And that’s exactly what it is. A non-update. Status Quo. No change. Keep on keepin’ on. I met with the surgeon yesterday. Our conversation went like this.
Doc: “Everything looks great, you are right on track”.
Me: “Amazing! I brought a list of questions.”
Doc: “Ok, let’s hear them”
And then it went like this:
Me: “Can I…”
Doc: “No.”
Me: “Ok. Could I then…”
Doc: “No.”
Me: “Right. How about…”
Doc: “No.”
And so it went for all 8 of my questions – which, let’s face it, were all asking in one way or another for a Get Out Of Jail Free Card. But the truth is that I have 3 weeks and 6 more days left in the sling (also known as the arm cooker as per Anja – and a truer name was never assigned, given its black polyester nature and the 32C nights).
And so onwards I go, perfecting my left hand-typing, mouse-maneuvering, veggie-chopping skills. But I still can’t tie my own shoes.
It’s been a little over 48 hours since I had surgery to fix the fracture in my shoulder which dated back to January. Although I was hoping to postpone it until the summer was over, my surgeon (and inner-smart person, when I decide to listen to her) felt sooner was better in order to prevent more damage. So I pouted, mentally kicked and screamed, squeezed in 2 road rides the day before the operation and drove to the hospital for a 7 am check-in. Highway 99 sure is pretty at 5:45am…
Frequent flyer
Fast-forward 7 hours, 4 screws, 2 surgeons and some fantastic nurses (who remembered me from knee surgery 6 months ago) at Squamish General and Jay was driving me home in a lovely fog. I know we discussed several things, none of which I can really remember. My kids were kind and happy to see me and I was happy to hit the couch.
These last few 48 hours haven’t been easy; discomfort morphs into pain if I’m not careful, I can’t sleep and the best part? It’s 34 degrees and my arm is pinned to my side, making me an itchy mess.
Jay has kindly taken the kids away for the weekend, leaving me a quiet house in which to properly rest (or, as the case may be, type blog posts with one hand). I know I’ll appreciate it more tomorrow but for now the house is eerily quiet and I’m wandering from place to place, a bit nervous about how I’m going to take care of myself as a one-armed bandit.
See you in September, road-selfie.
Herewith, a list of things I’ve discovered that I can and cannot do, one-handed.
I cannot…
Start the lawnmower.
Use a shovel.
Open a jar of pickles.
Negotiate buttons.
Make a decent sandwich.
Apply mascara.
Pick up kids.
I can…
Karate chop an apple with a kitchen knife (quite fun, actually).
Shimmy into clothing from the ground up.
Type with my left hand.
(Good god – I hope this list gets longer.)
Soon I will…
Swim. Run. Flail my arms with glee. Pick up my kids and squish them.
Bring on the patience potion, grasshopper!
This will be my last pity post. Here’s to being on the mend, having a patient and helpful partner, universal healthcare, sunny days and a good left arm to toast with.
Let me preface this by saying that, in the grand scheme of things, my current injuries are very minor. I’m mobile, upright and for the most part, coherent. When I start to feel sorry for myself, I think of a friend who’s son is in hospital and mentally slap myself and thank my lucky stars.
That being said, being injured sucks. A few weeks ago, I fractured my shoulder. As I was peeling myself off the ground – knowing instantly that I’d done a fair bit of damage, random thoughts ran through my brain:
“There’s NO WAY I’m calling patrol. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Ugh. How am I going to get my shirt off?”
“Stay calm. Kids are watching.”
“Well, there goes swimming for a while. Can I bike? Run? Skate ski?”
See? Inconvenient but not that big of a deal. Does it hurt? Yes. Is it awkward? Yes: just ask anyone who’s watched me pull off a sweater. Do I think I did more damage than good when I caught the blender falling off the counter a few days ago? Oh hell yes.
Being hard-headed, I knew I had a minor knee surgery scheduled for yesterday. Despite knowing that hobbling around on crutches probably wasn’t going to happen, I refused to re-schedule in the hopes that I’d be weight-bearing. And waddya know? The stars aligned, and here I am. Weight-bearing and feeling like I’ve been punched in the thigh. Peeling off the dressing last night made for a super fun family activity, one that all kids were keen to get involved in!
The good news is that surgery went smoothly and that frankly, it was the best sleep I’ve had in YEARS. The bad news is that there are potentially 2 more to come. But I figure I’ll cross that bridge when I’m being shoved over it.
In the meantime, I’m going to work on physio/recovery/rehad like it’s my job. There are too many upcoming adventures hanging in the balance not to!
The SMO's stories 