Next Step

After meeting with my orthopedist today, I am officially getting rid of the big bulky leg brace that I have been wearing for the last 6 weeks.  Good riddance.  I am still going to use the smaller one that I had before surgery, just to act as a precaution, and only for the time being.  I think that in my ordinary life and non-dangerous and/or extended standing times, I am going to be brace free, using it only when I am at work or going to a place where I might be compromised.

My appointment was for 10 this morning.  So then why the fuck was I sitting in the waiting room, getting progressively more and more anxious, until 10 goddamn 30?  Appointments are appointments, and a specialty doctor is pretty important.  In the middle of the day, people have shit to do, so why make me wait an absurd amount of time just to get a chance to wait some more? Yeah, after getting into an exam room, I was sitting there for another 10 minutes to see the doc.  After all of that, I was able to get checked out, and see what I can and cannot do, and all of that took about 15 minutes.  So I was there for about an hour, and 3/4 of that time was spent waiting.  That's crap.

But in the end, I did find out a lot.  I can get back into the gym, riding the stationary and doing lower body workouts to strengthen my leg.  So that is a positive.  I still can't run, not allowed to do that for another 6 weeks or so.  Being without the brace and having my knee doing stuff on its own is going to be a challenge, and I will learn more and more as I do more and more stuff.  

Now I am getting back into work, and generally returning to a normal life.  I can set a schedule for myself now, and force myself to do things.  I need that kind of structure, at least 5 days a week, so I can keep my sanity and not waste my life away doing nothing.  Being able to do things on the side is nice, writing here and for The Scope has been fun, and now that I have less and less time on my hands, I think that I will be more willing to set aside time for those things, as well as my beer work, and pay more attention to them.

I guess all of this will sift itself out over the next few weeks.  Looking forward to getting back into a routine.

SD

Dumptruck

A quick update: Everything is right on track.  I can move around well enough, and my physical therapist tells me that my leg is good and stable.  Not ready to be on its own yet, I still have the brace and have to get a newer, smaller one, probably next week, from my orthopedist.  But other than that, I seem to be doing well.  Bully for me.

Because I can drive around, I am independent again.  I went grocery shopping today, and it sucked pretty good, as grocery shopping normally does.  I get confused in those stores and eventually forget to get something important.  It was laundry detergent today.  I make up for my lack of setting related abilities by getting something useless.  It was fancy mustard today.  The first place I went was the new co-op in Noank, where Universal Store was.  I know the people who run it, and I knew that they would have something that I actually needed.  I went there specifically for Vitamin E oil, which is used for dulling the starkness of my Frankenscar.  After that, I went to the supermarket near my apartment.  I generally don't care for Shop Rite.  I think it is dirty, but I suffer through because it is a supermarket and it is close to my apartment. 

On my way from Noank to New London, I got stuck behind a dumptruck.  This may not seem to be a big deal, but to me, it was.  I was stuck behind this monster for about a mile.  Apparently we were going to the same place.  Once I was on the actual highway, not just the streets in Groton leading up to it, I was able to pass the truck.  Finally, I was free of the loud bulky monstrosity.  There was free highway as far as I could see.  Or so I hoped.  Instead of being able to drive in peace towards the grocery store, I was stuck behind another goddamn dump truck.  What the hell construction dudes! Why are there so many friggin' dump trucks on the road?  In the ten or so minutes of interstate that I drove down, there must have been a dozen of these things plowing to some unknown worksite with their dumpers full of who knows what, or relieved of their load by a grateful landfill, heading back for another round.

Either way, I got to Shop Rite.  Bad idea.  I forgot that it is Tuesday, and Tuesday is old person day at Shop Rite.  Never.  Again.  I drove into the lot and realized that there was a flood of old people unseen since the early bird special at (insert diner name here).  I did not stop my car at all, just circled around and left.  I went to the next closest supermarket, the Stop and Shop in Waterford, and got my food without much turmoil.  No more dump trucks, no more flocks of old people clogging everything, just a cart with a fucked up wheel, like normal.

Once I get cleared to have a full day's work, I guess everything will be back to normal.

SD

Oh, yeah, this is what I have been doing: www.thescopemagazine.com Read what happens!

Benchmark Cleared

I can drive again.  I haven't been able to since hurting myself almost 2 months ago.  The therapist said that as long as I am comfortable doing it, because I am strong enough, that I can drive.  Short distances at first, and build up towards longer journeys.  Of course, I have no idea what constitutes a short versus long distance.  I am going with 30 minutes at a time as a starting point.  I think that if I can get around in trips that put me behind the wheel for less than 30 minutes I should be good to go.  This works well for me because I don't really go anywhere that is farther away than that, so I'm pretty much good to go. 

This mark has been important to me throughout this process.  I want to be self sufficient, and being mobile is a way to do that.  No longer do I have to rely on people to take me from point A to point B.  I can go get my own groceries.  If I have to go to the pharmacy for something, I can do that.  If I want to go somewhere to watch a game with my friends, I can do that.  If I want to drive around for 30 minutes or less, I can do that.  I have a car.  I get to use it again.  The frustrating thing, the especially frustrating thing, is that I just got this damn car in November.  I got to drive it for about 4 months before I had to get back into the passenger seat for 7 weeks.  That hardly seems fair.

But there is more good news recently than bad.  I shouldn't complain.  Not only is driving again back in my life, but it comes at the expense of pills.  What I mean is, I gained driving and ran out of Ibuprofen this morning.  No more horse pills to take three times a day, no more feeling like an old person with scheduled pill taking times.  No more worrying about side effects.  More importantly, no more dealing with side effects.

All of this is means that my recovery is going swimmingly!  I am meeting my benchmarks and right on schedule, according to the protocol set forth by my orthopedist.  I seem to be doing well.  I don't hurt, and even if I did, I have more than enough ammunition to ward off pain.  Granted, my leg isn't as strong as it could be, but it's strong enough to drive.  The remainder of my rehab will be strength, balance, and conditioning for my quad.  The bone is healing around the burs at the end of the new ligament, but I still got 8-10 weeks before that is fully healed up.  With that bone growing back, I can still walk around pretty well.  I have a noticeable limp, and I lack the confidence to push it (which is probably a good thing), but at least I can get around my neighborhood without a chaperone.

The next thing to go is the big brace.  I have it wrapped around my leg all damn day, except for when I'm asleep or in the shower.  I have an appointment with the orthopedist in a couple weeks, and then I should be fitted with a smaller version of the thing that I have.  Probably more comfortable and forgiving.  I wonder if there is going to be any separation anxiety.  I know that I am going to be stronger by that time, to the point where I wonder how long I am actually going to have to adjust my life to account for my knee.  I got a stronger version of the PT band that I had before.  The added resistance is going to help expedite the strengthening process, and along with general use, I think that I am in pretty good shape.

This is the time when I nod my head approvingly at my own awesomeness.

SD

Frankenstein

The sticky strips that they put on you after stitches come out have finally come off.  They just kinda lose their tacky quality and come off over time.  In doing so, they slowly reveal the scarring from surgery and let you see what your permanent reminder is going to look like.  Mine are very similar to the scars that Frankenstein's monster had on his forehead.  Of course, mine are on my knee and leg, but they look the same.  A line about two inches long runs straight down and on each side are 4 smaller horizontal lines.  They are evenly spaced and all the same size.  The symmetry is nice.  I won't have to look at a lopsided mess on my leg skin for the rest of my life.  The scope holes are also healed up, and they are smaller versions of the large incision scar.  Apparently rubbing vitamin E on the scars will make them less obvious, but they aren't that huge to begin with, and most of the year I wear pants.  I live in New England and the only time that shorts are useful as a clothing option are the summer and when you have a big ass brace that pants have trouble overcoming in a comfortable way. 

I don't mind the scars, I knew they were going to be there and I knew they were going to be drastic.  I am happy that they are even and normal looking.  Now, it seems as though NBA players are trying to be like me and get ACL surgery.  NBA Most Valuable Player Derrick Rose blew out his knee, and Knicks guard Iman Shumpert did the same thing.  Shumpert's injury looked a lot like mine.  It was a cutting/stopping injury accident, where Rose's was a landing awkward type injury.  That sucks for both players and their teams, especially for the Bulls, as Rose was their best player.  On the bright side for da Bulls, he has been suffering from lingering injuries and knicks for a part of the season, and so the team is used to playing without him.  Pundits are talking about conditioning and the style of play for Rose, but conditioning and strength has nothing to do with it.  The injury is usually the result of an accident, and unless you have cinder blocks for quads, you are going to injure the ACL if you bend the knee incorrectly.  The only real protection is a stability brace, but no NBA player is going to want to have the same apparatus that an NFL lineman wears.  Basketball has a different athletic skill set than a lot of sports, and quick cutting, stopping and agility is a major part of that.  ACL and ankle injuries are going to happen.  A lot.  The nature of the game and the speed at which it is played almost provokes knees and ankles to break down and fall apart.  But those are the inherent risks of the game.  Trust me.  I found out the hard way.

