Monster Meet and Greet Mash

October 28, 2015

Here’s a scairy Halloween treat for all my blogging fans and an opportunity to participate in a Halloween Blog Party!

Check it out, leave a link to your blog, and enjoy the stories!

Kayuk

yadadarcyyada

1halloween84I was working
on my blog,
late one night
When my eyes
beheld
an eerie sight
For my post
from its slab,
began to rise
And suddenly
to my surprise
It did the mash,
it did the Monster Meet and Greet Mash!
A monster blogger mash, it was a graveyard smash!
It did the mash, it caught on in a flash…
It did the mash, it did the monster blog mash!
The zombies and bloggers were having fun,
The blog party had just begun…
The scene was rockin’, we were digging the shares,
Some were commenting, well, those who dared
So add your link and des-
crypt-ion, girls and guys,
Then suddenly to your surprise…
You can mash, you can monster blogger mash!

1halloween86

While I often say the best part of blogging is ‘meeting’ other bloggers, readers, etc., it’s been too long since we hung together, so welcome to…

View original post 423 more words

Photo of I'Candy and Brattzina

Candy and Zena

OK…as anyone who reads this blog knows, I have horses.

For the past several summers I’ve been feeding my horses at the farm where I live, then driving to my trainer/coaches barn for a lesson or to ride/video my horses there.

One Day Last Summer

I fed my horses here, had my usual rush of morning coffee and oatmeal, loaded a horse in the trailer, and made the trip to my trainer’s barn.

For the next several hours (in real time that’s translatable to ‘most of the day’), I rode a horse, videoed a few lessons, cleaned tack, discussed coming show and training schedules, told jokes, had lunch, and generally just socialized around the barn.

WOW! Was it 6:00 already??

The time really sneaks up on you when the days are so long, warm, and filled with activity. Someone mentioned getting home to feed the kids, I glanced at my phone, and realized I was late getting home to give the other horses their supper. Luckily, at some point during the day I decided to leave the horse I brought with me at the training barn and just pull the empty trailer home.

So…off I went, satisfied with my day.

Now, from my trainer’s barn to my barn is pretty much a straight shot (other than some fairly significant curves in the road). I pass a school, cross a major road at a traffic light, pass another school, pause at a 4-way stop, and take the final long leg back to my barn. The whole trip–from the middle of one nowhere to the middle of another–takes about 25 minutes, even pulling a horse trailer, and it’s mostly through rural horse and cattle country.

Well, there I was on the last leg of the trip and I hear a sharp “CRRAACK” that sounded like a close-up shot from a gun.

OH MY GOD!!!
What was that!?!

I glanced in both side mirrors to make sure my tires were OK, even though I wasn’t getting a feel that anything was wrong with the truck or trailer. All were fine so the next thought was:

OH MY GOD!!
Was someone SHOOTING AT ME?

That was when I ducked down almost below the dash and tromped on the gas. In less time than it takes to type it, I was racing along a country road with a horse trailer leaping and bounding over bumps behind me and not another car ahead or as far back as the eye could see (which was actually pretty far).

I WAS ALONE….ON A COUNTRY ROAD….IN THE MIDDLE OF TWO NOWHERES…WITH SOMEONE SHOOTING AT ME!!!

After about a century (real time 90 seconds) of a neck and neck race between my heart and the truck, I felt I was far enough from the danger zone to slow down some, then i had a secondary panic attack when I realized how fast I was going.

The rest of my trip was spent wondering if someone was hunting beside the road and just didn’t realize there was someone on the road next to them; if they DID realize there was someone there and shot as I passed as a practical joke; if there was some fluke atmospheric noise in the area; if I was imagining things and going crazy….

After what seemed an eternity

I arrived back in the safe haven of my own farm area and stopped the truck. I got out and walked all around truck and trailer searching for gunshot holes, rock dents, anything that would solve the mystery of the Big Bang, and found nothing, nada, not a darn thing.

Finally I gave up

I backed the trailer into it’s parking spot and was just about to get out of the truck to unhitch when something caught my eye. Something that just looked… wrong. It looked SO wrong that I couldn’t really place what it was so I got out of the truck and walked around to the passenger side of the trailer.

