Brand new week

I love Mondays and mornings cause you get to start over.

Last week I had all 33 staples removed, I look a bit like Franken-arm, but that's okay. I get a lot of people telling me 'God Bless You' and I figure that just can't hurt.
I also started medication for this darn nerve pain. It takes a week to start working, so by Wednesday, I'll be pain free (crossing fingers.)

I also went back to my Wednesday shift at the homeless center where they treated me like the returning princess. I love working there. It brings life back to the essentials.
I would like all of the gentle souls I meet there to be given warm cozy homes with handmade quilts and nutritious food, and supportive families and good dogs.
I'll settle for a national health care system and a safe, clean, loving dorm-style shelter where they can get the help they need to restore their lives.
So many of the homeless are disabled mentally or physically and it's heartbreaking to watch them go back out on the street when we close our doors. I'll talk more about them in future posts.

Kat and Lorie are back with NYC stories. I may have to make up a story of my own...hmmmmm

am i really a cyborg? and flurry - we loved you well...

I found the "hand helper" that i used last time my nerves went to sleep.
it basically looks like a blunter version of edward scissorhand's hand. a pulley is attached to a soft suede loop that cradles each finger. since i can move the fingers down, but not up, the pulley does that for me.

it is curious looking and people do stare, but without it, my hand is still, the nerves can lapses into forgetfulness. last night kat, lorie and i met to assemble press kits for nyc. (i will stay in austin, healing, making dupes, holding down headquarters. it's fine. sorta

anyway a friend of kat's came over and said i look like a cyborg. i do, i think he's onto something - - staples in my hip and up and down my arm, a titanium rod inserted in my humerus and, every so often, but at least every 15 minutes, a sharp pain in my hand, like

someone is squeezing me - or -
bees or stinging me - or-
i've stuck my finger in a socket - or -
my hand will eventually sprout metallic blades or magical electrodes

so now when the pains come i imagine they are transforming me

sad news
when i got home last night, the house smelled funny, in a bad way. I looked at the dogs, innocent, not them.
it was flurry, our little indian river beta, floating, upside down
i called annalise.
we were surprised and sad. we decided we'd taken the little guy for granted, we'd gotten used to seeing his little blue-green body darting in his bowl everyday.
we rescued him from a pet store 3 years ago, he lived a long time for a fish in a bowl we buried him in the christmas pine

i may get a goldfish, but honestly, betas and goldfish belong in rivers, not in bowls. it's all part of that horrible pet trade, a small part, but still part of it.

in seattle we had a goldfish for five years his name was "orange", i think...
annalise won him at a fair (or her, who can tell?)
fish are comforting
don't take them for granted...

dogs

i have four dogs,and i shouldn't have a favorite but i do. keni has been with us a long time. he knows us best and we've been through a lot together. he's not much of a cuddler, he's a collie, so he has to make sure we're safe and accounted for. last night he laid down next to me on the bed for about an hour while i read, we both needed that.

i know my injury could be much worse than it is, i could be kvetching about not having an arm at all. i'm extraordinarily lucky. i am prepared for a long recovery.

i've got lots of work to do and i'll just start in on it, best i can. when the left hand wants to start helping out, it will.

kids

my 5 year old friend neighbor, G. was over on sat. playing with my neice, S. who is the coolest kid and she has some brand new glasses . G. is really smart, inquisitive and like all kids, honest. he asked if my arm was broken or busted cause he thinks it looks more busted.
i told him it sure did look busted, still it's less busted all the time.
my niece sat with me and we read books and talked after G. went home. i love kids.

spring summer fall winter and spring

saw a korean film tonight (title above) beautiful, a koan, not for the average westener, but if you're feeling contemplative* it's perfect. movies like this make me think of people i've lost touch with, old friends, people i knew in a different place who i should have stayed in better touch with. i'm going to google some folks tomorrow.

i'm tired, wishing for a soak, i had to settle for washing my hair over the sink with my boy's help, he's very patient and attentive as i move through recovery. it's going to take time to get my strength back and for my nerves to be fully functioning. the hand still slumbers. I'm reminded of why its important to be patient with the elderly and disabled, right now it's hard to be patient with my own broken, healing self.


