This is a work in progress and I haven't posted the pictures or proofread it-thanks for your patience
November 7, 2004. The next morning, just getting out of bed was an exercise in agony. I woke up to find that as a result of the two broken ribs, I was trapped on my back and couldn’t do a sit-up to get out of bed. It seemed that the more I tried, the more it evolved to the point where my abs just refused to obey. Strangely enough once I was standing erect I was all right; it was the transition to sitting or from sitting that hurt like hell. I gingerly edged over to the side of my mattress and rolled off onto my hands and knees, screaming as I landed. In the days and then weeks to come it was so bad that I was increasingly afraid to try. I’d actually will myself to sit up and nothing would happen.
Having the freedom of movement was now less than what it was worth in pain.
Neighbors began checking in on me day and night because I’d involuntarily cry out in agony when I moved around. Because of the staples in my scalp, washing my hair was prohibited until the end of the month. They very sternly warned me not to scratch them or rub them unnecessarily, but I can feel them when I put my head on my pillow and they ITCH.
The crutches are still out of the question with the broken ribs but I kept trying to use them. The walker they eventually issued me wasn’t much better. Trying to stand in front of the sink while washing dishes or cooking became a real challenge. It meant balancing on one foot and trying to steady myself on the walker with one hand, which would leave me only one hand free.
Every morning for a week, I had to somehow get out of the routine of waking up, wanting to shower, shave and get my uniform on, then call some art clients or my friends in San Diego, watching the clock so I’d get to work on time to deliver pizzas.
After an examination at his office, Dr. Foot scheduled me for surgery December 16th. There’s apparently more damage than I thought. I’d never had surgery before. It turns out that I was scared over nothing; they knocked me out before I even knew what was happening. I woke up seemingly a minute later wondering when it’d start only to discover they were done.
Since it was an outpatient procedure, I couldn’t drive myself there and they wouldn’t operate unless I had a confirmable ride home. Dan volunteered to shuttle me. Maybe this whole ordeal will be worth it after all; I’ll get a nice paid vacation out of it, some needed rest from the rat race, and I can watch a lot of TV, or the zillion DVDs I’ve bought over the years and never had time to view.
Speaking of driving, PizzaCo is “privately insured”. Instead of paying premiums to Ohio Workman’s Comp, they use a private company that I'll call GB Services to do the same job. I soon learned that they were only paying for me to get a cab to travel back and forth to injury-required doctor’s visits, but they wouldn’t pay for a cab to go get groceries/supplies or to pick up any prescriptions. This also included visits to my own personal doctor.
Eventually my good friend Terri and her husband Ken began riding me back and forth to the store and pharmacies once or twice a week; god love them. I pulled $4,000 out of savings to cover my bills and then we went off to the grocery store. Terri also introduced me to Wal-Mart. Keep in mind I was living a pretty good life up until this all happened, so I didn’t give a second thought to how much nearly anything cost. Wal-Mart is also when I had my first experience driving those annoying motorized handicapped carts around. I saw the world from their point of view and was ashamed of myself now that I was walking in their shoes. I made a spot decision to buy a bunch of paper plates and plastic silverware because it’s a bitch trying to do dishes.
Terri refused to take money from me, so I got around that by always filling her gas tank when we went out.
A detective called while we were out to make an appointment to come over and fingerprint my car. He left a message that he’d call back, but he never did. Not that it’d do any good as it’s been raining for a week and it’s over two weeks since it happened. Also some lady from a nursing company called to say they’d be coming out to inspect the apartment to see if it’s suitable for walker/wheelchairs.
I figured finances wouldn’t be a problem if I was only down for three or four weeks, but just to be on the safe side, I started writing checks early for the December’s bills. Also I decided to continue to send $1,000 to Visa and $800 to MasterCard every month instead of the minimum payments. I was overpaying them hoping to get my balances down, after all I could think of better things I could be doing with $1,800 a month. I also paid the phone up until March and the electric bill until February.
Dr. Foot says I should be back to work by mid-January so I also paid the rent up for two months. The bank balance is in no danger for now. ..
…or so I thought.
