The Long Arm of the . . . Arm. Gimme That!

This thing is so handy I may never use my own hands again. Except to hold this.

It's a reacher, grabber, or whatever medical term there is for it. My husband calls it my 'Gimme That' stick. It has plenty of uses and has come in handy for me to be sure. My kids eyes got practically as large as they could be. I could tell they were immediately racing to think of ways they could use it in play.

I told them when I am all better, they can play with it to their hearts' content. But until then, they cannot touch it.   

In the Fashion Belt

Getting out of bed in the hospital is no easy feat. Moving at all is very difficult. I am on so many drugs that I can barely focus. And it doesn't help that my legs aren't cooperating. But then again, two major muscles were detached and my pelvis was fractured in three places. No big deal.

Every day there is a new PT who comes to rouse me out of bed and 'help' me walk. They have a large belt that they tie around my waist which is meant to be a safety so in case I fall or start to, they can catch me. It really adds a special something to the green paisley (?) decorated gown the hospital provides.

So let's recount: no make up, hair in six day old braids, heavy on the meds, attractive patient gown, TED hose, purple patient socks with floor treads, and - the FASHION belt. It's actually like a leash. Woof.

Hospital Snaps

Amazing Nurses

My parents

Ice cream my hubby brought me . . Yum!!

 Some healthier food

The amazing husband

Flowers my beautiful bestie sent me 

A thumbs up for recovery from my kids' class 

Not for the Squeamish

Before:

After:

Post Op

I came out like this:

So many drugs, so much sleeping. Nodding off in mid-sentence. Oh yes, my husband has video. He just kept laughing, he couldn't help it. I was laughing too. I smiled and laughed a little too, but fell asleep before I could be annoyed.

I could see progress by day three. But it's very strange to not be able to move my leg when my brain says 'go'. It just lays there like a lump of swollen nothing. There is a triangle shaped bar hanging over my head. In my drugged haze I first wondered why there was a musical triangle there. Also wondered where the rod was to tap it. A day or so later I realized it was there to hold onto as I sat up. I had no idea how handy that thing would be over the next six days.   

I had a visitor. I think I fell asleep mid visit though.

My first hospital 'meal'. They just sent it without asking me what I wanted. 

Clearly I am not on the Cardiac ward.

Pre Op

I started off like this:

Then I had a few moments of anxiety just before going into surgery. 

I started to cry and freak out. I really hadn't until that moment.  

But in keeping with all that I have done to distract myself leading up to surgery, I did this:

I wanted to make sure they chose the correct hip. 

As it turned out, the nurse wiped it off and the surgeon came in and did his own artwork:

More handiwork:

No One Told Me There'd Be Math

So hey, I was throwing numbers around like they meant something mathematical on Monday Sept. 16th. I don't even know what day it is, let alone how to do math. "Word problem' has an entirely different meaning today. The problem is - words are a problem. Pain is ridiculous, medications are plentiful but side effects suck. Everyone says it gets better. They better be right. Because I need to know the name of that damn bus driver. I think I got off at the wrong stop and he needs a talking to.

Let's Do the Math

I have spent:

13 years in Hospitality Management = very little sleep (despite a building of beds above the office).
35 years as a figure skater (17 in competition, 11 as a coach) = very early mornings/little sleep
6 months pregnant with triplets = very uncomfortable sleep
7 weeks on pregnancy bed rest with those triplets = a hospital offers very little rest
6 years (coming soon) raising said triplets = sleep?? Ha ha ha ha ha!

Yes, this is a word problem. No you may not use a calculator.

Question: What was the name of the bus driver?

Yeah, me neither.

So the moral of the story is, tomorrow I will go in for surgery where my pelvis will be broken. My husband says, not broke, reassembled. Well, not really reassembled so much as repositioned. I will be given many medicinal cocktails of varying strengths and side effects. When I had my pre-op physical, the doctor explained that Vicodin and Norco (?) can often have a stimulating effect, and Percocet can make you a little spacy. "That one", I told him. "The spacy one is what I want please."

Why?