SD

Back to work

During my physical therapy session today, I inquired to the point of going back to work.  I was given the news that while my job entails standing for extended periods of time, I can go back to work, so long as I don't stand for extended periods of time.  Essentially, I can go back for about 3 hours standing up and more time sitting down, if possible.  So I can work my way back into work.   A few hours a day, a few days a week.  I can manage that.  It will give me a reason to wake up before 10 every day, that's for sure.  It is also a return of income to my life.  I haven't been able to get any sort of work in since surgery, and even then, it was minimal at best.  But it has been 4 weeks since the operation, so that is 4 weeks with $0 coming in.  Luckily, I don't spend that much and had enough saved to cover bills and such in the mean time, but replenishing the dwindling reserves of my account is going to be nice, even if that process is painfully slow.

The other thing that going back to work is going to do is fill my day.  I will be able to make a schedule that doesn't revolve around the self indulgent rambling of this here blog or facebook posts.  Sooner or later, these were going to have to slow down.  I can't keep writing 1000 words every day, there is only so much to report when your life has nothing to report about.  Creative energy is a renewable resource, but sometimes it takes a while to renew it.  So I guess I get to have something to write about.  But if nothing interesting happens, then the status quo will continue.  Boringly. 

Luckily I have gotten the opportunity to write for The Scope.  I have been tapped to create silly, and totally fake, articles about whatever I want as well as more serious essays aimed at the world of sports.  Do I know how to do this? Probably not, but I know that I can write pretty well, so why not give it a shot.  I like doing these things, and there is some momentum building with the project as a whole, so I feel as though I am part of a thing.  Small though this thing may be, it remains a thing.  It remains a thing for me to do.  Something to fill my time when I am bored.  Something to get my brain moving is a direction, to focus on a story, or a topic, or myself.

I guess that the main story here is that my days are filling up again.  Getting back into the beer world is going to be fun.  Doing that tonight.  Getting together with the rest of Creature Brewing Co. is going to be good.  I want to get back on that horsey and make some booze.  I need to get going again and get back to my life.  Slowly but surely, bit by bit, that is happening, and that is something that I feel good about.  Finally starting to get less cynical. 

You're welcome.

SD

Crutches be damned

Ha! I don't have to use the crutches anymore.  I get to walk about like a person.  With a limp.  Actually, my mobility is closer to shuffling than walking at this point, but the fact of the matter is that I can ambulate without the use of aluminum aides.  The amount of apparatus that I have to use in order to get around is dwindling, and dwindling rather quickly, for that matter.  I still have to use the big bulky brace, but I expected that.  I'm okay with that as well.  I don't see the problem with scuffling around town in a brace, I see a problem with not being able to move about at all.  I don't have that problem anymore. 

When I will be able to drive, I still don't know.  It is going to be a couple of weeks before I can move without the brace on as well.  But, I can get about without it on in my apartment, so long as I use one crutch as a balancing aide.  In that respect, I still technically need at least one crutch, but at the same time, that is one less than I needed before, and I only need it when I don't have the brace on.  That means that, in the morning, when I have special bathroom time, I need to use the crutch to help me get to the shower and whatnot, but if I have the brace on, I no longer need the crutches.  I want to take advantage of this situation, but I fear that I am going to push it too much and wear myself out.  It's not like I can move fast with just the brace, like I said before, I shuffle around.  I hobble like one of my legs is longer than the other, and I still have trouble with stairs.  But progress is being made, so why dwell on the less-than parts.

I have been going out around town.  Running errands during the day and going out on the weekends.  I guess if I can manage that, I can get about without too much trouble.  I want to get back to a normal life.  Getting back to work is going to be a milestone.  Not only will that mean that I have some income flowing in, but it will give me something to do during the day, which is important.  I don't like being bored, and getting back to work will help to alleviate some of that strife.  Hopefully by next week I can get back in there.  We'll see where my strength and progress gets me by that point and go from there.  I don't think I will be able to get in there full time or anything, but a few hours when it is quiet each day is a good start.  I just need some money coming it.  I feel like all I do is spend.  Rent, bills, and now medical bills are sapping not only my bank account but also my good mood.  When I get a new bill in the mail, from whatever crazy ass thing I had to go through, I get a little more frustrated.  I shake my head and roll my eyes, take a deep breath and fill out a form with credit card info that goes off to somewhere that gladly takes the money that I need for whatever I might need it for.

I was going to spend that money on a shiny suit.  Not anymore.  Dammit.

SD

Same Shit

No status update on the leg, every day is a little better than the day before.  Fine.

During this whole process, I have been watching way more television that I rightfully should.  Unhealthy amounts.  To the point where I know what time Sportscenter ends every day (its 3pm, for the record).  I have gotten to hate commercials, though.  Like, a lot.  Certain ones in particular.  Anything done by Subway can BURN IN THE ETERNAL FIRES OF HELL.  Fuck those things.  Advertisements are supposed to entice people to buy the product, right? Not repulse a normal-ish person to the point where arson seems like a viable option. 

Car ads are pissing me off.  Local ones have always sucked, so that is no big dead.  Of course, there is the Bob's Dodge of Milford ads, which are so creepily hilarious that I can't stay mad at them.  The tag line, "He just want's to get you a loan," is repeated by every family member the guy has, including small, smiling children and a supremely uncomfortable wife who's mouth is saying words that underscore the impending danger her eyes are hinting at.  Truly incredible.

The national ones are getting more and more annoying.  From kids in a Honda minivan a Capella singing "Crazy Train" badly to truly horrible asswipey people smiling too much as they play a cocaine and ecstasy fueled version of the Life board game with Prius' instead of normal game pieces.  Music for commercials has become boring as well.  Everyone seems to be using the same Black Keys song, which is fine, I guess, because that band is great.  But they have like 400 albums out, so there has got to be at least ONE other song that can properly hawk your financial planning firm or commemorative stamps. 

I have begun to notice the same actors in several ads.  I guess that's fine, but it shows the dearth of creativity and quality acting that has permeated the American arts over the last few years.  This isn't that big of a deal, in the long run, but they are repeating commercials from years ago now, and the same knob wranglers that were in those ads are in current ones too.  For competing companies. 

Even the Super Bowl ads this year were lacking.  That is supposed to be where the best of the best come out to play.  Best game.  Best ads.  NOPE! The game was awesome, but if I have to see the fucking E-Trade Baby one more time, I am going to lose my shit.  I hate that kid.  He should be like 14 by now, stop running those ads.  They aren't funny.  They are no longer clever.  The course has been run.  Move on.  Goddamit.

I know that this doesn't seem like much, but when the things that you do during the day are limited, this stuff piles up.  I try to watch shows that are better for my brain.  They only exist on Netflix.  History Channel? Really? There is nothing historical about pawn shops or or sticking your hand in a fish.  Their programming is dreadful.  I tried the National Geographic Channel.  NOPE! They have fallen into the fishing show trap that Deadliest Catch and the Whale one started.  I really don't care about some illiterate fishing for tuna.  No dice there.  Other than fish shows, NatGeo (their word, not mine) has a line up of programs about prisons.  Is that what people want.  I know nobody reads magazines anymore, but National Geographic used to be a haven for thought and intellectual stories about interesting things.  Ancient Egypt, exploration of wilderness, new technology, outer space, these were the domains of National Geographic.  That was the place where you learned about nomadic tribes and old school wars and stabbing gear.  Their television channel lets you learn about crazy people who are saving cans for when the zombies come.  Idiots.

SD

So far so good

One crutch? Check.  My physical therapist has me only on one crutch again.  Full time.  Just like it was before surgery, I keep the crutch on the left side that moves along with the right leg.  Sound confusing, but it isn't.  This frees up an arm to do stuff and hold things, giving my more functional mobility than I had even a week ago.  I could try the one crutch before, but my leg wasn't strong enough to handle the weight and movement or steady enough to balance.  The exercises that I have to do everyday for "homework" are working quite well, so I get stronger.  Now I have more tasks to complete during each homework session.  Balancing, lunges, and the previous exercises are added along with the use of an elastic band tied around something sturdy.  Once secured, the band provides resistance as I pull and raise my leg left to right and backwards to forwards.  I use the weight of the leg against me to make it stronger and give it more stamina. 

The lack of energy in my leg is still bothering me.  It just seems that the workouts that I am doing, especially on therapy days, are sapping my leg of everything.  I guess that is good, though, as it means that the workouts are working.  I can't take days off though, because I have to keep a schedule.  No matter how much I want to relax, these workouts only take 20 minutes so they aren't that bad.  Stretching, lifting, isolating the quad muscles, and all the rest of it.  Two weeks ago I could barely lift my leg enough to move it from point a to point be.  Now I can stand freely.

