Monday, June 16, 2008

Quit Yer Whining, Woman

For the last few months I've been obsessed with people who are worse off than me. Being unable to walk for 3 months has convinced me I'm at death's door. And I might be. You don't know. All the plans I had to make this time productive have dissolved into a haze of Vicodins, microwaveable food products and a craving for pie. I was at first pissed at myself for not doing anything of value but then realized I've never been good at doing something of value so why ruin a perfect record?

Since that strange tingling came back in my fingertips, which I haven't mentioned to save myself the agony of reading helpful reader comments like "Well, then just cut them off,' coupled with my life on a scooter slash crutches, I felt assured of the valued pole position at this year's Crippledome. I reluctantly called the scooter people to come pick up my metallic best friend on July 1st, the day after the cast comes off. Then I'll have the black boot and be able to put 20% of my weight on my foot while using crutches. 20%? Haven't we been over my ineptitude with all things math? One fifth of my total weight = what the fuck does that mean. I did a practise run with that contraption that Carson gave me to wear around my neck. Thank God big necklaces are in style right now; maybe people will just mistake it for a very poor fashion choice. You can stick food and drinks in it while hobbling about on crutches. I managed to go 3 feet until I dropped a paper towel and just stood there staring at it because someone forgot to make bendable crutches.

Carson and her friend Charlie came over on Friday for movie night. We watched The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. I was familiar with the story and knew it was brutal and depressing so of course I was very excited to see it. My shrink used to tell me to stop watching the 11:00 pm news because it was too depressing. That's when I started watching the 11:00 news. Diving Bell is the memoir of the French editor of Elle, Jean-Dominique Bauby, who had the rarest form of a stroke, called locked-in syndrome, and could only blink his left eyelid. With that one eye he blinked out an entire memoir. He wrote a book while blinking at the letters his therapists read to him. Whereas I would be staring at a dropped paper towel for the duration of my recovery. I'm half French. Obviously the American half is more dominant.

End of chat.


  1. is there a neighbor you can call to like help you get the papertowels? Are they still on the floor? DO YOU NEED HELP SUZY? It feels like dropping the towels is a metaphor for the slippery slope you're on. I just don't want to hear about you on the 11:00 o'clock news which I too watch religiously.P.S. Please don't hog all the vicidon.

  2. I'll be back in town next week, so if that paper towel still hasn't been picked up by then, I'll be more than happy to come by and grab it for you.

  3. suz, I'm w/ you, how does one know what 20% is. One would need a freakin gyroscope `er something.

  4. Darling! Bossy has missed you - it's been fun catching up... Fun in a tingly-fingertips way.

  5. That tingling in your fingertips is probably nerve damage from wearing that contraption around your neck!
    I heard about that book and movie, but since I try to avoid crying at all costs, I have not read or seen either.

  6. Pick out something for yourself from this site and dropped paper towels (or dropped anything) will no longer have to be left on the floor to slowly recycle themselves into oil.

    I'll tell you the secret that my doctor told me: if it hurts, you're not putting quite enough weight on it. Easy.

    And the neck bag? That's OK, but I think maybe you might want to downsize a little. Unless, of course, you're planning a long expedition somewhere. Could you wear it over a shoulder and across your chest instead of draped around your neck?

  7. thotlady11:19 AM

    Just when you have mastered your scooter you'll have to give it back. That doesn't hardly seem fair. I pitty your poor arms when you start using your crutches.

    Hang in there, can you see the light at the end of the tunnel yet?

  8. Stefanie, don't mention vicodins around me. THEY'RE ALL GONE.

    nanny, thanks.

    the mickey's, if I knew what a gyroscope did I would agree with you.

    Jami, is that true what your doctor told you?

    jenn, I know, why can't we just all be slugs.

    thotlady, I've been using the crutches but not as much as I should be.

  9. What my ortho has told me (on a couple of occasions) is basically to put weight on the healing extremity until it starts to hurt and then put on just a little more. For real. I never heard the "20%" number.

    Pushing a little all the time slowly builds it back up until you ultimately get to the point that putting all your weight on it no longer hurts. For me, whenever I've had a cast taken off it hasn't necessarily been the injured place that hurts, either. Joints, tendons and muscles that have atrophied / shrunk from disuse will hurt while being built back up.

  10. I am in MA taking care of my knee replacement. She is threatening to chuck the walker any day now.
    Did you know oxycontin will snow the CRAP out of a little old lady?

    I read Diving Bell last week and it made me feel like such a whiner.
    When you go in the black boot, won't they set it for 20%?

  11. Man, I couldn't handle oxy, way too strong for me. Set the boot for 20%. IS THAT TRUE OR ARE YOU FUCKING WITH WHAT LITTLE BRAIN CELLS I HAVE LEFT???????