Oh, what a wonderful education I am getting these days. Mainly regarding my anatomy Started on January 24th when I first realized I have a pelvis. I mean, I always knew, intellectually, that a pelvis was a part of my bone structure. But, I never really gave it any thought. Nor did I appreciate that sweet, pain-free bone structure! Stop whatever you are doing right now (well, I guess you are reading my blog right now) and think about your pelvis--give it some love--appreciate it for its service--promise it that you will never break it! Too late for me but maybe I can save you! On a good note, mine continues to heal (pain = healing). Fewer jabbing pains in my nether regions these days. And, no more pain pills. Which means no prune juice necessary (pain pills = constipation).
OK, enough about my pelvis--let's move on to another part of my anatomy which made itself known last week. How many of you are familiar with your rhomboid muscle (Becky Bechtel--I am sure you know this muscle)? For those who don't know--it is located in your upper back, just below your shoulder blade. For the most part, this muscle sits there quietly, day in and day out, doing its job without much fuss. That is, until you make it angry! Last week I made one of mine very angry! Furious, actually. And, oh boy, have I paid the price for doing so! So, how did I anger this typically benign muscle, you must be asking. To tell the truth, not entirely certain. But, I have a feeling that the improper height of the walker I had been using for over a week, making me walk somewhat like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, had something to do with the temper tantrum that muscle threw! I just know that one morning I awoke with horrific jabbing pain on the left side of my upper back. Prompting me to ask myself (to quote Dorothy Parker--the queen of quotes), "What fresh hell is this?" Then for two nights in a row, that muscle decided to spasm. It felt like someone was jabbing me with a cattle prod! At least, what I imagine that might feel like--never having been actually jabbed with a cattle prod previously (and I hope never will be). One of the worst pains of my life--up to and including child birth! The good news was that this new misery shifted my attention away from my pelvis. Bob, after a couple of days of watching my deteriorating condition, happened to notice how my shoulders were hunching up with each step I took with the walker. SLOW PAINFUL STEPS, accompanied by moaning and other expressions of pain. Being the engineer, he quickly determined that the walker was too tall for me (which makes sense in retrospect seeing as how he was the last one to use this walker). He made a downward adjustment and immediately I could tell the difference. Much easier to hoist myself upward with each step in order put as little pressure as possible on the side of the broken pelvis. Plus, I used the new back condition to justify having a masseuse come to my house with her massage chair and give me a 90-minute massage. Paid handsomely for that one in more ways than one. First, her fee. Then, the next morning, with every muscle in my back, neck, and arms screaming with the pain of soreness! She was pretty aggressive with that massage. A week later now, I am considering having her come back. Will ask her to go a little more gently this go-around.
As of yesterday, tho, I am feeling like perhaps I have turned a corner. The back pain has all but subsided--just the shadow of the pain now. Walking is easier--Getting up and down is easier. Getting out of bed a tad better. I am looking forward to not using the walker--I can't sneak up on Bob anymore. . .step, clatter clatter; step, clatter clatter! Need to buy a cane.
Let's talk about cooking. Bob can't cook. Not just won't--CAN'T! I learned this early on when he said he was making his specialty for dinner one night--something he had invented before I became his chief cook and bottle washer. This dish (which I have since dubbed "Hobo Goulash) consists of a pound of hamburger, one chopped onion, one chopped green pepper, a jar of sliced mushrooms, drained, a packet of dry gravy mix, some water, salt and pepper. All of which he puts in a pot at the same time. I suggested (in an effort to introduce some flavor into this awful-sounding concoction) that he add a chopped jalapeño pepper. Which he did and later said it ruined the dish. At his son's, (Tim, the real chef) suggestion, he ate this glop over mashed potatoes. Needless to say, I did not partake of this culinary delight. He has not offered to make it again. So, for better or worse where my healing is concerned, I am able to put together some meals for us. Very basic but a tad tastier than Hobo Goulash. I yearn for the day when I can just stroll into the kitchen and cook whatever my heart desires! Once in a while, we supplement with takeout. The $100 worth of coupons for the Cheeky Monkey Bar and Grill (just down the road) that Melissa gave us for Christmas have helped a lot! That place has an outdoor smoker that runs almost 24/7 and produces, among other things, the very best pulled pork sandwich ever. So, the truth is--we are in no way starving. The scales, which I occasionally use, prove that fact!
Several people have asked me just what do I do all day. Nothing really productive (other than the meals), that's for sure. I have read four books--started my 5th last night. I color occasionally--a very relaxing activity. To torture myself, I look at cookbooks and cooking magazines. Facebook can be very entertaining, as well as Words With Friends. Phone calls are always good. To tell the truth, I am going stir crazy!! Luckily, the weather has been pretty awful since this all started so the desire to go outside is tempered somewhat.