As I’ve mentioned, I have a sweet senior couple named Val and Dan that live next door. They’ve apparently adopted me, which I’m very happy about. We’ve always celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas together, since they moved in six years ago, but this year they had a death in their family so they’d be out of town this Thursday. Val works as my occasional executive assistant-research person-secretary-mother figure for me. She expected this to be a slow Jet’sArt period, so I wasn’t too worried about maybe having to “lay her off”. One Tuesday they knocked and asked if I wanted to have Thanksgiving dinner two days early, so I went over. It was great… fattening… but great.
To tell you the truth I needed their company more than the food. Of course she wouldn’t let me leave without taking enough leftovers for the 4th army brigade… God love her. I had some plastic freezer containers that had sections and she gave me enough food to make about six frozen dinners.
In the condition I’m in, I thank God every day for whomever it was that invented the microwave oven.
The quasi-early Thanksgiving dinner was tougher on me than expected, as Dan had his balcony Christmas lights up already, and I realized I couldn’t put mine up for fear of falling off the balcony balanced on the railing with only one leg, and I’d never ask anyone else to take that risk. Since I have the center penthouse, I sort of represent the building and everyone keeps asking if I’m going to put mine up.
A couple of months after I moved in up here, I toppled over the railing trying to get the triangular light brace rope to click into the middle hanging plant hook. A fireman had to release the death grip I had on the railing because my arms wouldn’t let go. It took me several months to get over that, but by that spring; I was out there planting my flowers and having a good old time as usual.
Now those fears were returning. I found myself empathizing with poor Charlie Brown for not being able to find the Christmas spirit this year.
Lately the phone’s been continuously ringing non-stop. A nice lady/nurse who I’ll refer to as “CK” that works for GB ordered a plastic chair to sit on in the shower. It came first thing in the morning and a different GB representative called about every half hour to see if I’d gotten it. The doctors, the nurses, the police, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, the cab company and my great aunt Margaret in Pittsburgh have called. It still hurts every time at struggle to reach the phone.
Speaking of candles (?), Terri turned me on to the greatest smelling candles that fill the room up with the greatest scent.
I used the chair to take a shower this morning, wrapping my left leg in a towel, putting that in a garbage bag, then rested it on the toilet seat with the shower curtain draped over it so it didn’t get wet. I’ve been sternly warned about not letting my surgical dressings get wet.
I can tell the next few weeks are going to be an adventure. I’ve made a note to buy about four phones and a bunch of extension lines. I’ll have two in the bedroom-one on the desk-one by the bed. Then there’s one for in the bathroom (CK and my aunt have a talent for knowing when I’m in the shower,) one in the kitchen, and one in the living room. “CK” sent me this big black stuffed wedge; it measures about 3x2x2 and is about two feet wide. I lay on the couch with my foot up in the air to keep it above my heart.
I talked my apartment building manager into coming up to get the rent. With Dan and everyone else ringing the bell at all hours, I just gave up and left the door unlocked. No more traipsing around naked in the penthouse for a while.
I actually got caught once.
I sleep “in the raw” and one morning about two years ago I woke startled to the sight of a man from the chest up levitating in thin air about four feet beyond my balcony!!! As I watched he rose even higher and I realized he had a fireman’s uniform on. I was unaware that Columbus hired peeping Toms and quickly grabbed for and wrapped the quilt around me. This far up in the air it never occurred to me that anyone could see me, since the tallest building high enough with a view of my windows was ten blocks away.
The sexy smile he flashed me pinned me to the wall as he continued heavenward standing on a “cherry picker.” Unbeknownst to me, our landlord had given the Fire Department permission to practice high-rise rescues from our roof that morning. I wish he’d bothered to warn us. It is true what they say; there’s no such thing as an ugly fireman. I’ll never forget that look he gave me.
It was now getting to the point when every time I’d hobble myself down on my walker to check the mail, I’d meet a different neighbor who didn’t know what happened to me. That meant having to repeat the whole story over and over. Frankly it’s getting me down. Maybe I’ll type it up and post it on my front door.
Dan has developed the cute habit of just popping in without ringing the bell and asking if I need anything at the store. He’s still bugging me to put up the “Christmas Tree in Lights” again this year. The problem is putting the thing up, and then having to take it back down again. The closer I get to Christmas, the more that the season tortures me. It’s really hurting that I can’t do my “raids” this year.
