OneGoodArm Swear Scale: Hectic
It appears since finding out about my second round of surgery, well it’s the third post accident and about 56th in the last twelve months, but hearing of this latest surgery news – has turned me into, frankly, a fucking nightmare.
I am skating around on a knife edge and I can go from happy to psycho in the literal blink of a magnetic lash wearing eyeball. Yesterday the bulldog spat out her tablet like a shithead (antibiotics post surgery) and as the tablet hit the floor and she spat the rice all all over the deck that the tablet had been hiding in I got so angry I thought I might strangle her to death.
She could clearly feel the rage as she took off into the yard and I became, quite impossibly one would think, even angrier.
After I managed to get the fucking tablet in the soon to be three legged bulldog’s throat, I calmed the fuck down and started to clean up after dinner. Of course the dishwasher was full of clean dishes because I am the only person on our property who is competent to empty a dishwasher apparently, even though I am down a limb. Lucky me. So of course this pushes me from normal to neurotic again, in some kind of land-speed neuroses record.
“Just pour yourself a scotch and leave me the dishes” Husband says. Don’t mind if I do, don’t mind if I do. PS not sure why the dishwasher wasn’t emptied this morning ‘two arms’.
I find these episodes of becoming a lunatic to be happening all the time. They used to happen every few days, now they are happening ALL day, every day. I’m not sure how much I, or my poor non lunatic family, can take.
Yesterday I went to the GP as I had run out of amitriptiline (nerve drug). Me being me arrived 10 minutes early. This is sheer stupidity in a GP office as they are ALWAYS running late. But given my appointment was 10am and they only open at 9am, how late could they be running?
1 hour and 15 minutes to be exact.
NOT HAPPY JAN.
When the GP eventually emerged, and it was not my normal GP but some perky Registrar, who then gave me a very shallow apology for keeping me waiting for 75 minutes, I refused to smile and asked her point blank how one could be 75 minutes late after 4 measly appointments. Eh? What exactly is your piss weak infuriating excuse? Unless someone was dying I am not accepting it.
“We have had such a backlog already this morning”
“Ah there is no one other than me waiting and when I arrived the only person waiting you took into your room”.
“What can I help you with today?”
“I need a prescription”
“Oh dear, all that waiting for just that (scribbling script) is there anything else I can do for you to justify your VERY long wait”
Give me a brain transplant? No.
I managed to not have a full ‘spaz’ with her, but she certainly got my vibe.
When I was that evening going over this position I am finding myself in, my darling sister explained it for me very succinctly. She said it was simply a curve ball that I was not expecting, as is the way with curve balls. I was in recovery mode after my surgery, things were going well and now this unexpected ‘other surgery’ is a major blip on the radar. Once I have accepted it, I will be fine – well at least as fine as I was before the curve ball.
Luckily surgery is in 5 days so like it or not surgery will be here and happening whether I have accepted it or not. And just like that, it will be over. At least I am not worried about dying in the surgery this time. I probably should be given this is a surgery that has not been performed before by either my orthopaedic shoulder surgeon or my neurosurgeon.
Let’s just park that thought in the disabled bay shall we. That reminds me I must get onto to getting my disabled parking permit. Injury perk. There aren’t many. Although I will probably never use it because I will feel too guilty.
To top off my week I sat in a meeting all day Friday when one of my colleagues says to me “I was watching you today and see your fingers were moving!” With a tone that suggested all was better than I was making out.
“Yes they always have, but they are much weaker following surgery”
“Well I didn’t realise your fingers moved!”
“Well they don’t do anything, I can’t even press the remote button on my car keys so perhaps not as helpful as you might assume” now I had tone.
What I wanted to say was
“Imagine this, your dominant cannot hold a pen, press any buttons, undo your watch strap, hold anything heavier than an empty cup, forget writing, pointing or even scratching, your hand aches 24 hours a day, together with burning, you can’t even turn your wrist, if you do manage to hold something you can’t walk anywhere with it as the limp hanging arm will bang the hand into your leg making you drop said object, you can draw up your fingers but not your thumb and in turn cannot straighten any of them. But yes using my hand to hold down a sheet of paper so I can make chicken scratch with my left hand is awesome fucking news thanks”.
And that’s just the hand. Perhaps if he knew my rhomboids were working (drawing shoulder blades together) he might suggest I should throw a fucking party. I mean what am I complaining about right?!
Of course he was probably just being positive and supportive and I am totally misrepresenting the whole event, but hey that is how I felt so that is how it gets blurted out.
Anyhoo I have only had two lunatic episodes today and I will try and keep it that way. I have eaten my weight in bullets and am ‘fattening up’ in preparation for surgery. I might be going a little overboard. Ever since giving up bread I am ravenous 18 hours a day. It’s a problem.