So. this, my dear readers, ends another exciting chapter in the account of Nancy's Broken Pelvis. Not as much fun as a travel blog--for me or you. But thank you for joining the journey with me. Take care of yourselves--stay strong and active! Love you all!
Tuesday, February 12, 2019
Friday, February 1, 2019
Not Moving Much Right Now
Sooooooo, here I am--back at the keyboard. The MacBook keyboard that drives me crazy. I erase and retype constantly. However, since I have yet to find my desk computer and keyboard to which I am accustomed, MacBook it will be. Cannot believe how many unopened boxes are still out in the garage. A topic for another day, perhaps. So, let's talk about the topic at hand--the PELVIS! More specifically, MY PELVIS.
How often do you think about your pelvis? NEVER, right? Me either. That is up until a week ago yesterday. Now I think about it pretty much 24/7. Most of y'all know exactly why I am pelvis-obsessed these days. But just in case there is one person out there in the world who has not heard, let me give a little recap.
Last Thursday, January 24th, I made a serious mistake. Having just gotten out of the shower, and forgetting that I am a 73-year old woman, I, in a very cavalier manner, slung my left leg up onto the bathroom counter and proceeded to clip a toenail. Have done that many times over the years. The process was proceeding in a normal manner until I attempted to reach into a lower drawer to retrieve a nail file. At that point, as best I can recall, my center of gravity shifted, at which point, I took a couple of big hops with my right foot in a failed attempt to gain control. Next thing I knew, my body was headed for the hard tile floor while my left leg was stuck up on the counter. In the process of falling, I think I performed an unanticipated split before the left leg was dragged off the counter. I hit that tile floor HARD! On my right side. I remember screaming in pain--initially thought I had broken my right hip. Bob came running. There I was--sprawled on the floor in my bra and underwear, wet hair, crying my eyeballs out. His immediate and completely sane thought was to call 911. I, on the other hand, who must have been in shock city, said, "No! Help me put on my shirt!" He obliged but continued to urge me to let him call 911. I continued to refuse. For some reason, all I wanted to do was talk to my daughter. Bob called her at work and told her what had happened. She asked him, having the completely sane thought also, if he had called 911. He told her that I was resisting that plan of action. She asked him to give the phone to me. She asked me why I would not let Bob call 911. Through gulping tears, I said, "I DON'T KNOW!" I finally did come to my senses and told Bob to call 911. Then I called my neighbor across the street (a retired nurse) and asked her to come over, which she did immediately. She even managed to get my hair dried before the 911 guys arrived. Temp outside at the time was in the twenties! Those who know me well, know that one of my main concerns at that moment in time was the fact that my hair was not "done," I had no makeup on, my teeth were not brushed, and I was undressed from the waist down!! Call me vain. I don't care--I have my standards, broken pelvis or not.
Summarizing now, another not-so-exciting ambulance ride ( don't get me wrong--I do not want an exciting ride) to the hospital (last one being as a result of my crushed shoulder for which I still blame the Blue Angels); x-rays showing not one but two fractures on the right side of my pelvis; ER doctor confirming x-ray results and telling me to contact an orthopedic doc as soon as I could; and released to go home. WHAT? I cannot even walk!! They bring in a walker and nurse comes in to accompany me to the exit. I explained my inability to walk so she gets a wheelchair, and I somehow manage to get off the bed and into the chair. When we get to Janie's car (she drove Bob to the hospital and stayed with us), the process of me getting out of the wheel chair and onto the front passenger seat of her car must have been something to observe--me gasping in pain and crying like a baby. The nurse standing calmly by. Did she think I was faking it? Finally made it home, after a stop at the medical equipment store to purchase (for $131) a porta-potty (might be the best $131 I ever spent--wish I had not sent the one I had in the Ridgecrest garage to Salvation Army with the thought, "I probably won't need this again." Now, we are in the driveway--how do we get Nancy into the house? Us old people can be quite inventive when we need to be! With a major painful effort, Bob, Janie, and her husband, Steve, helped me out of the car and onto one of our rolling desk chairs. They then rolled me to the front door and into the house. This involved a major weight-lifting maneuver when Janie and Steve (Bob is still on lifting restrictions from his last surgery) had to hoist me up from the sidewalk level to the porch--not sure how they managed that--they probably are still nursing pulled muscles in their backs!
Fast forward to today. One week down, five (maybe seven) to go before I can put weight on the right leg. My major excitement occurs when I try to hotfoot it on the walker from the recliner in the living room back to the bathroom in hopes of making it in time (sometimes yes, sometimes no). I ordered a big box of womern's diapers from Amazon. Had been using Bob's men's diapers (he is having colorectal surgery recovery issues and that's all I am going to say about that), but did you know that diapers are different for women and men? Those of you who used them with babies know this--when Melissa was a baby, disposable diapers (at least like we have today) did not exist. I am certainly better today than I was a week ago. I suspect I will be able to say the same thing next week and the week after that and so on.