I’ve been assigned a really nice Russian cabby named Gleb and his father Anatoli to shuttle me to doctor’s visits… They’re teaching me Russian and critiquing my spy novel. Got home from Dr. Foot’s around five. He removed the dressings and when I cleaned up my foot, I counted 13 staples between my ankle and big toe, and I don’t even feel them. I’m still scratching my head over that one. My arms, chest and palms are getting sore from that walker.
At least my arms are beginning to look like my old self.
I got a fiberglass cast in bland white; I was sort of thrown when I was asked what color I wanted. Val laughed when she saw it and said I should’ve gotten a glow in the dark one…
…Glow in the dark?
Someday I’m going to figure out what turns turkey stuffing to concrete in the microwave and I’ll probably make a fortune.
Around three weeks after the attack, I began having trouble falling asleep at night. Usually the only thing to do is play computer chess, or watch one of my 2000 movies on DVD with the headphones till five in the morning. I’m starting to wake up in a state of mind I can’t fully explain. It’s sort of like waking from a nightmare but not remembering anything about it. It’s very disorienting.
What with everything that I went through years ago, I was really worried about getting addicted to the painkillers they were giving me. Those I could handle, it was the sleeping pills I was afraid of.
Thanksgiving came and went, my other neighbor “D” stopped by with a mini turkey dinner, and I felt bad because she couldn’t have missed the smell of one of Val’s “care package” frozen turkey dinners heating in my microwave. That night friends calling me from all over the country and at all hours, so I wasn’t as alone as I thought I’d be.
One of my former pizza bosses from four years ago, “Wally” called to see if I was okay. He’s a sweet man and a good friend. He was alone for the holidays too because he’d divorced and his ex had the kids. I talked to him on the phone for a couple of hours and afterward; I think we both felt better. He’d once invited me to have a dinner with him and his girlfriend, and I mean to tell you the man’s a great cook.
I decided to busy myself by completely re-designing my financial spreadsheet on the computer and rewrite all the cell formulas. It was a good way to keep my mind off of things. The chore brought up a couple of things that have begun to concern me. I’m not concentrating like I used to and can’t pay attention to a task for more than a few minutes. Also this is the first time in a long time when I actually had to keep track of my finances day-to-day.
I don’t think I’ve gone a single Christmas in years when I didn’t spend at least a couple grand. This year, just the thought of shopping gets me down. I’ve busied myself on designing a bunch of funny custom Christmas cards for all my neighbors.
I also started to feel emotionally lonely, which is new to me. I had just as little company before, but now with nothing to occupy my time like work and phone calls, it seems like the days are longer. I’ve lived practically all of my life alone, and I know how to do it. Much as I’d love to have a lover here to smother me with affection and concern, I’ve gone so long without one that it’s not a concern, but everyone keeps calling to see if I’m lonely or depressed. I had a lover named Casey that used to come up behind me and circle my waist with his loving arms while I was washing the dishes or cooking. No words were needed or spoken… he’d just hold me, resting his head on my shoulder.
I began missing that a lot.
I began shaking it off, rationalizing that I’m just upset that now that I have the time to tear this place completely down and put it in order, get rid of junk that’s been laying unseen in my closets forever, and getting on with my life, I can’t physically do it, and it’s frustrating as hell. I’m hoping that once the initial 8 weeks are up, I can take those four weeks of therapy they say I need to really go over this place with a fine-toothed comb and put the shelving and the aquariums back together.
I also miss my male Siamese cat, Chazra, (Kaz-rah) who died in 1998-so much so, that I still have the tin of his ashes here on my desk. I haven’t had time to deal with getting another kitten, and especially not leave it at home by itself everyday while I went out working. That’s another project for that final month. Chazra was such a wonderful, purring, and loving companion, and I need that in my life again. With his self-feeding dry cat food container and water device, I could leave him for a week and not worry.
Toward the end of the November, Terri’s husband Ken had to have surgery. He’s a diabetic and it’s starting to take its toll on him. I still have the urge to drive up to the pizza shop and work a shift. One morning I tried an experiment and didn’t take my painkillers …
…big mistake.
I found myself sleeping more and more, and I’d wake up and feel drowsy an hour later. My vision is beginning to blur; something I’ve never experienced before. I’m the oldest sibling of our family, yet I’m the only one that doesn’t wear glasses. My ears have begun ringing too, to the point that I have to listen to music with headphones to drown it out.