There, attached to the side of the trailer was my spare tire, and sitting on top of it was what, at first glance, looked like some kind of exotic bird. But as I approached, and my brain took in the reality of what was there, I realized that those things that looked like parts of a bird were actually parts of the tire….my brand new TIRE had EXPLODED…but WHY??

Since that time…

I’ve related this experience to many other people. Most show utter disbelief, but a few have commented that similar things have happened to them. Apparently, if you over fill your tire with air and it gets really hot it will explode. My only explanation is that I had my trailer serviced a few months before the explosion and the service person put too much air in the spare tire while the weather was cool. As the Florida temperatures soared and the sun heated the tire cover,

!!BOOM!!

photo

My suggestion to trailer owners is that you check the tire pressure in your spare tire regularly and perhaps keep it a little under-inflated. Better to have a tire that’s a bit soft than one that has a hole in it big enough to drive through.

In Conclusion:

I would be curious to hear if others have had similar experiences and what conclusion you came to about the cause of the disintegration of your perfectly good tire.

(Although, come to think of it, it probably wasn’t ‘perfectly good’ or it wouldn’t have blown up in the first place.)

My wish for you, my friend, and all others who take the road less traveled (or, in fact, any other road) and decide to pull a trailer:

May Your Trip Be Boring.

OldTrailerYou, Gentle Reader, may not know this, but there was a time when I didn’t own my own horse trailer. Now, that was long ago but I still remember the anxiety of scrambling around with countless other horse owners, trying to find suitable trailering for my horses in the weeks before a show.

So…I decided to buy my own trailer.

Surprisingly, this turned out to be easier said than done. For months I followed every lead in my search for a “good used horse trailer in reasonable condition”. I saw more teensie weensie trailers (obviously built for large dogs) and sagging frames (probably used to transport elephants) than I would have ever believed existed.

Finally…

With the show season breathing down my neck, I decided to buy new. Expecting to find my dream trailer waiting (probably somewhere over the rainbow) I instantly became the terror of the local trailer dealers. Until finally (in desperation I suspect) some poor salesman who had seen me once too often suggested that I custom order a trailer directly from the factory.

One of the big advantages in ordering new is that you can get EXACTLY what you want. Now I entered a whole new dimension of pickiness.

Well, dozens of long distance calls later (this was before free long distance and cell phones) (and YES, I was around before cell phones!) I decided to order from a factory in Barrie, Ontario. They explained that, no matter how much I wanted it, a trailer with a dressing room was too big for my Ranger to pull, but an extra wide two horse trailer was just fine–and they happily matched the color to my truck!

I paid a little more for an extra front door and a step-up rather than a ramp, but it was well worth the cost. Now my horse can’t pirouette off the edge of the ramp and I won’t have to fight a hay bale to get out of her way.

The disadvantages in buying new from the manufacturer are that you don’t get to see it until it’s too late to change your mind, and you have to go to the factory to pick it up.

The night before I picked up the trailer I had nightmares.

First I dreamed that my order was lost and the trailer was never built. Then I dreamed the trailer was built but it was only 18″ wide: “We thought you said Doberman, not Dapple Gray,” was the response from the girl behind the desk when I complained about the size. Needless to say, it was a bad night for me.

Monday morning arrived sunny and bright and I was at the factory at 8:30 AM to hitch up. Of course, my order was there just as I had given it. Unfortunately, they were expecting us to leave Ottawa on Monday morning, not to arrive at their doorstep at practically the crack of dawn.

Well, I almost had a heart attack when i saw my trailer for the first time – no doors, no windows, no vent, no floor–even worse than my worst nightmares! But the company owner sent me off to have breakfast nearby, but extra workers on it, and by the time my truck was wired for the brakes it was ready. Everyone at the factory was just wonderful, and they even used my truck to pull my you-can’t-get-any-newer-than-that trailer out of the factory. The color was a perfect match to my truck and there was even matching detailing on the side! Wow!

Back at the barn…

When I got back to the barn even my hard to please mare loved her new chariot. She loaded and unloaded just fine after I dropped the chest bar so I could wake through instead of ducking under. (She seems to have a phobia about people suddenly ducking right in front of her.)

In Retrospect…

I guess I’ve learned a few things from this experience.

  • first, the phrase ‘in good condition’ does not mean the same thing to a seller as it does to a buyer;
  • second, let the factory know if you plan to arrive at the crack of dawn.