I was able to walk without crutches at all at the therapist's yesterday.  Not a lot, and certainly not with any kind of real pace, but still, I can move without the crutches.  I was told that I can do that in small doses around my apartment however if I want to go outside, I still need the assistance.  I'm cool with that.  I should be off of the last crutch within the next week or so, and then another week or two with the brace by itself.  At that point, I have another appointment with my orthopedist and I should be given some other kind of smaller brace.  But the big news from that should be, if my timeline is correct, is the ability to start driving around again.  They fear that my leg just isn't strong enough to mash down the brake pedal if I have to stop quickly.  I understand this.  The shitty thing that I have had this car for less than 6 months.  When I get back to being strong enough to drive, I'm taking a trip.  I don't care where, all I know is that I am driving there.

SD

Floor Space.

I have more floor space.  The company that provided the cooling cuff took it back today.  I was only renting it, so I knew it was going to go.  I'm glad that it is gone.  Between the machine itself, the cuff, the tubes that connected the machine to the cuff, and the thick ass power cord, that thing took up WAY more room than it rightfully should.  Every time that I had to be near my bed, or wheel my chair anywhere, or use my crutches in the general vicinity of the machine, I had to be wary of the bulky apparatus and the dangers that it presents.  Tripping over the cord or the tubes would have been tragic.  Like really really bad. Don't have to worry about that anymore though, as the rat bastard thing is gone. 

When they came to pick it up they asked me if it worked.  How the hell am I supposed to know? It's not like I have every gone through this process without it.  I guess it worked, it was on for long enough.  Long enough where I think it must have done something good.  If it didn't, that would have been a huge waste of $200.  I could use that extra cash right now.  I got the bill.

Yeah.  Anyone got an extra $19,558 laying around?  Can I have it?  No? Bueller....Bueller? Damn.  Seriously? Nobody I know is independently wealthy enough to be a benefactor? Nobody wants to do something so absurdly generous they are guaranteed a spot in heaven, no matter how much other bad shit they might have done? Your loss.  Luckily for me I make so little money that I am eligible for most financial aid packages the hospital has to offer.  And even if I can't get the whole thing written off, which is a distinct possibility, they are pretty good about making both parties happy with installment payments. 

It'll be fun to get that done.

On a side note-A hearty high five to Matt Covey for being written up in Modern Drummer Magazine.  That shit is SWEET!

SD

Suck it, other crutch

I'm down to one again.  Kinda.  I can move around my apartment with just the one, on the left side, using it in congress with my bum leg.  I have to keep my big ass brace on the entire time while moving like this, but that is a small price to pay for the freedom of one of my hands.  I no longer have to scoot in my wheelie chair if I want to get anything.  Nowadays, I can put a decent amount of pressure on the leg and move about with more freedom, which is a boon to my ego. 

The other progress is with stairs.  I have been given a new method for going up and down stairs.  Granted, the efficiency of this is not great, and it won't be until I am out of all apparatus and can move about freely.  The progress is that I don't have to launch myself up each stair.  In the before time, I had to use each crutch as a springboard and lift myself up to the next stair, placing my good leg down as a support and pulling ole deadfoot along after. 

All of this goodness has to be tempered if I want to do anything outside of my apartment.  I can go anywhere I can walk to.  Still not allowed to drive.  But I can fit in the front now and walk about, so long as I have the energy.  My leg is weak, and I need to use both crutches to move around town.  Only a couple more weeks with them though, and therefore, only a couple of more weeks before I can drive again.  I tried to go around town last weekend, but couldn't make it too long.  I was up and about a lot during the day, so I think that I just don't have the stamina to go too crazy.  The brace is heavy, and I think that takes a lot out of me as well. 

Everyday, despite the weight of the brace and the lack of pure strength that I had before, I am getting more and more confident in my ability to be functional.  I have to be cautious though.  Going too hard too fast is a bad idea, so I have to take it easy.  Knowing this is part of my recovery, and recovery is my entire existence right now, so I have to pay attention to that more than anything else.  As long as I don't lose my mind, I think everything will work out. 

Slowly but surely, I'm getting closer to living normally.  This means getting back to work and a routine that doesn't seem forced.  I try to get up in the morning and take care of myself.  This includes taking showers, now.  The best part is the shower.  I got to do that today for the first time since my surgery.  Felt great.  I didn't realize how much I missed being clean.  Sponge bathing in a sink lacks the tangible feeling of cleanliness that taking a shower has.

I should take a vacation.

SD

The next benchmark

The small things matter.  Today I got my stitches out.  A small step, but an important one, nonetheless.  I get to live without a wrapping on my leg, just some sticky strips, not bandages, more like thin strips of tape, to keep the place where the stitches were intact.  The one thing that I wanted more than anything else after this visit to the doc was to take a damn shower.  The things I want don't come that easy though.  I still have to clean myself in a sink.  This should be easy, taking a shower.  Alas, I cannot have this thing, not yet anyway.  Tuesday morning is D-Day for true cleansing.  Only 24 hours later, but still.  I haven't had the ability, per doctor's orders, to stand under a torrent of clean water since I got out of surgery.  In March.

I guess the important part is that the wound is healing well enough to take out the knots holding it together.  Everything seems in order.  The doc was happy with the progress that I and my physical therapist have made.  Swelling is still pronounced but not horrible.  I knew that was going to be the case anyway.  6 weeks out of surgery I can expect my leg to look normal again, which would be the middle of May. 

The unlocked brace that I have allows me to walk with a bit more normalcy.  I can bend my leg to the point where I can sit in the front seat of a car.  Before this, I had to slide into the back and rest my locked leg along the length of the back seat.  Nowadays I can ride in a car like a human, which is nice.  Soon I will be able to drive, hopefully within the next couple of weeks, and get back to work. 

Doing normal things, like getting back to work is what I look forward to the most.  I like feeling like I am retired, but I get bored.  What is there to do when you don't want to do anything?  How do you fill the days?  Thanks Netflix.  I need income, as I have none now since the injury.  Soon enough, though, I will get back to it and pick up some hours.  Don't get me wrong, if I could never work again and spend my life in a state of perpetual recreation, I would.  In a nanosecond.  But that is a silly thought, as neither myself or anyone that I know are independently wealthy to the point that I can glom on like a parasite and hitch a ride to happyland.  I do want to get back to my normal life, at least for a while before I go and try to do something else.  Hopefully, the next thing I try to do won't blow up in my face like the last time around.

I have learned that a person is required to make their own luck.  If you aren't born with blessings from the heavens, you are normal.  When you are normal, you have to press the issue to better yourself.  When you press the issue, you end up blogging in a format that sounds like a DirecTV ad.  I gotta stop this.  Anyway, the moral of the story is that I tried to improve and failed.  My failure in this instance is a devastating knee injury.  Other methods of self awesomeering have worked out.  School, for instance has been pretty sweet, but that ends in like 2 weeks, so I have to find the next thing. 

Anyone got any ideas?

SD

A little more intense

Physical therapy was actually physical today.  Instead of prodding and small examinations, my therapist actually had my doing stuff.  I got on a stationary bike and bent my knee as far as it would go.  Not all that far, mind you, I couldn't make a full rotation of the wheel, but I went back and forth as much as I could for a few minutes.  I tried to stretch it out, but it's still swollen a little, so I can't really bend.

I learned that after this kind of surgery, the quad muscles really take a beating.  They are moved and manipulated in several ways, and therefore they take some time to recoup.  Electronic stimulation pads were placed on my leg (not my nips) and jacked up to the point where my leg muscles twitched.  While the electricity was coursing through my muscles, I was instructed to tighten them.  I felt myself growing stronger.  I am becoming super human.  Soon I will be strong enough to kick a person through a building.  Well, not quite yet, but soon. 

I still have to maintain the exercises that were prescribed to me, but I expected that.  They were easier to do yesterday than the day before.  I wonder how much of that is recovery, or if my mind has just getting used to it and I THINK that is it easier.  The other positive development is the unlocking of my brace.  I have been allowed to walk---ish with the crutches bearing most of the wait for my right leg.  I can put a little pressure on my foot, and move it in the same walking motion that normal people use, that I used to use, when I go from point a to point b.  I can keep it off while I'm not doing anything, but if I have to go anywhere of any distance, like out of my apartment, I have to put the brace on.  The brace moves on its hinge now, so the burden isn't as terrible.  I still can't sit with my foot at a 90 degree angle, but the brace lets it bend.  I was instructed to focus on bending the knee inside of the brace while "walking."  I should be off the crutches soon and as I grow in confidence with my new fangled walking I should be okay with that. 

As the therapy moves forward, I wil learn how much I can stand, in terms of pressure and pain.  Bring it on.  I want to get this over with, I think that I have made that clear.  If that means having a rather intense therapy session, so be it.  Each time in I get a little closer to 100%.  I have to be diligent, though, and make certain that I do my exercises and pay attention to my therapist and my body. 

One step at a time.