Nurse CK ordered an accessory basket for my walker so I wouldn’t have to struggle to carry stuff around the house. While we were at Dr. OfRecord’s, she authorized me to see an eye specialist. Dr. OfRecord took the staples out of my head. Just another experience that I though would be dreadful and it turned out to be nothing. It’s been truly a struggle to heed their warning not to scratch them.
Sleeping on my back has become a problem, and more and more I find myself sleeping in my swivel office chair. I tried the couch, but my leg fell over the side in my sleep and… well let’s just say I was blinded with pain and I went through my entire vocabulary of cuss words in less than thirty seconds. In order to just get into a chair meant having to fall into it. The lack of no more than four hours of sleep at a time is beginning to get to me. I’m still waking up from nightmares and not remembering what they were; just confused and terrified.
All of my life, I’ve always slept on my stomach with my arms under my pillow, but now the broken ribs and the foot trapped in one position make that impossible.
The combination of drugs that they’ve got me on is causing an adventure in the bathroom. Some of them cause constipation (Oxycodone,) some of them cause diarrhea. I’ve begun waking every morning with near-painful dry heaves. As the swelling in my leg became a problem, I was issued a wrap that ‘s stored in the freezer until I need it and then it’s secured around my cast by Velcro. It seems to always flare up when Dr. Foot’s office was closed.
I’d call CK and she’d recite from memory that she’s not allowed to give out medical advice. She said if I was really concerned to go to the emergency room, but I wasn’t really anxious to sit in one for five hours before someone saw me. I had an appointment to have the cast taken off the following week, so I tried to tough it out; but it wasn’t easy.
I started having odd dreams that repeated themselves nearly every night. One memorable one was of my three attackers stealing my car to keep the cops from getting their fingerprints. I’d always wake in the wee hours of the morning and get nervous every time I heard a car leave our parking lot.
The luck of having good friends carried me through the month. Terri and Ken would visit three or four times a week, always bringing scented candles and good company and one or the other would take me shopping for a prescription or groceries, while the other did house cleaning. She’d drive me crazy by storing things where she thought it made sense to be, and I couldn’t find them.
I got revenge on her by calling her at all hours of the day and night to locate stuff.
November 7, 2004. The next morning, just getting out of bed was an exercise in agony. I woke up to find that as a result of the two broken ribs, I was trapped on my back and couldn’t do a sit-up to get out of bed. It seemed that the more I tried, the more it evolved to the point where my abs just refused to obey. Strangely enough once I was standing erect I was all right; it was the transition to sitting or from sitting that hurt like hell. I gingerly edged over to the side of my mattress and rolled off onto my hands and knees, screaming as I landed. In the days and then weeks to come it was so bad that I was increasingly afraid to try. I’d actually will myself to sit up and nothing would happen.
Having the freedom of movement was now less than what it was worth in pain.
Neighbors began checking in on me day and night because I’d involuntarily cry out in agony when I moved around. Because of the staples in my scalp, washing my hair was prohibited until the end of the month. They very sternly warned me not to scratch them or rub them unnecessarily, but I can feel them when I put my head on my pillow and they ITCH.
The crutches are still out of the question with the broken ribs but I kept trying to use them. The walker they eventually issued me wasn’t much better. Trying to stand in front of the sink while washing dishes or cooking became a real challenge. It meant balancing on one foot and trying to steady myself on the walker with one hand, which would leave me only one hand free.
Every morning for a week, I had to somehow get out of the routine of waking up, wanting to shower, shave and get my uniform on, then call some art clients or my friends in San Diego, watching the clock so I’d get to work on time to deliver pizzas.
After an examination at his office, Dr. Foot scheduled me for surgery December 16th. There’s apparently more damage than I thought. I’d never had surgery before. It turns out that I was scared over nothing; they knocked me out before I even knew what was happening. I woke up seemingly a minute later wondering when it’d start only to discover they were done.
Since it was an outpatient procedure, I couldn’t drive myself there and they wouldn’t operate unless I had a confirmable ride home. Dan volunteered to shuttle me. Maybe this whole ordeal will be worth it after all; I’ll get a nice paid vacation out of it, some needed rest from the rat race, and I can watch a lot of TV, or the zillion DVDs I’ve bought over the years and never had time to view.
