and they ended up amputating it. “What’s crazy is the year before that his sister was in a car accident and her leg was amputated. So, within one year’s time, their family had two amputees.” He then went on to tell me how I reminded him of our deceased grandmother. When I asked why he said, “You live alone, in a house downtown, and you’re wearing a shawl. The wine part is the only thing that doesn’t remind me of her.” “This is not a shawl, it is a jacket, and I can only put one arm in the sleeve because my other, not yet amputated, arm is in a sling,” I responded.

 

Perhaps Tree was right when he questioned my choice to not take pain medications. “If you’re not going to take them for the pain, take them to pass the time,” he advised. Instead, I’m passing the time alone, in a house downtown, wearing a ‘shawl,’ drinking wine and hoping I don’t end up a marionette or amputee.