My next adventure

Now the question comes up….should I take my horse in the Just Barely Has Enough Sense To Stay On Her Feet For The Whole Day’ class next week? Or do I book her into the I Don’t Have A Clue What I’m Doing Here But I Sure Can Jump Fast’ class?

What do you think?

Who Am I?

January 5, 2014

IMG_0500Long months have come and gone since the last time I posted on this blog.

I apologize to those who have chosen to follow me, I feel I have let you down. But there are times in everyone’s life when they have to stop, work through internal issues, and decide on a direction. Sometimes the choice is to stay on the same path, and sometimes the choice is to move in a new direction.

My problem was that I lost track of myself. Not an easy thing to do, considering that I’m pretty tightly stuck to me, but Me wasn’t communicating for a while so I was blindly staggering along the path without direction.

When I finally woke from my sleep walking journey it took a while for me to figure out where I was and, more important, how I could get from where I was to where I want to be. I sat on a rock for a long time, musing and watching the time go by.

Then a thought came to me …. how can I choose a new track when I don’t even know who I am? When I fell asleep I was a woman in a daze, but now I find myself awake and wondering what happened to get me from where i was to where I am while I was asleep …. and how do I repair all the damage done by time, weather, and vandals while I was sleeping?

So, I decided to start my journey of the discovery of self by figuring out what I am.

What Am I?

  • Writer: teller of stories, creator of tales, weaver of alternate realities;
  • Videographer: capturer of happenings, recorder of events, chronographer;
  • Photographer: freezer of timely moments, stopper of time, moment saver;
  • Friend: sharer, carer, secret holder;
  • Pet Owner: petter, caretaker, midwife, nurse, vet, petter, walker, claw clipper;
  • Businesswoman: accountant, organizer, record keeper, strategist, worrier;
  • Girlfriend: partner, lover, sharer, bedfellow, stroker, sexy, exciting, bitch;
  • Lover: giver, taker, participator, caresser, stroker, stoker, compliant, demanding;
  • Owner: breeder, feeder, trainer, mommy, disciplinarian, teacher, rewarder;
  • Student: researcher, learner, reader, practicer, test taker, striver, thinker;
  • Woman: moody, exciting, loving, needy, fat, bitchy, short, cute, thin, beautiful, succulent, slim, untouchable, free, nest builder, easy, longing, empty satiated, unhappy, ecstatic, joyful, unhappy, energetic, satisfied, tired, energetic, happy, lazy, disconnected, sensitive, lazy, telepathic, anxious, lonely, content, therapist.

Perhaps there is no answer.

Time Passes When You’re Having Fun!

It has been several weeks since I was told by the doctor to start physiotherapy and I have to say that I have been through many emotions since it started. I’ve been like an oddly aligned pendulum, swinging back and forth, up and down between excitement that I can walk again, frustration that I can’t walk yet, annoyance that I can’t go riding, fear that I’m going to re-damage the knee, and occasional pain both just walking around and at the hands of the physiotherapists.

OK…let me start at the end of Part 9 when I received the script to start physiotherapy. It was the happiest and most exciting day since finding out I needed surgery. As Doug, my boyfriend, was driving me back to my apartment I called and booked an appointment with the physiotherapist. It was Wednesday and I was told that I couldn’t start for 10 days…TEN DAYS!!  OH, the Frustration!!

Emotional Turmoil

Emotional Turmoil

For the next ten days I practiced walking without my crutches. I went to the flea market and walked for probably a mile, I went to antique malls and walked up and down stairs, I drove my car around and went grocery shopping. I couldn’t straighten my leg all the way up, and I couldn’t bend it more than 90 degrees, and my buttocks–especially the left one–were so sore I couldn’t sleep for the first two days, BUT I was getting out of the apartment. I no longer had to wait for someone else to bring ice, I could just hop in the car and go get it myself. I had my freedom back!

Who Needs Physio?

Then I went to my first physio appointment and went through four pages of questions about my condition and what could I do and what surgery did I have and did I have other physical issues or illnesses. ARGH! It took longer to complete the form that to have the therapy!

Once the forms were complete (and my credit card information was on file) I met the physiotherapist. What a nice guy! He was super professional, knowledgeable, just a really nice guy. I’ve had friends who went through physio sessions and barely lived to tell the tale, but I had every confidence after meeting him that my physiotherapist would never hurt me. Oh how naive I was!