Speaking of driving, PizzaCo is “privately insured”. Instead of paying premiums to Ohio Workman’s Comp, they use a private company that I'll call GB Services to do the same job. I soon learned that they were only paying for me to get a cab to travel back and forth to injury-required doctor’s visits, but they wouldn’t pay for a cab to go get groceries/supplies or to pick up any prescriptions. This also included visits to my own personal doctor.
Eventually my good friend Terri and her husband Ken began riding me back and forth to the store and pharmacies once or twice a week; god love them. I pulled $4,000 out of savings to cover my bills and then we went off to the grocery store. Terri also introduced me to Wal-Mart. Keep in mind I was living a pretty good life up until this all happened, so I didn’t give a second thought to how much nearly anything cost. Wal-Mart is also when I had my first experience driving those annoying motorized handicapped carts around. I saw the world from their point of view and was ashamed of myself now that I was walking in their shoes. I made a spot decision to buy a bunch of paper plates and plastic silverware because it’s a bitch trying to do dishes.
Terri refused to take money from me, so I got around that by always filling her gas tank when we went out.
A detective called while we were out to make an appointment to come over and fingerprint my car. He left a message that he’d call back, but he never did. Not that it’d do any good as it’s been raining for a week and it’s over two weeks since it happened. Also some lady from a nursing company called to say they’d be coming out to inspect the apartment to see if it’s suitable for walker/wheelchairs.
I figured finances wouldn’t be a problem if I was only down for three or four weeks, but just to be on the safe side, I started writing checks early for the December’s bills. Also I decided to continue to send $1,000 to Visa and $800 to MasterCard every month instead of the minimum payments. I was overpaying them hoping to get my balances down, after all I could think of better things I could be doing with $1,800 a month. I also paid the phone up until March and the electric bill until February.
Dr. Foot says I should be back to work by mid-January so I also paid the rent up for two months. The bank balance is in no danger for now. ..
…or so I thought.
As I’ve mentioned, I have a sweet senior couple named Val and Dan that live next door. They’ve apparently adopted me, which I’m very happy about. We’ve always celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas together, since they moved in six years ago, but this year they had a death in their family so they’d be out of town this Thursday. Val works as my occasional executive assistant-research person-secretary-mother figure for me. She expected this to be a slow Jet’sArt period, so I wasn’t too worried about maybe having to “lay her off”. One Tuesday they knocked and asked if I wanted to have Thanksgiving dinner two days early, so I went over. It was great… fattening… but great.
To tell you the truth I needed their company more than the food. Of course she wouldn’t let me leave without taking enough leftovers for the 4th army brigade… God love her. I had some plastic freezer containers that had sections and she gave me enough food to make about six frozen dinners.
In the condition I’m in, I thank God every day for whomever it was that invented the microwave oven.
The quasi-early Thanksgiving dinner was tougher on me than expected, as Dan had his balcony Christmas lights up already, and I realized I couldn’t put mine up for fear of falling off the balcony balanced on the railing with only one leg, and I’d never ask anyone else to take that risk. Since I have the center penthouse, I sort of represent the building and everyone keeps asking if I’m going to put mine up.
A couple of months after I moved in up here, I toppled over the railing trying to get the triangular light brace rope to click into the middle hanging plant hook. A fireman had to release the death grip I had on the railing because my arms wouldn’t let go. It took me several months to get over that, but by that spring; I was out there planting my flowers and having a good old time as usual.
Now those fears were returning. I found myself empathizing with poor Charlie Brown for not being able to find the Christmas spirit this year.
Lately the phone’s been continuously ringing non-stop. A nice lady/nurse who I’ll refer to as “CK” that works for GB ordered a plastic chair to sit on in the shower. It came first thing in the morning and a different GB representative called about every half hour to see if I’d gotten it. The doctors, the nurses, the police, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, the cab company and my great aunt Margaret in Pittsburgh have called. It still hurts every time at struggle to reach the phone.
Speaking of candles (?), Terri turned me on to the greatest smelling candles that fill the room up with the greatest scent.
I used the chair to take a shower this morning, wrapping my left leg in a towel, putting that in a garbage bag, then rested it on the toilet seat with the shower curtain draped over it so it didn’t get wet. I’ve been sternly warned about not letting my surgical dressings get wet.