SD

At least something is nearly complete....

I'm almost done with school.  Finally.  The four year plan that every high school graduate with collegiate desires dreams about turned into a 13 year exodus through a desert of poor decisions and misguided hope.  Tuesday I wrote the final term paper of my elongated college career.  I know that all I have to do is play out the stretch of the semester, working "my best" to participate in a class that is such a joke that it doesn't have a textbook.  I still had to write a paper, though.  Weak.

Now that my life in the academic sphere is over, I have to find a way to utilize the skills that a B.A. claims that I maintain.  I don't know what these skills are, however.  I think I learned some information about American History.  Maybe something about the Earth.  Maybe something about the Constitution.  Maybe something about myself?  I wonder where the degree will allow me access to.  These things are, apparently, important.  Door openers.  Unfortunately for me, I have no tangible skills to offer people.  I have been told that I can write a little, and I know how to analyze literature pretty well.  But I hate kids so teaching is out the window.  I guess I could continue my education and get a post grad degree or two.  What's the point, though? Just to prove that I have nothing worth while to do with an undergrad degree? Hooray for even more crippling student loan debt.

The one thing that I am proud of is my success in school.  I did pretty well.  I'm not sure what exactly my GPA is right now, but it is over 3.5.  Seeing as though I had a 1.8 after my first year, that's a pretty nice improvement.  My first year, at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh, was a washout.  I didn't focus on anything.  I had a sweet gig at an NPR affiliate.  Ruined that.  Started to build a social network.  Killed that off.  Live and Learn, I guess.  Satchel Paige once said "Don't look behind you.  Something might be catching up." Words to live by.  I do not regret the time I spent there.  I learned a lot.  Nothing academic, but a lot about what I should and shouldn't do. 

After that, I spent a few years dicking about in the area.  I lived like a rock star, or a hobo.  There is a fine line between the two.  I liked that life.  But it was killing me on the inside.  I wasn't going anywhere and I hung out with a lot of people that were in the same boat.  Not all of them, but enough that I felt like I was wasting myself.  So I changed myself around.  I enrolled in school, Charter Oak State College, and started to prove myself to myself.  I did well, built some momentum, and have continued to work hard to finish this damn degree up.  13 years later.  I'll be done in May, but I'm not going to the grad ceremony.  I don't want to.  I don't care.  I think that this is something that should have happened 9 years ago, at the end of my original attempt at college.  Why should I celebrate something that I put off for so long?  I fucked up for the better part of a decade, so I shouldn't be glorified.  And besides, I simply don't care about a ceremony.  I got the job done and that is the important part.  Not going to the ceremony isn't going to impact the amount of work or the accomplishment after the completion of said work.

Now that school is almost done, the next goal is the re-awesomizing of my knee.  That'll happen.  It's just a matter of time.

SD

Off to a good start

First day of physical therapy seemed to be successful.  I still have to be on the crutches for a while, but there is good news.  I can "walk" with them as support.  I essentially have to retrain my feet how to work in unison to make myself more ambulatory than I currently am.  Granted, I am not putting that much pressure on the bum leg, less than 50% if I were to guess.  I support that leg within the walking motion with the crutches.  The fact of the matter is that I am starting to ween myself, with the help of the therapist, off of aided walking and onto a more normal movement pattern.  My quality of life will increase incrementally as the therapy sessions move forward and I will be permitted to do more and more things like a normal person can.  This is good.

Six weeks of PT doesn't seem like all that much, of course, that opinion could change soon depending on the level of success I see.  Luckily I knew the therapist previously to this experience, so I think I am in good shape.  Twice a week I have to go.  Tuesdays and Thursdays until the middle of May.  One down, eleven to go.  I get homework through PT.  Various stretching and slow movement tasks to be performed throughout the day.  Isolating movements in my quadriceps in order to strengthen that region to support my weight as I try to walk normally seems to be the focus thus far.  I haven't gotten any new apparatus with which therapy will be aided, I just have to use a belt or some other strap to aid in lifting the injured limb to a vertical position whilst laying on my back.  That should be fun. 

I got a worksheet with diagrams on it.  On a couple of the pictures the illustrated man seems to have a very morose look on his face.  This is not uplifting.  His head, buried in his arms as he lays face down, is cradled like a child's mid tantrum.  In another, the imagined effort being exerted to contort his body into some Jane Fonda-esque pose seems to be so great that all he can do is stare blankly and accept this torture.  He grimaces with agony as he pulls back on his leg, stretching a group of muscles that obviously has no desire to be stretched.  The man lays on his back, leg bent with the knee aiming for his chest, grasping at the back of the joint like there is a bullet lodged in there.  This is not an inviting worksheet.

My cold pressure cuff is leaving me next week.  I will no longer have the tube and velcro attachment wrapped around my leg for hours at a time.  Can't wait.  That thing is becoming a burden.  Wires and connections are taking up too much floor space, getting in the way of any transportation that I might want to do in the space between my desk and bed.  Not a lot of territory to be covered, mind you, but a lack of hazards is beneficial.  So that means that, within the next week or so, I will be off the machine, weened down with the crutches, and looking to get out of the brace, or at least get into one that moves.  Progress seems to be happening.

SD

Post Op

I still got these goddamn stitches in my leg.  I thought I was going to get them out this morning and as it turns out, that thought was incorrect.  They get to be attached to my flesh for another week.  This is the first time that I have every had stitches, so I guess that I shouldn't be surprised at their lifetime.  I have nothing to compare it to. 

They look weird.  I can't even describe it   But I'm going to try.  Because I'm a dick like that.  Where the scope is a stitch at each point.  It looks like two little antennae are poking out at each incision point.  The actual incision point, where the bulk of the cutting happened, has a series of stitches, 6 in all.  They are in a line, and no, the doc didn't pull something funny and stitch his initials into my skin.  I find that I am both happy about that but a little dissappointed at the same time.  While I don't want to have a tag of ownership permanently scarred onto my leg, it would make for a good story.  Oh well.

The actual wound now looks like spongy mountain range.  There are peaks and valleys, and a slope of dried blood crust on the Southern slope.  It's a blood avalanche.  Which is now in the top three metal band names ever (with God Hammer and Murder Church).  The remaining wound bits look like a cross between the crimped edge of a calzone and the tied up part of a roast.  But all pasty white.  Like, really really white.  I also have these blue dots in the knee region.  The dots are a map for the doc to show him where things are in my leg.  A inter human landscape that helps him guide the machines and whatnot through the surgery.  Each dot is a landmark in the joint.  That's neat, I guess.  I would try to figure out what is what if I weren't still swollen like a beachball down there.

The disappointment of my lack of stitches was tempered by the removal of the huge Ace wrap that went from my foot to my thigh.  It has been replaced by a smaller one that is just around my knee.  I have to keep the ridiculous brace on for another week or so, but not all the time.  When sleeping, moving about, yeah, I have to keep it on.  But other than that, as long as I am careful with my leg, I don't have to have it on.  I got signed up for physical therapy.  I have to get in contact with them to set up a time.  I only have to go twice a week for the next six weeks.  And then it's over, end of PT.  Seems pretty quick, but that's cool.  Everything seems to happen slowly, so a quickening might be welcome.

PT is going to be through the hospital, which is nice, at least they are going to be professional.  The crappy part is that I can't drive there.  They aren't going to let me have the keys for at least a month.  I feel like I go a DUI.  I guess I get to be out of the brace and off the crutches in another week or two, depending on PT and how my knee responds to the surgery.  That being said, the surgery was boring.  That is the best thing I heard all day.  You want to have a boring surgery.  You don't want it to be an eventful situation for the doc.  When you are out, nothing odd happens, and the doc reports a pedestrian procedure, that is the best thing ever.  You want to have nothing special about your business. 

The beginning of the end of this ordeal is starting.  Look forward, as the monsters are behind you.

SD

Easter

Today is Easter.  Yay.  Honestly, I don't care for the holiday part of it.  It happens every year, and every year, I care less and less about eggs, bunnies, or that retarded grass stuff that fills baskets.  But I like getting together with the family.  This is usually fun.  There is always going to be someone who is a pompous dick, but that is a family, so who really cares. 

This year, everyone has some issue, and there was the undertones of a pissing contest.  I win.  I have problems with stairs, and doors, and moving.  I had to go with all of my leggy accoutrement on display.  Brace, cold pressure cuff, ace wrap, crutches, the whole nine.  And after the original shock of seeing me, and trying to make me comfortable, everything returned to normal.  I explained my current status a few times and there were both sympathy and mocking.  And it was good.

I generally don't like to be doted over.  I like being able to fend for myself and get what I want when I want it.  I was fairly uncomfortable for a while, not physically, but situationally.  I didn't want people to make a special effort for me, but I had to give in.  There was so much food (aw damn) that it had to be set up in a buffet.  I had to have my aunt make a plate for me while I sat with my leg in another's personal bubble.  Remember, it doesn't bend yet. 