The first session was very gentle. He tested my flexibility over my entire body to see how much the knee was affecting me and where. He watched me walk, bend, stretch and balance and made notes about everything. Then he massaged my injured leg and loosened all the muscles that I didn’t even realize were sore until that time. OUCH! but it was a good hurt. In short order I was back in my car and wondering what I needed physio for. Except for massaging the back of my thigh and calf, I could do all those exercises myself. But I decided to keep the next appointment and see if more would be done when I wasn’t spending the first half of the appointment filling out paperwork.

The day after my first physio appointment my knee swelled so much I thought my toes were going to explode. It took two days of ice and propping my leg up to get the swelling back down. Of course, spending an entire day sitting in a restaurant with old friends, walking through department and grocery stores, and driving for two hours probably caused most of the swelling, but I really didn’t want to believe that just plain normal activities could make my leg look like I had connected an air hose to it. In fact, if you saw the Harry Potter episode when he blew up his horrible Aunt and she floated off, then you know just how my leg looked.

Decorative Knee Tape

Decorative Knee Tape

My second session started off with gentle stretching exercises, then the massage and taping my knee to help work the skin over the fascia and control the swelling. This was important because my knee wouldn’t bend if the joint was filled with fluid. At the first and second appointment my left knee was about 1.5″ bigger than my right knee. Also, this time when the measurements were taken to determine how much flexion I had my knee was forced to flex as far as it would go without pulling the ACL. OMG!!!!!! To give you an idea of how that felt, Mr. Nice Guy Physiotherapist told me to breathe like I was in Lamaze while he tried his best to pop my new ACL loose! I’ve never had a baby or been through Lamaze, but I’ve seen the movies. This was NOT a fun moment in my life. Especially when I was told that even with ‘help’ bending my knee I only had 63% flexibility.

Well, so far I’ve had about 5 weeks of physio and I’ve learned to ‘bridge’, ‘crab walk’, ‘reverse stride’, and both flex and straighten my left leg. I’m now within 1 degree of straightness and within a few degrees of matching the flexibility of my right leg. It still hurts to walk or to push the wheelbarrow, but Mr. Physio has told me that the pain will fade as my leg gains strength. When pressed for some kind of timeline, he protects his reputation by just saying that each person advances at the speed they are capable of handling and he won’t say if I’m coming along well or not. Although his assistants did tell me that few people have to be watched because they overflex the bridges or overstep the crab walk, so I guess I started out in better condition than most who have ACL replacements.

Recently I’ve been emailing a friend who had knee replacement surgery a few weeks after my ACL was replaced. Although the surgeries were both done on the knees, there is almost no other comparison between them. Her surgery was far more extensive than mine, and her scarring as well as the length of her hospital stay is proof of that. However, while I was not allowed to touch toe to the ground for almost 3 weeks, she was walking on her crutches in less time and outside working on things. Maybe I’m just a wimp, but I know for sure that I would never have been able to do that in such short time.

I would love to hear from others who have had knee surgery. What was your recovery time? How long is it REALLY before you walk without even thinking about it? Was it ACL replacement or full knee replacement, or some other knee surgery?

Am I a wimp, or am I doing OK? Enquiring minds want to know.

Woo Hoo again!!

Ok, this is the Real McCoy, the full glass, the Pot of Gold at the end of the Rainbow…. This was my first REAL doctor’s appointment and I was REALLY going to see the surgeon and he was REALLY going to look and my knee and tell me if everything was OK.

But, before I get into that, there’s a whole five days worth of updating to do….

Mark talking to me

And remember….Smiling makes you feel better!

Poor Mark was stuck with me, complete with my depression and letdown after the last appointment fiasco, but he is nothing if not positive and his upbeat attitude, like a gold nugget on the other side of the balance scale and kept my side from dipping into depression and feeling sorry for myself. I really think this third week would have been a major disaster if not for Mark. On Monday, the day before he was heading back to Canada, Mark finally got a break from nursemaiding me with the arrival of an invitation for an afternoon visit to a friend who lived in a nearby town. So, off he went with my blessings and the sincere hope that he would have a good time.Meanwhile, Doug had arrived back in Florida and was planning a visit that afternoon. The plan was for Doug to arrive in the afternoon and the three of us to have supper together, but I’m sure you have all read the book about plans and mice and men. Seems they never work out as they should.Anyway, Mark’s visit lasted much longer than expected. This turned out to be a fortunate turn of events because it gave Doug and me a chance to catch up on news from Connecticut and the events of the past few weeks here. But the day started to get late and Doug lives two hours to the south so finally he decided to head for home and Mark was still not back.

