It’s all very ordinary

Sometimes when I am thinking of things to write in this blog I imagine writing a blog about a normal day, a normal day post injury that is.  But then in my mind I think it would be so phucking boring I might actually be responsible for further suffering.  Of others.

I mean I might get a chortle or two out of someone when I talk about holding down the baby with my not so small thigh so I can change his log filled nappies.  Almost suffocating him in dimply flab as my leg now does what my arm can’t.  Maybe a chortle.  Or a call from docs.

Or telling you how I struggle every day, without improvement thus far, in getting the planets into their bra.  I sit there willing with everything I have for my shit hand to hold that strap still so I can hook it with the good hand.  It never does it and every day I curse, stretch, grimace, frown, fart, perspire, grimace some more, twist my body into a pretzel, hurt myself, bend my damaged fingers back, cry out in pain, repeat and then eventually when I am at full maniac status allow Husband to help me.  He is always very annoyed I don’t ask him first.  He is an expert in my planets.  A virtual astronaut if you will.

Then there is feeding the horses which is generally straightforward until a buckle has come undone on the yearlings rug and because tying him up is way too much trouble when you only have one arm I just try and fasten the three popped buckles whilst he is eating.  Of course this means that not only does he put his head up and down 678 times whilst I am attempting to fasten his buckles, every single head movement comes at the exact moment I have managed to thread one of the buckles, against all odds, and it falls out.  I honestly do not know how that horse is still alive.  Just remembering this episode right now makes me want to go outside and kill him.

Then I get ready to leave for work and attempt to carry my bag and a coffee to the car.  Try opening the car door whilst carrying a bag and a traveller coffee with one arm.  If I had a free arm I would punch myself in the face with it.

So you can see already that writing about my day is boring as bat shit.  And yet I have started and cannot stop.  Oh you agree its boring, tell someone who cares.

My day doesn’t get any funnier at work unfortunately.  I talk into my big dick microphone all day, eat bananas, cry out when my shoulder pops out, which for some reason is all the time, and make six hundred trips around the office talking to all and sundry about the four million portfolios I hold.

I am noticing people staring a lot.  If there is something worse than everyone asking ‘what happened’ to my arm its strangers staring.  I went into the city today for a meeting and pretty much every person I passed stared.  I guess it looks a little out of place to be emulating Wonder Woman with big hair, make up, lipstick, stilletoes, a long black skirt with splits up both legs, a jacket, a very expensive red bag, pearls and weirdly my arm in a sling which looks like it belongs to an athlete.  It just doesn’t go.  People stare.  They wonder.  They frown. They annoy.

Then I get:

“shoulder reconstruction?” Or
“broken arm?” Or
“what happened here?”
“what did you break?”

How about your face.

One stupid knobend in a lift today asked me “how did you do that?”.  He was smirking and I don’t know why.  Perhaps he was thinking I would say I did it masturbating and go into graphic detail (although the lift was full), or explain it was manhandling the planets, or that naturally I tripped and fell in my magnificent six inch heels (as if) or clearly as I was a woman that I fell in the kitchen whilst baking and ran my shoulder into the stove.


“I ran my race bike into a moron who was stopped on race line going approximately 200kph and destroyed my brachial plexus leaving my arm permanently paralysed”.


“Could be worse then”.

Oh. My. God.

I am not sure I can go through the remainder of my life without being charged with a crime.  A serious one.  Although this evening husband and I went to the supermarket and the gorgeous thing about this injury is that in the store everyone gets out of your way.  Lots of positive reinforcement is also wagered.  “Gee you are doing well with that trolley” or “please you go first”.  It’s funny how people who would normally run down an old lady with their trolley have so much sympathy for my arm.  An injury clearly no one understands.

So the boringness continues.  I struggle.  I don’t.  I toil.  I laugh. I cringe and my brow is furrowed.  But I also do some things easily.  Sometimes I forget I am disabled.  Sometimes I forget I am in pain.  Sometimes I can’t remember having two arms.  Although not very often.

So you can see its all very ordinary.  I am not special or amazing or unique.  Unfortunately I am also not smart enough or talented enough to write this blog with effortless hilarity.  I apologise.  I wish things were different for both our sakes.

I will, however, keep trying.

OK It’s Pneumonia

So yesterday I had to go to the GP as I was running out of drugs and my stupid phucking pain physician who writes all my scripts left 75% of my meds off the script and promptly went on holidays.  Not happy Jan!  Now given I am on quite an array of medications and I am not sure which one is keeping me sane, running out of any is not an option.