The thing about family? They don't care.  They don't care if you are hobbled, crippled, whatever.  You are going to get some shit for it, but generally, they know the deal.  Everyone has had something stupid happen to them along the line, so they have all been there.  After the initial reaction, war stories are shared.  After dinner, we all sat around, fat on ham, lamb, and other sundry foods, and watched golf on tv.  It was comfortable. 

I was hesitant to go to Easter dinner.  I didn't want to feel like a party favor.  I didn't feel like a party favor.  I felt like a member of a family.  Yes, the stairs were a hazard, but throw rugs are a hazard for me now, so I guess I just have to deal with it.  I managed okay.  I'm back in my recovery zone, plugged into my machine.  No harm done.  I don't know what the hell I was worried about.  Who cares if I'm on crutches, I just have to make sure that I don't shrivel away. 

Everything is going to work out.  I just have to remember to take it one step at a time.  I have to resist the urge to push ahead beyond where I should be.  This isn't an English class, extra credit work is useless in this situation.  Getting out today was a step in the positive direction.  I know in my head that my progress is going to be slow and aggravating, and I know that I am going to get antsy.  I have to remember that small things, like Easter, are going to get me forward faster that the large leap.

Simple steps.

SD

Week/Weak

So it has been a week since the surgery.  Everything seems to still be there, but there are still some things that I would like to be able to do before I consider myself operational (hehe) again. 

I can take the brace off now and flex my leg, try to move it back and forth a bit.  This task is simple, but it is going to take a while before I have a comfortable range of motion.  On Monday I have an appointment to get the ace wrap taken off and, I would assume, the brick of gauze as well.  At that point, I will get my first viewing of the hot mess that my knee has become.  Perhaps the stitches come out as well, perhaps not, that prospect is pretty vague.  I got a call yesterday that confirmed the appointment, and the lady suggested that there might be staples instead of stitches.  I found that amusing.

I don't know what the wound is going to look like.  I am hoping that the doctor decided not to be a funny guy and sew his initials into my leg or some other silly shit like that.  It would make for a good story though.  In the week after the procedure, I have found that the days are going by faster.  I am able to entertain myself enough to pass the hours.  Opening day for baseball hasn't hurt, either.

I have been writing for The Scope, which has been fun.  Everything is light and made up, so I can work on that whenever I want.  This blog has helped, although sometimes I feel as though I need motivation to write here.  Then again, I can get to rambling, so time passes with that too. 

The one thing that I can't wait to do is get this contraption off of me.  I hate it.  It's bulky, heavy, awkward, and even though I completely understand the function of it, I think that it is a bit over the top.  On Monday, I think that the doc will give me a definitive schedule for therapy and eventual removal of the brace.  I want to walk again without crutches or a brace, but that is going to be some time.

The more immediate goal is to be able to take a shower that doesn't involve a sink.  I have to keep the ace wrap and gauze brick on 24/7 and they can't get wet, so that means I have had to clean myself in the sink instead of take an actual shower.  The day that changes will be welcome.  It's not that I am not cleaning myself, there is simply a difference between bathing in a sink and actually taking a real shower.  I never understood how much a meant, on a psychological level, until now.

What is killing me right now is that I don't think that I am going to be able to participate in Easter.  I think that this brace, the lack of ability to get pants over it, and the intermittent cold therapy is going to keep me house ridden for a few more days, until my appointment.

I can't be too mad, I did this to myself.

SD

Douchebag Supernova

As we all know by this point, my schedule is merely a pipe dream.  Any focus to my day is a fantasy concurrent of a once real notion of hours and time.  I live as a cat.  A sweaty, disabled cat with cable and an internet connection.  One of my goals throughout this ordeal is to find productive ways to spend my time.  In that respect, I sleep more than I ever have, get some reading in, and try to keep my working limbs stretched out and in shape.  I watch Sportscenter in the morning, Netflix for some portion of the day, and do my best to keep on a cold therapy regimen for the knee.

But sometimes at night, I have trouble actually getting to sleep.  Last night was one of those nights.  I was mentally ready to go to sleep after The Colbert Report, but my body was still ready to be awake.  I flipped through the channels, and not wanting to see more women's basketball on ESPN, I kept going up the channels.  I found something interesting.  Something so appropriate that I was forced by morbid curiosity and bemused boredom to land on VH1.

VH1 used to be a music channel, and when they played music, they had a show called Pop-Up Video, where they would insert silly bubbles with factoids in them about the band or the video being shown.  VH1 was purchased by MTV, and has subsequently been converted into MTV for Dummies and people who care about Ice-T's wife.  MTV has become famous for showing a long run of programs surrounding the made up lives of strangers forced to live together in the raddest and best lit house on Earth.  From the embryo of The Real World was birthed the apex of everything tanned and douchey: The Jersey Shore.

The Jersey Shore is a whirlwind of loud, obnoxious, steroid fueled, indignity that represents everything that is wrong with this country.  The terrorists will never win so long as these people are still alive.  They, as a whole, are a bounty for ridicule and jokes.  They, as a whole, suck as humans.  They, as a whole, have nary a positive fiber in the entirety of their souls.  They, as a whole, are a skin and blood curdling reminder of why people hate.  In general.  People hate because of the cast of The Jersey Shore.

Why do I bring all of this up? I shall tell you.

Late last night I was sitting up and I saw the perfect confluence of silliness and scumbaggery.  I stared at the channel guide in wonderment as the greatest hour of time wasting the world has ever afforded a human being.  Pop-Up Jersey Shore might have changed my life.  An assault on the eyes and ears, Pop-Up Jersey Shore is a one stop shop for everything inane or covered in horrid tattoos.  From learning about how the show is set up logistically or what some cast member might or might not have pierced, I stumbled upon the greatest piece of televised synergy in the history of the medium.

For two hours, two full episodes, I watched.  I was drawn in by the bubbles, entertained by the idiocy of the people, and felt a vested rooting interest in the citizens whom the cast got into fistfights with.  I stared at my television, mouth agape, while 7 morons with no real sense or literacy level caroused along Seaside Heights New Jersey for the duration of a summer.  I felt my cerebral cortex shrink and my still beating heart yearn for a quick end as these people forced me to long for the end of commercials to witness more of their failings. 

Rarely have I seen more shirtless men or whored up whores yelling at each other with such abandon.  They had no regard for their unique situation, instead, they seemed to want to use the occasion as an attempted springboard for a post Shore career.  One member started a clothing company, but on her first t-shirt (of many, I'm sure) she misspelled the word Filthy.  Apparently the word has more of an impact when the L comes after the H.  I, for one, am proud of my spelling ability, and understand the function of the spell checker function on word processing programs.  J-Woww apparently doesn't.  Not my problem, but an example of their genius.  They have become famous for this crap.  Purely inspirational is the cast, as they have overcome severe learning disabilities to become rich and famous.  And an equal appreciation to VH1 has to be given for the stroke of brilliance to put pop up bubbles in their midst.

I hate the fact that this program block has taken up so much of my time.  Not only watching it, but writing about it later.  It has eaten away at me like a spirit eating bacteria, sucking my will to think out of the festering wound on my leg.  I do not regret it, I can't.  I find that regret is counterproductive.  But, so is watching Pop-Up Jersey Shore.

SD

Sweating like a fat kid

Dear God! I need to figure out how to stop sweating.  My entire life is damp.  No matter what I do, damp damp damp.  I'm pretty sure this is completely the responsibility of pain pills and a reaction to the lack of morphine in my system.  I'm like a junkie.  I have to stay hydrated, but it just makes me damp, as I immediately sweat it out.  I sprung a leak.  I don't know where yet, but it's there somewhere.

I feel gross all the time.

SD

Awake? pt 2. The bruising

I got some serious IV time in while I was at the hospital.  Now I have this crazy ass bruise on my hand that covers the base knuckles on my pinky and ring fingers and half of my middle finger.  It's about the size of a Saltine, but its really dark.  The puncture wound is outside of the bruised part, and it makes my knuckles really white

This isn't a big deal, its just something that has been fixating me for the last few days.

SD

Awake?

Small victories are going to keep me going.  I was able to change clothes yesterday and actually wash myself today.  It doesn't seem like those acts should be that big of a deal, however, when you have to keep your entire leg dry and immobile, they become more important.  I can't seem to stop sweating though, but I am sure that the work that my body is putting into healing, not to mention the heavy wrap and brace on my leg, is making me perspire a lot more than I rightfully should. 

I was able to get to my desktop computer, which is where I am writing this from, and get close enough to actually use the keyboard.  Small victories.  Now I have to get back into a school mode.  Apparently I have a 15 page paper due soon, and now I am rather behind on that.  My professor is cool, though, so I should be able to get some leniency. 

