Blather

Good morning. It is lovely here: warm, sunny, clear -- you know, when the whites of the sky are pearlescent, surrounded by true blue. I am tempted to say "Carolina blue," out of fondness for an alma mater... but as we approach March Madness, I cannot lend support to UNC, or even to little Davidson, despite last year's excitement and the incredible Stephen Curry-- no, I am obliged, academically, to prefer the much deeper blue hue of the Devil. I can't wait for the ACC Tournament, then that inconsequential old NCAA tourney thang... It's my favorite time of year, despite the fact that my brother-unit, the Grader Boob (who owes no allegiance to the Gothic Wonderland), long ago convinced me that I am a bona fide jinx, making a rule that when Duke, or whoever, is in a tight spot -- the fault being me and the bad luck I bring by my proximity to the television set -- I must retreat out of the viewing room and not cross the plane of the doorway. So he would end up munching on Malted Milk Balls, stretched out on his bed, blocking the screen, while I jumped up and down trying to see over him from my position in the hallway. Brother-Units are such fun.

Of course, he is jealous that I planned my academic career by the sporting accomplishments of the various universities I attended. It is a little known fact that admission to graduate programs is contingent upon one's knowledge of the money sports -- basketball and football. I went to every interview in full regalia -- the appropriate jersey, face paint, the giant finger. This and only this can explain my success.

Ar ar ar!

I am abusing my pain medications.

With permission. Although I reckon that that removes the stigma of abuse -- that "with permission."

I called my surgeon's office twice yesterday, which is two times more than I had ever phoned before. He's operated on me four times thus far, and never have I bothered him or his PA or nurse with problems. But the times, they are a changin'.

Fever has caught up with the severity of the pain, and while it may not make much sense, I feel better. Fever gives me a strange energy.

Dr. ShoulderMan's nurse arranged for me to see the PA next Tuesday. That seems like forever.

I think that this almost 10/10 pain on the left side (now a tolerable 8/10, in my uber-medicated state) is the result of a mechanical injury involving the spacer. I just can't fathom how an infection could cause such *sudden* severe pain. Severe pain, sure. But that suddenly? Nah. There is some swelling but no redness. There is pain just from light pressure. The right side -- you know, the one we're set to operate on in a week and a half -- is doing its part to drive me batty, too. It is very warm, though not red, and the infection is clearly gone berserk. Still, the pain on the right is minimal compared to this freakish left side.

100.8. For some unknown reason, 101 is set to be the line in the sand. Pshaw. I am at 100.8 despite tylenol and ibuprofen (alternated) anthere is nothing anyone can do for me short of cutting me open to see and fix what has gone awry. So I should make a phone call to report an increase of two degrees? Harrumph. And pshaw, again.

I am taking the regular dosage of methadone, and am being allowed extra Endocet (which I believe is the same thing as Percocet?), and 800 mg of ibuprofen twice a day. Okay, so I am taking it three times a day -- sue me. The thing that is helping the most, though, but for all the wrong reasons? Tizanidine, 4 mg at a time. It has zoned me out and I have never been more thankful for pharmaceutical stupidity. It allows me to doze and I feel capable of walking to the bathroom. I even managed to make coffee this morning -- but I had to put the machine on the floor because neither arm is willing to go "up" now. These sort of adaptations? I refuse to live this way -- they must FIX me.

Fred is an incredible help and I appreciate him more every day, but also grow more and more embarrassed. And resentful. And jealous. I want to be able to walk (shoot, I would just love to be able to wear shoes), hop in the car, drive away, do stuff, do whatever the hell I want... Very silly, very embarrassing. He is only living his life -- and so much of his life has deteriorated in taking care of me.

Grader Boob sent me some great stuff -- whether it represents Xmas or birthday gifties, I dunno. He wrote that it would be Xmas, but included a homemade birthday card. His cards are masterpieces! Anyway, he sent great music and awesome DVDs.

I've not heard from TW, and will never know what that means.

We have a Perpetual Invitation extended to Grader Boob, and every part of me thrills at the thought of someday seeing TW again -- but I cannot bring myself to make the official invitation. I don't want him to see me like this -- but when do I think I will ever NOT be like this, hmmm? If I wait and wait for schtuff to get better, we may never reunite, and I will have missed the opportunity of a lifetime.

It's hard to discern what he wants, as he has trained himself to want little. All the more reason to give him an unencombered opportunity and let him do with it as he likes.

I am such a sucker for animals -- there's a movie on... Eight Below -- a Disney flick based on true events involving sled dogs stranded in Antarctica. There are parts I am sure I won't be able to watch!

I am so thankful for this blog.

What? I am!