Cabernet and an Allen Wrench

I had my two-week post surgery appointment today, and my surgeon is very pleased. He says I am ahead of the curve. But he also explained to me why I don't feel like I am. Despite only having to replace the worn out plastic spacers, he had to do a lot of looking around to make sure nothing else needed replacing. So lots of digging, exposing, which has resulted in lots of pain. But he is quite pleased with my extension and flexion, as are my physical therapists. Considering all I have been through, I really thought this recovery would be easier. I was wrong. And not having a knee and calf on the other leg doesn't help much. I can't get out of bed or off the couch myself, and even with help, it is excruciating. The surgeon wants me to continue to use a walker, which of course, I hate, but he doesn't want to risk a fall. Makes sense. He thinks I will likely be able to drive in a couple more weeks, and oh, how I hope so. Just being able to take myself to my own PT ap...

So surgery was Friday, I came home Sunday, and I had my first outptient physical therapy appointment today. Holy Sh*t! I know they needed to check my range of motion, but OMG! The pain was pretty outrageous. But the good part is knowing as my mobility comes back, the pain will decrease. And I will keep telling myself that. While oxycodone made me pretty darn sick, I'm taking another opiate in conjunction with an anti-nausea drug, and it does seem to reduce my pain, but it is making writing on the ipad... interesting. As I knew beforehand, all this would be a heck of a lot easier if I had two legs. But I don't, and I am doing what I can to adapt, which right now is having Jerry help me get up from bed or a chair. My hope is that this is temporary, and in day or three I will be able to do it on my own. I saw photos of the worn out pieces that were removed. Not only had the plastic thinned, but it had pretty well splintered. It was beyond time to have it repaired. So t...

I found Sophie 11 or 12 years ago when she was part of a community cat colony near my old condo in Baltimore. We were still living in California. Long story short, she was definitely not feral and likely had not been outside long. My friend Bart took her. A couple of years after we moved to Baltimore Bart's circumstances changed and Sophie came to live with us. Despite being well into her teens, up until a couple days ago Sophie romped like a cat less than half her age. It really hit home yesterday. As she lay next to me I could see her breathing was shallow and she was sleeping even more than usual. I called my vet this morning and they got her in. They took x-rays and one of her lungs is pretty much collapsed. It could be a tumor, but we are opting not to do anything invasive; she wouldn't survive it. We had a discussion with the vet. She is still eating and enjoying life, so we are going to take it day to day. It was important to me to get her in today, because tomorrow ...

Pilates is good for all of these things. It is no joke that when I got hit by that bus the EMTs told me if I had not been so strong they would have let me go. I thanked my Pilates instructor. It is also amazingly good for my brain. I started out the day full of snark, and after my session I let so much go. After the session, as I drove to physical therapy, I thought about why I do some of the things I do. I push. I challenge. I dare people to get angry with me, and when they do I can say aha! I knew it. Why would anyone like me. I know I have said this before, but since my accident, my world has gotten so much smaller. There are friends who I don't hear from for months, and others have dropped me. And these are people I did not push away. I have sung this song before, I know, but it came back today when I was thinking about my life and how I really want to make it better. Pilates is certainly one way. As my body gets stronger my brain gets clearer. Endorphins, perhaps. Also c...

That is what my physical therapist said to me after my first fall. And yesterday I fell. Again. Jerry and I were in a grocery store and my foot got stuck on a rubber mat being used by a woman handing out samples of macarons. My prosthetic knee did bend so it definitely slowed down my fall, but I managed to pull many muscles in my residual thigh. As I lay on the floor, waiting to catch my breath and regain my composure, a flurry of staff people appeared, one of whom I was pretty sure was the manager. After I assured him I didn't want to fill out any forms or file a complaint, he and Jerry hoisted me up. I had tried the method my PT had shown me to get up from the floor, but I really was in too much pain to do it myself. I'm still in pain today, but I can walk, so I'm confident I didn't break anything this time. I see my physical therapist today, so she can help me figure out what is best to do. Walking? Not walking? Icing? Heating? She will have the answers. So whi...

Last evening was the annual Barcs Wedding. It truly is a grand affair. Every year two Barcs alumni dogs get "married." It is held at the Lord Baltimore Hotel. Cocktails, wine, a not fancy but delicious dinner catered by Blue Pit, and dancing. Last year I went to the wedding using a walker, and I was sure I would be walkong unaided this year. But a broken hip changed all that. I use a cane at home and seriously considered going to the event using just the cane, but my better sense prevailed and I went using the walker. I recently got a pair of dressy trousers and I wore them, paired with a glittery top I got at a second-hand store in Reykjavik. The great thing about baggy pants is that my prosthesis, as well as my misshapen thigh, are hidden. I still hate the walker but I was glad to have it. I am doing well, and I would hate to fall for the sake of vanity. It was so fun to see Barcs staff and volunteers out of their usual jeans and t-shirts, all dolled up for the even...

and I'm not answering. As you may well imagine, I will never be going to London again. But the odd thing is, most of the television programs I watch are British procedurals. After dinner, Jerry and I head to the TV room, armed with La Croix fizzy water and Skinnypop, to watch an episode of whatever we are streaming at the time. And that is generally a police or MI5 procedural based in London. It might seem odd since it is somewhere I now have an allergy too, but mostly, it's fine. Except the other night. We were watching Slow Horses, and there was an extended shot of a London double-decker bus. Mind you, I have no recollection of being hit by one, but somewhere-- imgination, subconscious or deep in my memory before the trauma team sedated me, I see that bus. and me. on the ground. And I get unbelievably upset, and I experience a resurgence of deep-buried PTSD. Some of it may be related to my current physical self. While I am mostly out of the wheelchair, my physical thera...