In closing (for chapter one, that is), stay safe my friends. There are only one or two people on which I would wish this condition. JUST KIDDING! More to come. Hope I haven't bored my readers (a giant assumption that anyone other than my daughter will have read this). Bob still has not read those wonderful travel blogs from our last RV trip in the summer of 2016.
Your accident-prone, idiot friend
How often do you think about your pelvis? NEVER, right? Me either. That is up until a week ago yesterday. Now I think about it pretty much 24/7. Most of y'all know exactly why I am pelvis-obsessed these days. But just in case there is one person out there in the world who has not heard, let me give a little recap.
Last Thursday, January 24th, I made a serious mistake. Having just gotten out of the shower, and forgetting that I am a 73-year old woman, I, in a very cavalier manner, slung my left leg up onto the bathroom counter and proceeded to clip a toenail. Have done that many times over the years. The process was proceeding in a normal manner until I attempted to reach into a lower drawer to retrieve a nail file. At that point, as best I can recall, my center of gravity shifted, at which point, I took a couple of big hops with my right foot in a failed attempt to gain control. Next thing I knew, my body was headed for the hard tile floor while my left leg was stuck up on the counter. In the process of falling, I think I performed an unanticipated split before the left leg was dragged off the counter. I hit that tile floor HARD! On my right side. I remember screaming in pain--initially thought I had broken my right hip. Bob came running. There I was--sprawled on the floor in my bra and underwear, wet hair, crying my eyeballs out. His immediate and completely sane thought was to call 911. I, on the other hand, who must have been in shock city, said, "No! Help me put on my shirt!" He obliged but continued to urge me to let him call 911. I continued to refuse. For some reason, all I wanted to do was talk to my daughter. Bob called her at work and told her what had happened. She asked him, having the completely sane thought also, if he had called 911. He told her that I was resisting that plan of action. She asked him to give the phone to me. She asked me why I would not let Bob call 911. Through gulping tears, I said, "I DON'T KNOW!" I finally did come to my senses and told Bob to call 911. Then I called my neighbor across the street (a retired nurse) and asked her to come over, which she did immediately. She even managed to get my hair dried before the 911 guys arrived. Temp outside at the time was in the twenties! Those who know me well, know that one of my main concerns at that moment in time was the fact that my hair was not "done," I had no makeup on, my teeth were not brushed, and I was undressed from the waist down!! Call me vain. I don't care--I have my standards, broken pelvis or not.
Summarizing now, another not-so-exciting ambulance ride ( don't get me wrong--I do not want an exciting ride) to the hospital (last one being as a result of my crushed shoulder for which I still blame the Blue Angels); x-rays showing not one but two fractures on the right side of my pelvis; ER doctor confirming x-ray results and telling me to contact an orthopedic doc as soon as I could; and released to go home. WHAT? I cannot even walk!! They bring in a walker and nurse comes in to accompany me to the exit. I explained my inability to walk so she gets a wheelchair, and I somehow manage to get off the bed and into the chair. When we get to Janie's car (she drove Bob to the hospital and stayed with us), the process of me getting out of the wheel chair and onto the front passenger seat of her car must have been something to observe--me gasping in pain and crying like a baby. The nurse standing calmly by. Did she think I was faking it? Finally made it home, after a stop at the medical equipment store to purchase (for $131) a porta-potty (might be the best $131 I ever spent--wish I had not sent the one I had in the Ridgecrest garage to Salvation Army with the thought, "I probably won't need this again." Now, we are in the driveway--how do we get Nancy into the house? Us old people can be quite inventive when we need to be! With a major painful effort, Bob, Janie, and her husband, Steve, helped me out of the car and onto one of our rolling desk chairs. They then rolled me to the front door and into the house. This involved a major weight-lifting maneuver when Janie and Steve (Bob is still on lifting restrictions from his last surgery) had to hoist me up from the sidewalk level to the porch--not sure how they managed that--they probably are still nursing pulled muscles in their backs!
Fast forward to today. One week down, five (maybe seven) to go before I can put weight on the right leg. My major excitement occurs when I try to hotfoot it on the walker from the recliner in the living room back to the bathroom in hopes of making it in time (sometimes yes, sometimes no). I ordered a big box of womern's diapers from Amazon. Had been using Bob's men's diapers (he is having colorectal surgery recovery issues and that's all I am going to say about that), but did you know that diapers are different for women and men? Those of you who used them with babies know this--when Melissa was a baby, disposable diapers (at least like we have today) did not exist. I am certainly better today than I was a week ago. I suspect I will be able to say the same thing next week and the week after that and so on.
In closing (for chapter one, that is), stay safe my friends. There are only one or two people on which I would wish this condition. JUST KIDDING! More to come. Hope I haven't bored my readers (a giant assumption that anyone other than my daughter will have read this). Bob still has not read those wonderful travel blogs from our last RV trip in the summer of 2016.
Your accident-prone, idiot friend
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