Doing It Twice

The next surgery is scheduled for Monday, February 16, at an as yet undetermined time. I know that they prefer to do "dirty" cases last, so I anticipate a late afternoon start time. Due to Fred's hectic schedule this week, the only day we can get the pre-op testing and all the admission details done is Friday. Cutting it close, but the nurse said it would be okay.

She hugged me again.

Everyone is hugging me. It makes me nervous.

The PA was sweet -- a tough adjective for such a big, tall guy to pull off, but he does. The two of them sort of crashed in my exam room -- I am like a comfortable piece of furniture over there -- and I was surprised to hear them violating HIPAA all over the doggone place, much as they did last week. Not that I remember, or even care to remember, any of the patient names they tossed around. They were not badmouthing anyone (except for the occasional raised eyebrow and shift in tone of voice) and they were clearly exhausted. Dr. ShoulderMan is running them ragged. Red-rimmed eyes, the both of them.

This was my informed consent: "You know the drill, right?" Actually, I am fine with that, though I did have a moment of feeling pissy about how blasé we all are now about slicing me open. This will be the fourth major operation since the end of August, the third on my right shoulder. They anticipate removing the spacer that's in there and either giving me another (if still infected) or if everything is pristine, giving me another prosthesis.

NOTHING showed on the x-rays of the left shoulder -- which absolutely blows my mind, because I cannot even use the damned arm, and the slightest jostling causes intense pain. The PA will show ShoulderMan the films today or tomorrow, to see if the Master has a different interpretation.

And so they "consented" me for bilateral shoulders on Monday, but with no real intention to do both -- the two of them said it was definite for the right side. In the interim, I am to try taking more muscle relaxants, and doing "whatever works." God, I wish ShoulderMan had been there. Not that I don't trust the PA and the nurse -- they are excellent -- but he is supposed to be the freaking orthopedic genius. And as nothing is working, I am kind of clueless how to help myself. Maybe I will slap the stupid TENS unit back on and groove to the funky beat...

Okay, so maybe he was busy, off somewhere saving limbs and lives. Or attending a conference full of ultra-important information that he really needs to know. Possibly, he is delivering a paper of earth-shattering significance, being the Bone Sage.

This morning, I tried using the arm, with no improvement and excessive pain. So I switched back to one-arming it with the infected-as-all-get-out right arm. [We all know it is still infected, or re-infected, if one wishes to engage in semantics. My fevers, white count, C-RP, etc. all are screaming to be acknowledged.]

And then I blithely, unconcernedly, stupidly, picked up the full carton of milk. No, that wasn't so stupid. What was stoopid was doing it twice. (Back on 22 May 2002, after falling and fracturing my leg and other skeletal parts, the Evil Deaf Asshole Nurse made me stand on it -- slamming the door to the hall shut and hissing "It's not broken, stand up, standupstandupstandup!" And so I tried, falling back to the floor with another loud c-r-u-n-c-h sound. With such a great initial result, of course I tried it again -- at her effing urging. By then, my entire foot had rotated to an inhuman angle, the leg was purple and swollen, and, unbeknownst to Evil Deaf Asshole Nurse, unbeknownst to me, CRPS had begun...)

Ummm: Flashback.

{Who is that screaming? And is it now or is it then?}

I am prone to flashing back with doing-it-twice pain -- stoopid pain that could easily be avoided -- also when I am fearful.

Erin was my physical therapist -- home visits -- back in 2002. My left arm was messed up (nothing like falling on a freshly operated body part) and immobilized in a sling. My right foot and leg were in a cast, non-weight-bearing. My right arm was kind of bad off -- it had initially been scheduled before the left for replacement and I don't recall why the switch was made. So when the time came for me to try standing up, with Erin and Fred right there, I could not do it.

It felt physical. I simply could not do it. I was weak, the one leg would not hold, it was impossible.

There surely was no relationship between my hyperventilation and shaking, and the impossibility of standing beside the hospital bed that completely took over the bedroom. So when Erin began asking what I was afraid of, I had no clue. I kept trying to stand, then sinking back onto the bed, more and more approaching real exhaustion.

Once Erin elicited the underlying truth -- that I was not just afraid of falling, but that I knew with complete certainty that I was going to fall -- she and Fred got so close to me, so obviously had control over anything that might happen, that I conquered my fear just long enough to quickly stand, then sit back down.

Erin cheered. It wasn't easier after that, but I began to make some steady progress. Now and then, I would still get "stuck" by memories. Don't ever forget that fear is powerfully paralyzing. Fight fear at all costs, Dear Readers.

All of which to say that I could learn to appreciate black coffee.

Still, I am a coffee fanatic; I like it the way I like it; The rest of the day is instant doodoo if I cannot get properly prepared bean juice.

Good thing I am not nervous about Monday. Good thing I got over that stoopid fear of falling. And of doing it twice.