I have been in and out of states of awareness over the last few days.  They stuck a morphine drip into the front of my hip and that was doing a number on my sleep patterns.  That ran out yesterday, though, and I had to take it out.  To keep it in place, the nurses, in their infinite wisdom, locked the drip in place with enough tape to keep an engine together.  They shaved that particular area, but the tape eluded the borders of the shaved zone and stuck itself to the normal skin/hair/whatever.  Not fun. 

Now I am awake.  Now I am on a fairly regular schedule for drugs and cold compression therapy.  Now I have to deal with the crushing boredom that comes with this particular territory.  I am trying to avoid the hardcore pain killers as much as I can, but this thing hurts, and the bulkiness of the wrap is annoying.  To ease my life, especially when going to sleep, I wonder how a Percocet will work for me.  I am wary though, as I know how much I liked them a few years ago, and I think that I will like them just the same now.

I guess I will sit here and sweat.

SD

I'm baaaaack

Home from surgery, so that is good.  Don't remember much about yesterday, so that is weird.  I went to the hospital, go checked in, got my knee shaved (ladies, you're welcome), and got knocked the fuck out by some incredible drugs.  Apparently everything went well.

That means I have a zombie part.  I'm okay with that.  Now my life revolves around a rehab schedule that still has to be worked out.  Until then, I am at the mercy of a cooling machine, a tube of morphine going into my leg, and a couple of prescriptions that I take "when needed."  I don't know how much of anything I am going to be able to do.  I can type, obviously, and I can sleep, but other than that, as of right now, I am stuck in my bed, dozing off when I can, and laying about doing nothing for the other hours of the day.

My parents have been awesome throughout this ordeal.  I crashed at their house yesterday.  After surgery, I was essentially passed out for the remainder of the day.  I would be awake when someone spoke to me or wanted to move me, but for the most part, I was out.  Now I know what a cat's life is like. 

As I was in recovery, I remember the nurse trying to get me to pee.  I recall her being insistent that I go because I had taken in 2 liters of fluid, and I would surely have to pee.  There was no flow.  Nothing.  I might as well have been given a camel part because that was how well I was using my fluids. 

Moving from place to place hasn't been easy.  It hasn't been hard, really, but getting up stairs is fun.  Sitting on the stair, I had to push myself up with my good leg and my arms, which were bringing me to the next stair.  I don't know how I will be able to go down stairs, but I don't think that this will be much of a problem for a few days. 

I am happy to be home, with my comfortable bed and knowledge of where everything is.  I have plenty to do here, so I won't be without ways to pass the insane amount of time that I possess now. 

I need a hobby.

SD

Tomorrow

I'm getting sliced and diced tomorrow.  I don't know how I feel about this.  I know, fundamentally, that this is the start of the process of rebuilding my life to the point where it was.  I don't know, however, how this will all work.  I know about the surgery, and I know that in a short few months, I will be able to be walk without pain.  I know that in 6-9 months, I will be back to 100% and ready to restart my gymnastics career (or not, haven't gotten that far yet).

I am anxious about a few things, though.  I truly fear the anesthesia wearing off halfway through and waking up with some dude drilling into my femur.  The thought of that freaks me the fuck out.  The other thing that freaks me out is the post-op pain.  I want to know how much this is going to hurt.  I don't want to be dependent on pills to kill the pain, but I feel as though I might be forced into that corner.  I want to man up and tough it out as much as possible, but I think that might be a stupid idea.  I don't know.  I don't like not knowing these things.

I don't know how long I am going to be useless.  I don't know when I can get back to an ordinary routine.  I don't know when I am going to be able to walk.  That is an intimidating thought. 

I want someone to tell me that everything is going to be fine, and I want them to NOT be talking out of their ass.  Encouragement is nice, but it seems as though everyone that I know has never had anything like this.  We, as a generation, are too young to have reconstructed joints. 

I also have to figure out what to do about work.  This is a problem for the first time in my life.  I am going to have to fins a job that has more sitting and less wet floors.  Luckily for me I am going to have my degree in May, so as long as I can tread water until then, and maybe I can get a little bit of luck.  So if anyone knows about a job for a college grad with knowledge of literature and history, let me know.  I'm interested.

As of now, however, I am left with my thoughts and anxieties.  My brain is telling me that I'll be fine sooner than later, but my inexperience is telling me that I am going to be fucked. 

I liked my life, before the universe rudely interrupted it.  I want that feeling back.  I guess I just have to plow forward.  Be a Man.  Tough it out. 

This is going to suck.

SD

Baseball Started....kinda

The baseball season is officially underway, however, it is still spring training.

What?

Apparently, Major League Baseball decided to have an opening series.  In Japan.  It features the Seattle Mariners and the Oakland A's, two West Coast teams with small markets that virtually no one outside of those cities cares about.  But they both have large Asian followings thanks to Ichiro and Kurt Suzuki, so I understand why those clubs were chosen to participate in this event.

The problem for me is that there are still Spring Training games going on.  Granted, there are only one or two days left in the preseason and the regular season starts next week, but this still seems off to me.  I would think that every team would start at the same time.  The Mariners and A's are going to have more off days in the season, which is a big deal as the games pile up and players get worn out or hurt, and that gives them a slight competitive advantage, no?  Of course, being small market teams, they have to fight with the Yankees, Red Sox, Angels, and other teams who spend money like an insane monarch would. 

Eventually these teams will fade away and, again, no one outside of Seattle and Oakland will care about either of them.  This goes double here, where for the next 6 months the universe will revolve around New York and Boston and fans will lament not being able to stay up stupid late to watch their team play on the West Coast. 

I'm happy that baseball is back.  The dark ages between the Super Bowl and Opening Day is coming to its anticlimactic end.  Soon the cathedrals of American sport will fill up with hopeful spectators who are convinced that this is the year their team wins it all.  They will live and die with each pitch, and yell at the top of their lungs like 40,000 carny barkers at an unaffected umpire who has heard it all before.  As fans, we don't care.  We yell at everything.  Our televisions, the players at the stadium, other fans in bars and in the streets.  Blood boils for 6 months until one team finishes better than all the rest.

Until the end of the season, Yankees fans will have to bear Red Sox fans whining about the incongruity between the two teams, when, in fact, they are essentially the same.  Generations of bitterness and envy have created raw emotional venom that Yankees fans have endured with class and dignity.  Never have I seen so much rancor towards one team, especially when that team is playing 1000 miles away.  One summer weekend, I was in Boston, and the Sox were at home playing a series against some random team.  At the same time the Yankees were in Texas playing against the Rangers.  On the streets surrounding Fenway, vendors were peddling t-shirts and other items attacking Yankees players.  Why? Why not aim that fury at the team that is actually playing your beloved Sox? 

Baseball lives on a different plane.  It penetrates the soul of die hard fans and constricts their attention spans to one thing.  Box scores in newspapers are read before headlines, and debates over the merits of random players fill the void of silence across the nation.  There are baseball fans everywhere, and during the season, a great pride is taken by each one in their ability to talk to other fans unknown to them before sitting down next to each other and watching a game.  Friendships are forged over pints and pitchers, and debates rage for weeks without an answer.

Baseball season has started, and this is our year.

SD

This really shouldn't be that hard.

For the life of me, I don't understand why simple things are made so difficult.  It seems as though everything that seems as though it should be one of the ordinary tasks of modern culture, but there is always a wrinkle.  There is always something getting in the way of simplicity, of efficiency. 

I like doing things with as few steps as possible, I think that being efficient is one of those qualities that makes people different from each other.  Some people like to take their time with their life, to stop and smell the roses.  There are those who break down each step to the simplest degree and make certain that they understand every facet before they move on to the next one.  Experience in life has taught me that certain things do not need to be analyzed.  I do not need the instructions to tell me to plug in my new gadget, or to charge the battery.  Those are things that are inherent in today's lifestyle.  I am of the belief that the best way to do something may also be the simplest, and taking the pragmatic and learned way eliminates many extra steps.  That elimination of steps leads to more efficiency.  Small steps are the foundation of everything.  Because of that, they can be skipped, as they are already rote in my mind.

All this being said,  Why is doing my laundry such a pain in the sack?  It seems as though ever since I have been on my own, I have been in a battle with the Universe over the cleaning of my clothes.  I always find a way to get them washed, but it seems as though there is something that creates a wrinkle in the relatively smooth plan of doing laundry.

When I was living at Blitzkrieg, the washing machine spent years being dodgy.  Sometimes it would work fine, and others it wouldn't.  It had a habit of flooding the basement, when everyone who lived in that house did everything in their power to avoid that trick.  Of course, when the washer was behaving itself, the next obstacle would be getting your wet clothes to the dryer.  This was only a challenge because the dryer was clear on the other side of the basement, and there was a maze of asbestos and mold to navigate.  The carcinogen count in that basement must have been astronomical.  There was a pile of asbestos dust next to the cans of lead paint and dead air conditioners.