Photo of me recording introsWe put our heads together

and, since Mark’s plane was leaving late the following day, Doug made plans to return just after noon so we could all have time for a chat and dinner together. Since I was still not cleared for driving, Doug would drive Mark and me to the airport after dinner, then he would stay the night and drive me to my doctor’s appointment the next day.

The next day Doug and I headed off for the REAL doctor’s appointment and once more my nerves were at cracking point.

Have you ever felt like you were stuck in an Abbot and Costello movie?

Once more the GPS took us in the totally wrong direction. ARGH!! Can’t someone do something about that?? This time we had two GPS’s and BOTH of them took us to the wrong location…on opposite sides of town!


Oh well, we finally made it to the correct location and I had a new x-ray and saw the REAL doctor. He spent several minutes pulling and twisting my leg, checking flexion, tightness of the joint, and the ability to straighten the leg then, wonder of wonders and miracle of miracles, he told me that every thing felt great, wrote me a script for six weeks of physio, and sent me on my way with a new appointment in 6 weeks.

OH! And did I mention that he said I should start using only one crutch and wean myself off them completely within a week? After holding my foot off the ground completely for almost three weeks I could finally start at least THINKING about walking again.

Doug and I stopped on the way home to have breakfast and celebrate my new ambulatory status, and I felt as if a 100 pound weight had been lifted from my mind and chest. Until that moment I had not realized how concerned I was about the possible repercussions of the fall. But suddenly the world was a brighter place and, once more, the future was filled with endless possibilities.

This experience is not over, but already it has been a turning point in my life. If you’ve had a turning point in your life, I hope you will leave me a note about it in the comments section and tell me how it turned out. Thanks for sticking with me through this story, it has meant a lot to me.

Woo Hoo!!

The day of my very first post-op doctor’s appointment arrived and I carefully showered, chose a good walking shoe and hobbled out to the car for the drive to the surgeon’s office. Mark was my chauffeur and away we went in a swirl of dust and flying stones…. OK, so we really drove very sedately out of the driveway to prevent my knee getting banged on anything. After laying in bed for two weeks, it seemed like we were going at a pretty good clip.

We arrived slightly late because my GPS wanted us to go to a different area and I didn’t clue in to that fact until we were well into the wrong area. What is it with GPS equipment anyway?? This mixup in directions seems to happen fairly regularly, and NO I did not put the wrong address into the darn thing!

Me on crutches

Off to see the doctor

So…we sat around for a few minutes waiting for my name to be called and finally it happens: “Mrs. Kayuk, can you follow me please?” After several attempted gitty-ups I finally made it up out of the chair and carefully maneuvered myself down the wide hallway behind her. My anxiety level was off the scale. What if my fall the first night had torn everything loose? What if my kneecap had been fractured? What if I had to have surgery again???

When we arrived in the designated room, she bent over, looked at my knee and said brightly, “So…what seems to be the problem?”

OK, I might not be the brightest light on the planet, but I think that even without the crutches and obvious swelling and incisions on my knee I would be pretty sure that knee had recently had surgery.

Since Mark had already been with me for a few days and I had caught up on some much-needed rest and a few meals I was feeling a wee bit better than a cretin, so I answered her equally perky, “Oh, this is my first exam after the surgery.”

She looked at me like I was from another planet and asked to see my appointment sheet. I handed the sheet to her and she scanned to the current appointment, handed it back to me, and said, “You’re here to have your stitches removed!” Then she bounced out of the room for someone else.

I sat there for a moment with my brain digesting this information and trying to correlate it with the obvious lack of any sign of stitches in my incision. Then I bent down for a closer look at my knee…… Nope, definitely no stitches.

About that time she flounced back into the room with another seeming teenager who had a closer look at my knee, pressed in all the sore spots, and said, “Looks good, you can go now. The doctor will see you on Friday.” And she turned to leave.