Because I am about to enjoy the first nap I can recall having in, well . . . forever. Aww, come on now. Don't be jealous. After a couple of days I have no doubt they will rouse me at all hours of the day and night to take vitals and prevent me from resting. The good news is, when I get home, I get to nap for about six weeks.  Or until I get cranky and start swatting messy toys off the floor with my 'crunches', as my daughter calls them. We'll see how the equation works out post-op.

Independence Day

All summer I have been teaching my kids to get their own breakfast. Toward the end of summer, one of my boys was able to do it all from start to finish. Then slowly, my daughter was able to as well. Now when I tell them it's time yo eat in the morning, they go in the kitchen and take care of everything. One of the boys loves to be the 'chef', and took it upon himself to just make breakfast for all three of them. I purposely stay out of the took, but within earshot (in case of emergency), and it's really cute to hear him tell the other the 'breakfast is ready!'.

I smile to myself when I see them becoming independent. It's what my job is - teach them so they become self sufficient and contributing members of society. But I can't help thinking about my pending surgery. One that will render me DE-pendent for awhile. When I told the kids about my surgery, I told them I would need very special helpers. Someone to put my socks on, someone to make me breakfast, bring me a blanket, etc. They immediately jumped in with ideas of what they can all do. My daughter said, "Mommy, I can rub your back". Oh how I love this girl.

The whole point of teaching them to do things themselves is what I mentioned above. It started this summer so they could do things while I am laid up. But really, this is the start of independence they will always need. We often tell them, "We are family, and family takes care of each other". I think they are off to a good start.

And Then . . . A Spider Crashed My Party

Today was my last day with trainer Larry. He's been a great support and worked me hard during the last six weeks. Not hard enough to hurt myself more though. Frankly, if I hadn't been working out with him I might have hurt myself. The regular training has helped keep things in perspective. When I am able to work out again, I'll be coming back to him to get myself in optimal shape. Thanks Larry!




After a day of running around, err, driving around for the kids, with a nice lunch break with my friend Laura in between, I was ready for some girls night fun. I had cast a wide net of invitees, though only a small group was able to make it. We had a great time! Sipping margaritas (we sent Kim off to back to school night and Katherine back to work, mildly inebriated), a few nachos, outside on the patio on a still warm September night. It was all good1 I even got a very thoughtful present form my friend Charlene and beautiful flowers from my friend Liz.

And then . . .  A Spider Crashed My Party. No. Lie. Charlene saw this GIANT orange and black spider, just dangling off to the side of our table. She started talking about how she had a dream about a spider, and I slurred that 'dreams really DO come true'. Then April the waitress came out to have a look. Then another waitress came out. Then Alfredo came along with a broom. I pointed out that he should sweep it AWAY from our table. Clearly this spider had no intention of obeying anything Alfredo's broom had to say. So it jumped off it's string, and no lie, flew across my table, right in front of me, across the table next to me where Gabby was sitting and over the back side of the couches we were on. Alfredo was not pleased. My friend Marisa jumped over the back of the couch and tackled this insect, sans broom (or perhaps she wrested it away from Alfredo), and made short work of it. All this while the rest of us creamed like little girls who don't want boy cooties and scrambled out of our seats like we don't have hip injuries or imminent surgery. Well, they all did. I jumped up and then winced. But I screamed too. Peer pressure and all. (The spider is in the top center of the picture.)

After all the hype died down, it was just Liz and I. I happened to mention Abba to her, and of course she found he postage size 'dance floor' in the restaurant bar. This. Then she drove me home.

Everyone wished me good luck. But mostly my mom friends are just jealous that I am going to get a nap. A good long, drug induced nap. And then not have to get up off my a$$ for six weeks. Come on. I have to have an up side if I have to endure a broken pelvis. I'll take a nap as a side benefit. It beats the hell out of what Marisa gave the spider for its trouble.

Unmasked Dancing Queen

I have stopped taking Omega-3 supplements as of two weeks ago. I stopped taking Advil almost one week ago. Now that that has had some time to take effect, I can really feel the pain. More of what I do aggravates my hip. But I soldier on because it's what I do. I push myself. What I can push myself to do is becoming less than it was. But again, I push. Why? because next week the doc is going to break my pelvis and fix it. Very little I am doing between now and then will change anything.