Eventually the one of the machines would die off, and be sent to the washing machine graveyard in the corner of the basement.  When that would happen, I would be forced to the laundromat down the street.  This isn't such a big deal, I suppose, other than the fact that I would have to walk to it, as I was without a car at that point in my life.  I have no real qualms with the laundromat.  I do hate the people who go there, though.  There are the ones who wash their sneakers, one pair to a machine and dryer.  I can understand wanting your shoes to be bright, but when they are black, I don't see the purpose.  There are those who have piles and piles of wash.  Are they doing the wash for their entire building? How many weeks worth of clothes is this? Children would run around without supervision, fighting with each other.  This isn't Chuck E Cheese. 

All I wanted to do was get my wash done in the simplest way possible, and maybe get some reading in.  Every other trip to this particular slice of Hell would end with me trudging home, frustrated.  But then we got our washer fixed, and I was able to run out my days in that house doing wash in the basement.  The cancerous, vile basement that lacked enough light to do anything at night and the neighbors who were too interesting in what I was doing for my liking. 

I thought that all of this nonsense would change once I moved.  I lived in a house that had, much like the place that I moved out of, had a washer and dryer in the basement.  The washer was new and fancy.  it sounded like a jet engine when it spun.  It was awesome.  Know what isn't awesome? The dryer was broken.  I couldn't dry anything.  There was no clothesline, so I couldn't even hang my drawers outside for the world to see.  I would have liked that.  Instead of drying my clothes like a human, I was forced to bring the pile of wet clothes back to my room and splay them out on shelves and other places so they could air dry.  My room was on the 3rd floor and it was summer, so heat was never a problem.  The problem was my entire life would smell like wet cotton for 3 days after everything was dry.  No fun.

So I move again.  I move to a place that has one washer and one dryer for the entire floor.  There is my apartment, a dude next to me, and a family with small children on the other side.  Small children who wear cloth diapers.  Goddamit.  The machines cost a buck apiece, which is cheaper than the laundromat.  The problem here is that the damn family seemed to do laundry 6 days a week, and those days rotated randomly, so I had to guess when the machines would be available.  At all hours of day and night, they would be up and down the hall with baskets of clothes.  They must have a Macy's worth of clothes in their apartment.  The children would run, loudly, up and down the hall.  Children this small should not sound like a fat person when they run.

Then the fun began.  The washing machine started to go wonky.  It wouldn't fill.  Then it wouldn't turn on.  Then it wouldn't stop running (a month worth of free laundry was nice).  Then the landlord raised the price to $2.00 for each machine.  Then the washer wouldn't start.  Then I gave up.  I went back, tail fixed firmly between my legs, to the laundromat.  But this time it wasn't so bad.  I was able to do my wash without harassment and with relative ease.  There were still the dryer hogs, but I was able to get one and get out with a minimum of anguish.

Last weekend I heard something.  It sounded a lot like the washing machine in the hallway.  I was confused.  It was broken, but it works now.  Has it cured itself? Did something happen that I didn't know about? Did the washer fairies come through and magic it back to health?  WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON????

I was intrigued.  I payed the two dollars and ran the washer, with nothing in it.  It worked fine.  I got happy.  I did some laundry.  It was easy.  Everything worked, and even though it was a little pricey, I am in no condition to drive right now, so the convenience of this fixed marvel is work the extra money. 

Something good happened.  Who the hell am I to question it?

SD

The Deets.

Another trip to the orthopedist.  Seems like if I am not at home, I am there.  But that is going to change.  Soon.  My surgery is scheduled for Friday, and after that, I am done with that place except for 3 more visits.  After 10 days, I have a follow up to get the stitches removed and start a rehab regimen.  Then there is a 6 week appointment to talk to the surgeon and examine progress.  The in 3 months, there is another follow up and evaluation, and then I think I am done with that place. 

I am not upset with them, not at all.  I think I have simply run out of willingness to actually go there.  Every room, and I have been in a few of them, looks exactly the same.  EXACTLY.  It's uncanny, even the crap on the identical tables is identical, and spaced the same distance apart.  When I am in there, I feel like I am in some sort of Groundhog Day doctor's office.  The only difference is the time in which I am in there, and I have to say, when I have a meeting, I get there on time, not a half hour late.  I know, Mr. Doctorface, you have a way more important life than I do.  I am a meager patient who can wait while you do whatever the hell it is that you are doing.  At least have someone tell me that there is going to be some sort of delay, they give you that much at the damn airport.  I would think that there are enough nurses and other staff around that one of them can pop their head in and give me a status report.  Instead, I am stuck in a room that looks and smells sterile and my mood is growing more and more impatient. 

My surgeon looks like an older Dr. Turk.  That's kind of awesome.

I got the rundown of my post-op timeline.  I have to be in a knee immobilizer that runs from my hip to my ankle for 3 days.  That means I am essentially useless to society, even more so that I already am or have been for the last 31 years, for a few days after the operation.  During that time pooping is going to be, we'll say, an interesting proposition.  Can't wait for that.  During that time, I have to have a couple of things attached to me.

Not in my ding-dong.  Nothing in my ding-dong.

Attached to the immobilizer is a machine that is going to cool my leg down for 2 days straight in order to reduce swelling and pain.  I am going to get a bag with a tube also inserted into my leg to reduce pain.  I am going to get pills to reduce pain.  I have booze to reduce pain.  Pain management is the key to this whole experience.  Apparently, the operation isn't going to be notches fitted together in the knee, rather it is going to be a tunnel drilled into my femur and tibia.  The new ligament is going to come from a dead person's ankle, and attached to that is a barb that will attach to the bone.  Think the back of an arrowhead.  After 12 weeks, the bone will grown back and fuse to the little piece of metal. 

But that is in the future.  After 3 days, I can start to put a little pressure on the leg again, and take that insane brace off to try to bend the knee, at least a little bit.  They want to get the patient up at going again, so they want you to be brave and try stuff incrementally.  The doctor told me to move it as I can tolerate it.  There is going to be a lot of swelling, and I am going to have to work with that for about 6 weeks until both of my legs look like they should. 

After 10 days, I have a follow up with the Assistant, who will take out the stitches and set up physical therapy.  At that point, I can move around a little bit, but I have to have the immobilizer on whenever I do try to move about, even in my apartment, for 2 weeks.  Hello sponge bath.  But I can start to drive after about 10-14 days, so long as I can manage the pain and brake hard if I have to.  I might try to practice in a parking lot like a 16 year old with a learner's permit, just so I can test the durability of my knee.

There is a long rehab and PT period and I am not going to be 100% for at least 6 months.  But I feel a lot better about the recovery process than I did yesterday, or any day after the injury.    I just have to be careful not to push myself too hard too fast.  I have to remember to wear a brace when I am out and about, especially in the space after I get to remove the immobilizer and before the 3 month benchmark.

At least I have a timeline now.  And I can get this crap over with.

SD

T minus 1 week

It's happening.  It's really happening.  I have never had any type of operation performed on me, not including fillings, but they don't count (do they?).  On March 30, I go under the knife for a knee reconstruction surgery.  The anxiety level has moderated itself, but I have to admit, there is some nervousness regarding such a dramatic procedure.  They are going to know me out for a few hours to do the surgery, and who knows how that is going to work out.

There is good news, though.

I get dead person parts!

The procedure that I am having is called an allograft.  A donor ligament is going to be installed in the place of the flapping useless ACL that is already there.  From what I gather, they take a notch out of the two bones that the ACL attaches to and replace the useless parts with the new ones that came out of the cadaver.  There is no risk of rejection, that only happens with organs and things that have blood flow through them, like veins and hearts.

The reason I chose this procedure over the alternative, which is taking a piece of another tendon form myself and transplanting it into the slot where the ACL would go, is time.  This surgery, plain and simple, is the next available operation.  From what I have learned, there is no difference in recovery time or how the knee feels once the procedure is done, the only difference is where the new ligament comes from.

I'm a little freaked out now, but I'm sure that this weirdness is going increase as the days move forward.  I have come to grips that I am not going to get this person's life force though, so I guess that is a start.

SD

I'm just saying

What the fuck is up with the lame magazines in doctors offices.  I'm sorry, but if I wanted to read an issue of Forbes from October, I'd go online to find the particular article that I want.  Jesus Christ.  Everything in their waiting rooms is months old.  I don't want to read about the things that happened when I was whole.  I am in the waiting room, WAITING for my appointment, not reminiscing about the times when I had no goddamn clue that this building even existed. 

Remember when Ohio State was in the news? No? That's because the story is over a season old and nobody cares anymore.  I had that issue of Sports Illustrated and have already gotten rid of it.  I generally keep those for a bit, until the news cycle changes.  That is, unless Peyton Manning or Dwight Howard are involved, because those two are going to be in the sports page headlines for another friggin year. 

Nobody wants to sit in a waiting room and read about shit that doesn't matter anymore.  I don't care how ironic you think you are, you are well aware of the November issue of Wired.  The only current reading material is the new issue of The Resident, which is uber lame local hand jobbery. 