I can tell the next few weeks are going to be an adventure. I’ve made a note to buy about four phones and a bunch of extension lines. I’ll have two in the bedroom-one on the desk-one by the bed. Then there’s one for in the bathroom (CK and my aunt have a talent for knowing when I’m in the shower,) one in the kitchen, and one in the living room. “CK” sent me this big black stuffed wedge; it measures about 3x2x2 and is about two feet wide. I lay on the couch with my foot up in the air to keep it above my heart.
I talked my apartment building manager into coming up to get the rent. With Dan and everyone else ringing the bell at all hours, I just gave up and left the door unlocked. No more traipsing around naked in the penthouse for a while.
I actually got caught once.
I sleep “in the raw” and one morning about two years ago I woke startled to the sight of a man from the chest up levitating in thin air about four feet beyond my balcony!!! As I watched he rose even higher and I realized he had a fireman’s uniform on. I was unaware that Columbus hired peeping Toms and quickly grabbed for and wrapped the quilt around me. This far up in the air it never occurred to me that anyone could see me, since the tallest building high enough with a view of my windows was ten blocks away.
The sexy smile he flashed me pinned me to the wall as he continued heavenward standing on a “cherry picker.” Unbeknownst to me, our landlord had given the Fire Department permission to practice high-rise rescues from our roof that morning. I wish he’d bothered to warn us. It is true what they say; there’s no such thing as an ugly fireman. I’ll never forget that look he gave me.
It was now getting to the point when every time I’d hobble myself down on my walker to check the mail, I’d meet a different neighbor who didn’t know what happened to me. That meant having to repeat the whole story over and over. Frankly it’s getting me down. Maybe I’ll type it up and post it on my front door.
Dan has developed the cute habit of just popping in without ringing the bell and asking if I need anything at the store. He’s still bugging me to put up the “Christmas Tree in Lights” again this year. The problem is putting the thing up, and then having to take it back down again. The closer I get to Christmas, the more that the season tortures me. It’s really hurting that I can’t do my “raids” this year.
I’ve been assigned a really nice Russian cabby named Gleb and his father Anatoli to shuttle me to doctor’s visits… They’re teaching me Russian and critiquing my spy novel. Got home from Dr. Foot’s around five. He removed the dressings and when I cleaned up my foot, I counted 13 staples between my ankle and big toe, and I don’t even feel them. I’m still scratching my head over that one. My arms, chest and palms are getting sore from that walker.
At least my arms are beginning to look like my old self.
I got a fiberglass cast in bland white; I was sort of thrown when I was asked what color I wanted. Val laughed when she saw it and said I should’ve gotten a glow in the dark one…
…Glow in the dark?
Someday I’m going to figure out what turns turkey stuffing to concrete in the microwave and I’ll probably make a fortune.
Around three weeks after the attack, I began having trouble falling asleep at night. Usually the only thing to do is play computer chess, or watch one of my 2000 movies on DVD with the headphones till five in the morning. I’m starting to wake up in a state of mind I can’t fully explain. It’s sort of like waking from a nightmare but not remembering anything about it. It’s very disorienting.
What with everything that I went through years ago, I was really worried about getting addicted to the painkillers they were giving me. Those I could handle, it was the sleeping pills I was afraid of.
Thanksgiving came and went, my other neighbor “D” stopped by with a mini turkey dinner, and I felt bad because she couldn’t have missed the smell of one of Val’s “care package” frozen turkey dinners heating in my microwave. That night friends calling me from all over the country and at all hours, so I wasn’t as alone as I thought I’d be.
One of my former pizza bosses from four years ago, “Wally” called to see if I was okay. He’s a sweet man and a good friend. He was alone for the holidays too because he’d divorced and his ex had the kids. I talked to him on the phone for a couple of hours and afterward; I think we both felt better. He’d once invited me to have a dinner with him and his girlfriend, and I mean to tell you the man’s a great cook.
I decided to busy myself by completely re-designing my financial spreadsheet on the computer and rewrite all the cell formulas. It was a good way to keep my mind off of things. The chore brought up a couple of things that have begun to concern me. I’m not concentrating like I used to and can’t pay attention to a task for more than a few minutes. Also this is the first time in a long time when I actually had to keep track of my finances day-to-day.