I am pleased and proud to report I have booted endone already, all my remaining drugs are nerve drugs.  So given I don’t actually have a GP I had my trusty assistant find me one near work.  And did she deliver.  I met Dr Isabelle and could not have loved her more.  Hands down the best, most thorough, loveliest, explanatory human with a medical degree ever.  LOVED her.  I may have even said that in the consult.  Well i did.  Yes she blushed.  She could also type at the speed of sound (like I used to) whilst talking to me and not looking at her hands.  VERY RARE for a GP.

So I told her all about my accident, she explained that one of my drugs which is a nerve drug and also an antidepressant was prescribed in such a low dose it is medically not possible for it to work as an antidepressant.  Go me!  Here I was thinking that one was keeping me from diving off the deep end.  Turns out, no.

Then problem 2, Colin’s man flu.  After some comprehensive use of the stethoscope Dr I Love You told me she could hear something very suspicious in my left base (of my lung) and she thinks it’s pneumonia.  Having had full blown pneumonia when I was 30 I didn’t think this was out of the question.

The main problem this time is coughing is so painful I want to die.  Like phucking kill me, face down in the carpet, holding my shoulder in the socket with the only good arm I have, asking my 4yo to get me toilet paper to spit out lung in, crying my eyes out painful.

So onto antibiotics i go.  More pills!

Then today has been the weirdest day ever.  This morning I woke up and felt like I had been trampled by an elephant or two.  This is not abnormal lately given I am drugged to the eyeballs daily so I didn’t pay much attention to it.  Husband made me a coffee, joy, and I dozed before I heard the dulcet tones of my babies.

Then I had a shower and got dressed.  I went in to get the babies up and my son did not want to know me.  He does this when I have been at work too much.  I instantly got annoyed with him and went to snuggle my other child – thank god for back up children.  Clearly the little monster was deliberately trying to hurt me.  It worked.

Then Husband walks in and the little f45ker calls out “DADDY!!!!!!!!!!!” like Husband was made out of chocolate and carrying all my sons lifelong dreams in his arms.  Now Husband is in trouble too for being party to the emotional flogging.  I might rename them both Colin.

So I snuggled my daughter, who clearly wasn’t into it, and asked to be let free.  Ok I officially hate everyone.  Especially little Colin.  And little Colinette.  Chocolate Husband is on the ropes.

So a normal morning followed.  Milk for little Colin, Milo for Colinette, seventeen coffees for me and Husband, drugs, coughing up a lung twenty three times, yelling at the dogs to stop barking at the wind, cursing, picking up toys, Husbands phone ringing eighty three times.  Etcetera.

I wasn’t in a bad mood persay but you know, the elephant trampling.  And the children tearing out my soul.  And the bits of lung littering tissues in every bin.  It was adding up.

So by mid morning I told Husband I had to lay down as ‘tired’ no longer resembled what I felt.  If I didn’t lay down, falling down was approaching.  So lay down I did.  Then the turmoil from the children torturing me, my arm being overly painful, the coughing, the hacking, the choking – it all led to the biggest melt down to date.

I cried so much it looked like I had wet the bed.  It was the sorriest I have felt for myself to date.  I muttered ‘this is too hard’ and ‘I don’t want to be this ruined person’ and other rubbish similar for an eternity.  I would calm down and stop crying momentarily to only start again with more force.  I don’t know how I had the energy to be honest.

I could not understand how I will live this life with one arm.  All the things I can’t do are piled up everywhere, taunting me.  I don’t feel like me anymore.  I cried because people are coming off their race bikes left and right, and superficial injuries are all that emerges.  Why me with the lifelong disability because of someone else’s negligence.  Crying, crying, crying.

So when I finally ran out of everything required to produce such violent emotions I got up and went through the day reasonably normally.  I napped, watched the kids (not at the same time) drank fluids, responded to emails.  Then by nightfall I actually felt fine.

All the poor me, how will I be happy with one arm rhetoric had gone.  I am still phucking annoyed at Colin for the pneumonia but otherwise – sort of happy.  I read my daughter a book about animals and Husband showed me what a nudibranch was.  I know right 🙂

The day was WEIRD.  I do not know how one goes from one end of the spectrum to the other, but it happened.  I hope I don’t slip back any time soon.