Doctors: Please get your waiting room shit together.  As someone who is going to have to spend too much time in said rooms, I plead that you, as an industry, help people not feel bad that their lives suck way more now than when Rick Perry was in the news.  Update your reading material.  For the love of the Hippocratic Oath, help me feel better emotionally and physically. 

Being reminded of the past is not something that a person recovering from anything needs.  Addicts don't want to be reminded of their indiscretions, and the injured don't want to be reminded about the actions leading up to the injury.  Look forward, doctors.  Provide the newest issues of periodicals.  Hell, The Dutch Tavern keeps up with the daily newspapers, and that is a bar.  Doctors make a shitload of money off of suckers like me who tend to need them of some serious issues, the least they could do is get some subscriptions for the office that allows people to stay at least a little current.

I'm not saying that the waiting room of my orthopedist needs to look like a Manhattan news stand, but some progress would be nice.  I don't think that they would eschew new medical technology for leeches and an rock to the skull, so why would they live in the past with their mags?  Bedside manner is important, or at least that is what I learned from watching too much Scrubs.  Bedside manner is akin to the post coital cuddling that doctors use to make you feel better.  Foreplay is nice too.  Before the examination of my body, doc, how about something interesting to stimulate my mind? Doesn't seem to be such a far flung idea if you ask me. 

SD

It's Official

I'm going to need surgery on my torn ACL.  I knew this was going to be the case when the MRI technician told me he couldn't FIND my ACL in the first place.  I had a choice to make in the orthopedists office, though.  I could either get mad at myself, or move forward and learn about my options.  I allowed myself to silently repeat the fuck word at different volumes within the confines of an inner monologue, and then chose the more proactive choice. 

I asked about my surgery options.  I could either have my tendon replaced by a part of the patella tendon, which would cause me to have a missing part of THAT tendon as well as a healing ACL.  Or, I could get a replacement tendon from a cadaver.  The differences are essentially nonexistent.  The deciding factor for me was the interval of time that would elapse between today and the day I become a scarred monster.  The cadaver surgery wins.  Although it is going to be more expensive, it will be done sooner, and that is the important issue for me.  I can deal with price, they have installment plans and financial assistance and all of that crap, I just want this to be done. 

I have had enough of feeling like I'm under house arrest and needing people to help me get up and down the stairs like some sort of legless go-tard.  Part of the reason why this silly blog exists in the first place is for me to vent a little and get my writing chops back, as they have deteriorated to an inappropriately sour level.  What I need to do now is get myself back to some sort of routine.  I don't give a fuck what the doctors say, I'm not staying at home.  I have to work.  I have to be out.  I have to make my life as normal as possible, with the slight adjustment of being injured.

I did get some really good news though.  As of today, I am down to one crutch.  I can walk, to a degree, with one crutch, which frees me up to do a lot of stuff that I couldn't before.  I have been fitted with a new brace that will allow me to bend my knee, but won't allow lateral movement in the knee. 

After surgery, however, that is, whenever I can get it scheduled (1-4 weeks per the secretary of nothing at the doc's office), I have to be in a leg long knee immobilizer for up to 2 weeks with the leg locked in a pin straight position to advance the healing process.  I do get a cool machine that keeps the leg cold so swelling doesn't go balls crazy.

I look forward to getting this process underway.  I have to look forward.  Looking behind is going to kill me.

SD

On Crutches

7 things about crutches.
1) They are a burden.  You can't do anything with them, yet you can't do anything without them.  They are like small children, because if you just get rid of them, you are pretty well fucked for a long time.
2) Stairs are an enemy.  It is really hard to go up and down stairs.  But unlike the Russians in Winter, this is an enemy that can be defeated.  A little practice and repetition has allowed me to get pretty good at traversing stairs with the pegs.
3) Doors are a more challenging enemy. It's true.  Getting through a door without help can be a bit of a pain in the sack.  Doors that are heavy or are the entrance to a public place are the most difficult, as they are designed to stay closed and keep any heat in (or out), so they just close on you as you are trying to manipulate your way across the threshold.  You have to use one of the crutches, or an elbow, or your ass, to prop the door open and amble through. 
4) Crutches are a hell of a workout.  Shoulders, triceps, upper back, hands, forearms, cardio.  All of the above.  I was able to be out on the town on Saturday, and I was whooped after a while.  I realize that moving on crutches is a really good workout.  Obviously, I can't go to the gym for a while with the knee all messed up, but going around the block on crutches might be a good substitute.  Something to ponder, I suppose.
5) They chafe.  As I was out and about, I started to feel something chafey on the side of my body.  When I got home, I looked at my side in the mirror and saw a raw patch where the rubber top part contacted my body.  That sucks.
6) They are good prop.  Seriously, they can help you get the attention of someone five feet away, or play tollbooth with a child or drunken adult.  They can be used to rest upon, a mobile leaning tree, as it were. 
7) SYMPATHY SYMPATHY SYMPATHY!!! Yup.  Don't be jealous, just accept.

SD

In the beginning...

There was nothing.  There was no pain.  No confusion.  No crutches.  No meds.  No metal apparatus.  No worries.  But that was Monday. 

In the afternoon of Monday, March 12 I was innocently playing basketball, having fun, getting some exercise.  No big deal.  In a single second, everything changed.  As I drove the baseline (for those unfamiliar with the lingo, that is the boundary under the basket) I decided not to plow through the 7 year old child that ran in front of me like a tiny deer with thumbs.  I stopped and crumbled.  Well, most of me stopped.  I planted my right leg and something popped in the middle of my knee and I knew that something was seriously wrong. 

I have been watching sports for decades, and every time an athlete blows out his or her knee, they describe the pop that they hear.  It curdles the soul and confounds the brain.  You try to get up and walk, but you can't.  You have one knee and one slinky.  There is no stability, no strength, no confidence.  I heard that pop.  The sound has an ominous effect.  Not like a knuckle crack, where the pop is ordinary and innocent.  This is something that immediately informs you of danger.  I tried to be a tough guy.  I tried to man up. 

I am not a tough guy, as it turns out.

I was taken to the emergency room and could almost see my leg swelling up like a tire.  Eventually they were able to put me in a wheelchair and push me to the x-ray facility.  At that point, it started to hurt.  That's the bitch about this injury, it didn't hurt all that much.  The emotional pain far outweighed the physical pain, so I thought that the pop was nothing.  Again, my thoughts were wrong.  Of course the x-rays didn't show anything, as they can't see ligaments, tendons, muscles, or anything other than bones.  In my case, because I have to be different, they couldn't see all of the bone due to the absurd swelling that I had.  Lucky me.

They gave me a couple of prescriptions for painkillers, 800mg ibuprofen and Vicodin, which I have enjoyed.  Thanks Pfizer.  They also told me to get in contact with an orthopedist to get diagnosed, which is wierd because I was at a hospital.  I would think that the doctors at the goddamn hospital would be able to tell me what the hell was wrong with me.  Nope.  I had to go to another place 2 days later to get that.

So I go to the orthopedist.  I had spent nearly two full days in a knee immobilizer, which is a fun little toy that keeps your knee from moving.  I also got crutches, which are fun little toys that get you around when one of your legs is out of commission.  They also chafe.  The orthopedist (named Velvet) told me that the only way to get a true diagnosis was to have an MRI, because there was still too much swelling to determine the exact injury.

She told me that it was probably, like 80% sure, a torn ACL.

The Anterior Cruciate Ligament resides inside of your knee and keeps the knee stable so you can use it without looking like a drunk cartoon character.  Mine has apparently decided to detach, and in the process made that horrible popping sound.  So I had to get an MRI.

Don't get an MRI.  I mean, sometimes you are going to have to, but avoid it if at all possible.

What an MRI does is to take a picture of the inside of your body, whatever part is ailing, so a doctor can tell you what the issue is and get you better.  The machine itself is pretty incredible.  It is huge, with a tube a little wider than a normal sized person that you go into so that the photos can be taken.  Of course, if you are claustrophobic, it is a living nightmare.  To me, it was a lot like DubStep "music."  It was overly loud with bright lights and it gave me the overwhelming desire to be anywhere else.  Also, the sounds were very similar to DubStep, with huge droning bassy beat and chirping melodies that come out of nowhere.  Occasionally there is a whistling sound or some sort of clanking.  It was horrible.

I got a copy of the pictures, and tried to compare them to the images Google provides when you to a search for torn ACL, but I am not a doctor.  I'm not anything really, so looking at those was like looking at static.  Try as I might, there was no way I would be able to decipher what anything was, other than the outline of my still semi-swollen leg.

Now I wait.  Wednesday I go back to the orthopedist (named Velvet) to get the final diagnosis and work out a recovery plan.  I'm a little nervous.  The guy who took the MRI said he had trouble finding my ACL, which means that it is flapping around like the Wacky Waving Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Man inside my knee.

Now I wait.

SD