*i like this word best with the accent on the second syllable

recovery

this post is in all lower case because i am typing with one hand.

they let me come home from the hospital yesterday. it still hurts to walk and my left hand hasn't fully woken up yet, i fear it may be asleep for awhile. the dr said the amount of scar tissue made the surgery more complicated (in my opinion it was already complicated enough.)

the wonderful thing about nerves is that they are industrious, hard working little guys. after the accident, in 2000, my left arm was paralyzed for about 8 months. a specialist told me it would be years before it started working again. a month after he told me that, i was able to move my fingers again. i think nerves respond to challenges.

my neighborhood is a favorite spot for door to door salespeople. we are mostly democrats so they must think we are all nice. I have a no soliciting sign on my door, but today some people came by, rang the doorbell, the dogs went nuts, I slowly got up, it hurts to get up, I went to the door, that hurt too, I opened it and there stood three beautiful people from a local day spa - wanting to sell me a day of beauty. (I'm sure I look like I need a day spa right now)

They looked shock to see my pale, bandaged self and asked what happened to me. I thought about using one of my stories (wild animal, crazy slasher guy, heroic mountaintop rescue gone wrong) but i just told them i was just out of surgery and to leave me alone please. they were humbled which was a good thing. some people just weren't raised right.

Titanium

Today, I have surgery. I've been dreading this for only about a week, which is just about the right amount of time.

It's not as bad as heart surgery, worse than toe surgery. I'm slightly scared and a bit disappointed that my arm broke again. This new break brought back memories of the first injury and I had to work through that.

I'm ready to have my arm healed and I'm ready to hurt less. With titanium (which I understand they make mountain bikes out of) my arm will be practically invincible.
I'm not looking forward to it, I'm just ready.

I won't be going in alone. Along with my family and loved ones, friends near and far have sent me their wishes.

All is well, and in a few hours, I'll wake up strong and hungry.

Broken bones and new stories

This week I have to revisit an old story, a story from the year 2000. A story that started with a trip to Houston, a Ford Explorer and one bad tire. Returning to Austin, my daughter and I found ourselves, and the Explorer, flip flopping down Highway 290, across the median and on to the other side of the road. That night, instead of meeting my daughter's math tutor, as planned, we were in back in Austin, in the emergency room. There began a long period of recovery and soul searching and finally healing. Four years and a few months later, we're mostly just fine, or we were, I was.

I just learned on Tuesday that the arm that was injured back in 2000, the arm that I thought was just "sore" or just needed a little "exercise", was actually broken again. I saw the xray and the Dr. met my eyes and began discussing how he was going to treat this new injury.

Being bred from true Texas grit, being a dig my heels in kind of girl, I thought the pain was something that I needed to buck up to, something that would learn to live with. Now, I know that the only thing that will fix the pain is a nice, sturdy rod of bio metal and some well placed bone grafts. So, next week, my boyfriend will drive me to the hospital, and I'll check in and once again offer up my arm to the talent of a skilled surgeon. This time, I'll recover more quickly. Surely. I'm in good health, my attitude is mostly pretty good and I'm not recovering from shock, road burns and a bruised lung.

Just a few weeks ago, I was hiking the trails of Big Bend, scrambling on rocks, thinking that the pain in my arm was from the heat, forgetting about that bruise the time I'd accidentally bumped into the wall, maneuvering around one of the dogs.

Maybe we all kid ourselves that we are strong than we think we are. I like to remember my days as a conga drummer, when my arms never failed me. My arms were strong, beautiful, arms. Arms that could hold the world together. That was then.

I'm glad once again to have two arms, even with one that may be forever damaged, weaker than the other, scarred enough to bring in plenty of concerned stares. One arm has a nice brave scar, a scar that next week will become braver and more interesting. Still, I have both of them, for that I am grateful.