What I have done however, is dance in the aisles.  We went to our friend's birthday party at a huge concert that played nothing but Abba music.  There was wine a plenty, and that was after the champagne toast. I toasted three times. I may not be able to take anti-inflammatories, but I sure do know how to dull the aches and pains.  Once that had set in I was dancing and having a great time! I knew I'd pay for it the next day, and I did. But it was so worth it. I read another blog where someone talked about the 'last time they'd do _____ ' prior to surgery. I didn't even realize I had started to do that, but I have. That didn't stop me from being a dancing queen that night. And it probably won't once I recover.

T-Stop

I had my pre-op physical. I received a surgery date and time. I paid the doctor's fee. I pre-registered with the hospital. All our scheduling is in place for the kids and the house. I am even more than half done with my Christmas shopping. Yes, really. So now that it's all set, I find myself becoming only a little bit anxious. I haven't really been nervous so far. I haven't over thought it all. So what I feel like, is that I am at a 'T' intersection. I can go left (no surgery), or right (surgery). But what I really want to do is go straight (not have a problem requiring medical attention).

In figure skating a 'T'-Stop is one way to stop moving. At a T' intersection you are facing the top of the 'T'.  The difference in skating is that the top of the 'T' is behind the other foot when you stop. The straight line is in front, pointing where you want to go next. That's the 'T' I want, where the left and right choices are behind me.

Pre Op Positive

Yesterday I had my pre-op physical, where they (hopefully) deem me fit to withstand surgery.  We are now inside the one week mark. Yikes.

In an effort to distract myself and keep things positive, I have a full week of fun planned. Tomorrow, waxing. Because getting hair pulled out of your skin is an uplifting experience. Well, for the wax it is anyway. I'll hit the gym, meet my sister in law for coffee, rip out hair from well below the follicles in my eyebrows, then come home and do art with my kids.

Thursday's agenda: lunch with a friend, pick up kids, take one kid to therapy, then - it's party time! I planned a girls' night pre-op party because I thought it would be fun to socialize with 5-50 of my gal pals. Only about 15 may actually be there,  but I cast a wide net. Why not!

Two play dates scheduled for one son. At our house. with extra siblings. Because apparently I am a chaos junkie. 

I am taking it a step further, and I got a small index card size notebook, pink of course, that I decorated with blingy stuff. Old ice skat habits die hard. Or not at all.  I am asking everyone to write something positive in it for me. A favorite quote, a thought or words of wisdom or inane funny crap. It's all good. Just something to read later on. Perhaps under the influence of pain meds.

I also got a small bag that will hang on my crutches or walker. Blinged that too. Duh. If I am going to be unwieldy, I may as well have some pink, zebra and rhinestones along for the ride. 

So far all of the distraction and planning has been very effective. We'll see what happens next Tuesday. Like the quote says, "There are no atheists at 150 miles an hour". 

A Good Blood Not-Letting

Worry and nerves have begun to set in. I asked my doctor about the possibility that I might need a transfusion. Apparently he uses a technology called 'cell-saver' that is supposed to mitigate blood loss during surgery. I am hopeful. But nonetheless, I decided to go donate one unit of my own blood as a back up. If I need a transfusion, I'd like to have my own blood

I have never given blood before, but I figured it was like getting a blood test. Except they feed you after and give you a blanket. Yes? I arrived at the hospital and the desk person thanked me in advance for donating blood when I asked which way to the blood donation center. I chuckled because it's for me. Then felt a little selfish that I haven't ever donated.

Upon finding Annie the technician, I filled out paperwork and shivered at the cold room air, wishing I hadn't left my sweater in the car. But it was 85 degrees outside. Why would I have needed a sweater?Finally after all the paperwork and insurance card shuffling, Annie stuck the tip of my ring finger (OWIE!!) to check my hemoglobin level. And . . . Disappointment. The lowest they will consider to take blood is 12. My level? 10.5.

   

Ahh, so I am still anemic after all. I have been for as long as I can remember. I just didn't know it was still that low. That explains the fatigue and weakness. Annie wished me luck and told me to go eat a steak.