I don’t think I’ve gone a single Christmas in years when I didn’t spend at least a couple grand. This year, just the thought of shopping gets me down. I’ve busied myself on designing a bunch of funny custom Christmas cards for all my neighbors.
I also started to feel emotionally lonely, which is new to me. I had just as little company before, but now with nothing to occupy my time like work and phone calls, it seems like the days are longer. I’ve lived practically all of my life alone, and I know how to do it. Much as I’d love to have a lover here to smother me with affection and concern, I’ve gone so long without one that it’s not a concern, but everyone keeps calling to see if I’m lonely or depressed. I had a lover named Casey that used to come up behind me and circle my waist with his loving arms while I was washing the dishes or cooking. No words were needed or spoken… he’d just hold me, resting his head on my shoulder.
I began missing that a lot.
I began shaking it off, rationalizing that I’m just upset that now that I have the time to tear this place completely down and put it in order, get rid of junk that’s been laying unseen in my closets forever, and getting on with my life, I can’t physically do it, and it’s frustrating as hell. I’m hoping that once the initial 8 weeks are up, I can take those four weeks of therapy they say I need to really go over this place with a fine-toothed comb and put the shelving and the aquariums back together.
I also miss my male Siamese cat, Chazra, (Kaz-rah) who died in 1998-so much so, that I still have the tin of his ashes here on my desk. I haven’t had time to deal with getting another kitten, and especially not leave it at home by itself everyday while I went out working. That’s another project for that final month. Chazra was such a wonderful, purring, and loving companion, and I need that in my life again. With his self-feeding dry cat food container and water device, I could leave him for a week and not worry.
Toward the end of the November, Terri’s husband Ken had to have surgery. He’s a diabetic and it’s starting to take its toll on him. I still have the urge to drive up to the pizza shop and work a shift. One morning I tried an experiment and didn’t take my painkillers …
…big mistake.
I found myself sleeping more and more, and I’d wake up and feel drowsy an hour later. My vision is beginning to blur; something I’ve never experienced before. I’m the oldest sibling of our family, yet I’m the only one that doesn’t wear glasses. My ears have begun ringing too, to the point that I have to listen to music with headphones to drown it out.
Nurse CK ordered an accessory basket for my walker so I wouldn’t have to struggle to carry stuff around the house. While we were at Dr. OfRecord’s, she authorized me to see an eye specialist. Dr. OfRecord took the staples out of my head. Just another experience that I though would be dreadful and it turned out to be nothing. It’s been truly a struggle to heed their warning not to scratch them.
Sleeping on my back has become a problem, and more and more I find myself sleeping in my swivel office chair. I tried the couch, but my leg fell over the side in my sleep and… well let’s just say I was blinded with pain and I went through my entire vocabulary of cuss words in less than thirty seconds. In order to just get into a chair meant having to fall into it. The lack of no more than four hours of sleep at a time is beginning to get to me. I’m still waking up from nightmares and not remembering what they were; just confused and terrified.
All of my life, I’ve always slept on my stomach with my arms under my pillow, but now the broken ribs and the foot trapped in one position make that impossible.
The combination of drugs that they’ve got me on is causing an adventure in the bathroom. Some of them cause constipation (Oxycodone,) some of them cause diarrhea. I’ve begun waking every morning with near-painful dry heaves. As the swelling in my leg became a problem, I was issued a wrap that ‘s stored in the freezer until I need it and then it’s secured around my cast by Velcro. It seems to always flare up when Dr. Foot’s office was closed.
I’d call CK and she’d recite from memory that she’s not allowed to give out medical advice. She said if I was really concerned to go to the emergency room, but I wasn’t really anxious to sit in one for five hours before someone saw me. I had an appointment to have the cast taken off the following week, so I tried to tough it out; but it wasn’t easy.
I started having odd dreams that repeated themselves nearly every night. One memorable one was of my three attackers stealing my car to keep the cops from getting their fingerprints. I’d always wake in the wee hours of the morning and get nervous every time I heard a car leave our parking lot.
The luck of having good friends carried me through the month. Terri and Ken would visit three or four times a week, always bringing scented candles and good company and one or the other would take me shopping for a prescription or groceries, while the other did house cleaning. She’d drive me crazy by storing things where she thought it made sense to be, and I couldn’t find them.
I got revenge on her by calling her at all hours of the day and night to locate stuff.
0 comments:
Post a Comment