Also, in case anyone had any lingering doubts, yes, pain is, indeed, subjective.
I recall this scenario having unfolded every time I've received the "we need to operate" response from ShoulderMan, a scenario that is now over the half-dozen mark. By the time we are back home at The Manor, my pain levels rise to an obscene point, approaching the landmark "ten." It honestly seems to hurt worse just because my excellent surgeon has opined that yes, surgery does look necessary. That's nuts, makes no sense, and yet, is true.
We are going to proceed with the usual futility first, though: Yes, another aspiration of the shoulder under fluoroscopy! The eighth one. May it be productive, because the first seven were not... Then, in 2 weeks, I will go back to hear how nothing continues to grow in the lab, and to finalize the scheduling for surgery.
At least I have an excellent excuse for bailing on the Wheelchair Negotiations for today. The man handling my case is an idiot. No, really, he is. He also lies with excessive ease. I don't know whether we are going to take our relationship to the next level of actually acquiring the new lightweight and speedy transport.
But, as I am trying to convince myself -- let that go until tomorrow. I am spoiling for a fight, for anything that might distract me from the prospect of major surgery during the holidays, PICC lines and vancomycin (can't use the bleepety-bleep-bleep port installed in my chest wall for the post-op antibiotics), surgical cement spacers, and the subsequent surgery or surgeries to try and put in another prosthetic shoulder.
It's a darned good thing that The Nutcracker is such a piece of crap, both as music and as ballet -- because I am going to miss seeing it performed again this year!
That was supposed to be funny.
Fred has that deer caught in the headlights stare going on. Bless his heart, bless his bones.
The only good thing thus far today? My surgeon just got back from Haiti, where things are, of course, really bad -- though he said things were more settled than they were immediately following the major quake, at least. They desperately need orthopedic supplies -- crutches, walkers, canes, splints, slings, etc. -- and we have at our disposal an entire closet dedicated to the storage of such supplies. It feels good to be able to put the stuff to some use, or it will, once Fred, Bianca, Sven, and I go over each item and refurbish things as best we can. So that is one good thing for the day...
I just feel like weeping: Therefore, let's post some cat videos! If sending my orthopedic closet collection to Haiti and uploading a bunch of cute cat action doesn't dry my tears, what will?
First, we have Buddy in a Box. Unfortunately, most of the footage of Buddy in a Box consists of no sign of Buddy but minute after minute of a mysteriously wiggling box. Since he is more interested in me, for some reason, than his Bodacious Box, you lucked out this time, Beloved Readers!
Isn't it amazing how HUGE he has gotten, this freakishly large kitten that turned out to be a Maine Coon? Fred and I peer helplessly at one another and cry, "Who knew?" several times each day.
Next we have the Old Married Couple Series. These are three videos of Dobby and Buddy, who suddenly have decided to promulgate peace, love, and understanding instead of trying to wipe each other from the face of the planet. Okay, so Buddy is something of a recidivist, as he goes for Dobby's throat in the second video -- but he gets over the impulse and is soon right back to being a perversely large kitten, and all cuddly again in the third take.
As usual, please ignore the audio. Seriously, it's embarrassing.