Jiggedy Jig

We are home from spending five days in Cleveland, a trip I had very mixed feelings about taking. While I really wanted to see my cousins, I hate going just about anywhere using the wheelchair.

Nothing says disabled, at least to me, than a wheelchair. That, and one pant leg tied in a knot where my knee should be. Countless times a day I shake my head in disbelief. I say WTF more times than should be legal. I hate it.

I am obviously not alone in these thoughts because as I have said before, I have been dumped by countless people. I speculate why, but I can't say for sure. You'd have to ask them, because they sure aren't telling me.

Which brings me to my Cleveland family. No matter what might be going on with me, they would figure out a way to see me, hang out with me, go out to dinner with me, have great talks with me. I love these people.

Jerry and I did decide to stay in a hotel, which certainly made things easier for everyone. We requested an accessible room and actually got one.

Kudos to Marriott for the best accessible room we've ever stayed in. A rolll-in shower, a sink I could actually pull myself up to, hand rails in all the right places. Yay.

During the stay the bandage covering my pretty large incision came off. At Steve and Rose's we covered it in extra-large bandages they had on hand. During the brief time of no bandage, I could see the incision was pretty well healed.

I go to see an orthopaedic PA ths coming Friday. I assume she will take out the sutures, and my hope is she will allow me to start wearing my prosthesis. I know I won't just pop it on and start walking again; it's been too many months so I know I will have to take it literally one step at a time.

I have to be prepared for her to say I'm not ready for weight-bearing. It will be soul-crushing, but there is a good bit of hardware in there and it may take more time for it to settle.

We are going out with other cousins for New Year's Eve. La Cuchara is an easy restaurant to go to in a wheelchair. Handicapped parking right out front, a ramp, and no steps to get into the dining rooms.

And once I am tucked into a table, my disability is invisible. Due to my ab fab transfer skills, I slide myself into a chair, and my leg and a half are under a table.

Looking back at the last couple of years, my recovery has been quite circular. A little bit forward, a little bit back. Rinse and repeat.

These last few immobile months have felt never-ending. I get angry. I get depressed. But at least at this point I am relatively sure that this week, or at least a couple weeks down the road, I will start to learn to walk again. and I will get back a lot of independence.
Yay.

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