Major Pain
Had surgery yesterday and all I can say is 'bring on the IV Versed again.' That stuff really makes you loopy. It was pretty complex. They had to put in a cadaver bone graft (naturally Annika, my nine year old, asked what his name was. Probably wanted to send him a nice thank you card.) Then they put in a titanium plates and screws. I thought it was kinda funny that the surgeon wrote "NO!" on the left leg and "YES!" on the right. Seriously, wouldn't that be a pisser to have the good leg operated on?
I'm probably the worst possible candidate for a pair of crutches. First off, I trip over them all the time. Rune dropped me off at the specialist's office so he could park in the parking garage. Naturally I fell, so when he looked behind me he saw nothing. He felt the panic rising until he raised himself up to see arms, ass and crutches writhing around on the pavement. Second, I have all sorts of trouble asking people to help me. Makes me feel guilty. You know--the Mommy gene and all. So I got up to get me a couple of NutterButters and, gripping them and the crutches, made my way to the sofa. By the time I got there, the cookies were pulverized and a trail of crumbs lie in my wake (with two greedy dogs after them in hot pursuit.)
I actually feel fortunate. In the ortho hospital, I say all sorts of patients with external pins--basically these giant metal cages made of metal rods, some of which go through the skin into the bone. One guy had his on for nine months and his leg still looked like it belonged to a spent Stretch Armstrong abused by kids raised in the wild. Heck, if I had to wear a dang cage like that for nine months, I'd stick a canary in it. Sorta pretty it up and keep me company. Plus, I could get a job in a coal mine if times got tough.