“Wait!” I croaked. “That’s it? I had an appointment for removal of stitches that aren’t even there?”

“Yes, that sometimes happens. We book all the appointments at the time of booking the surgery so we know your appointments will be in a timely sequence and you don’t get bumped. We don’t know at the time of booking if the doctor will be able to do plastic surgery or if he will need to use stitches. If you don’t need stitches removed you can call and cancel that appointment. (I’m supposed to know that??)

So… a lunch bag letdown of an appointment and I was chauffeured back home in my air-conditionerless Neon on the hottest day so far this year… I’ve rarely been so disappointed, or so happy to crawl back into bed.

You can find previous episodes at:

Of Dogs, Knee Surgery, and Large Horses (Part 1)

Of Dogs, Knee Surgery, and Large Horses (Part 2)

Of Dogs, Knee Surgery, and Large Horses (Part 3)

Of Dogs, Knee Surgery, and Large Horses (Part 4)

VinHospitalThe next thing I remember I was back in my room having brilliant conversations with my visitors and the nurse… one word at a time… between naps. I didn’t realize how little time I was staying awake until I asked the nurse for a muffin. Next time I opened my eyes there was a blueberry muffin sitting on the bedside table with my name on it. The nurse stepped back into the room to make sure I didn’t choke. How silly was that? I’ve been eating by myself for well over 50 years! I took a fork full of muffin and before I could finish chewing was falling asleep. I barely had time to swallow before drifting off again. So, I wolfed down about four tiny bites of that muffin… one bite at a time… between naps. Then I had to pee.

I groped around and found the call button and, like a genie from a bottle, it seemed that instantly there was a nurse with a smile awaiting my demands. “I have to pee”, I said, and the nurse disappeared to get a big, strong, handsome guy to carry me to the bathroom…or a wheelchair, I didn’t much care at this point as long as it was fast. Meantime, Dad and Carolyn mysteriously vacated the room and the nurse returned WITH A BEDPAN and sat it on the table then, began to flip up the covers in prepparation for sliding that THING under my backside.

ARP! Alternate plan! No sooner had my genie-nurse placed the bedpan on the little table than a wave of surprise nausea overwhelmed me. And, oh, the extreme gratitude of having a clean bedpan at your side when the post-anesthesia digestive rejection hits out of the blue. What a wonderful serendipity of timing! I totally understand now why they don’t want you to eat the night before surgery, and I will never complain about it again.

7photo 3Once the bedpan was cleaned and sterilized (don’t look at me, I don’t make the rules), I had the pleasure of actually using it as a bedpan. By the way, have you seen the new bedpans? They are a marvel of modern engineering! No more the big, oddly-shaped stainless steel bowls of the past that we perched on as they wobbled under us like a drunk donkey, the new ones are flat on one end so they slide under you easily. Of course, they’re also one-size-fits-all so at my size I felt like I was falling in; and it didn’t help that there was a very nice and awesomely chatty nurse keeping an eye on me the whole time. As you can imagine, it took a few minutes. Oh, and after my original use of the bedpan they made sure there was one of those little plastic kidney-shaped bowls handy at all times.

So…the hour of allotted recovery time passed and I was still asleep—more than less.   Since you can’t be hopping around on crutches dragging a leg around behind you in the dirt when you leave, the rule of knee surgery is that if you can lift your injured leg off the bed you’re ready to go home. And I was still asleep. Did I mention that I react very strongly to medications? It’s one of the big reasons that I would rather have a headache than take them.

Lifting the leg off the bed usually happens around the end of the first hour. Four hours and a nurse shift-change later, almost entirly spent in a drugged sleep, I finally managed to lift my leg off the bed….sort of. Good enough! It was declared that I could go home. WooHoo!

Now came the forty-five minutes of drive time strategically interspersed with stops to empty the little plastic kidney-shaped bowl they were kind enough to give me for the trip. After what was undoubtedly three days, we made it to my apartment.

photo 03Once there everyone hussled and bustled about, getting me in and settled, getting Rally Dog out of her stall prison, filling her water and food bowls, making sure I had water and plastic hospital bowl and crackers at bedside, and that my bubble-wrap water cooler thingy was hooked up and running, and I had taken my pain medication—as per doctor’s orders. We were all exhausted so Dad and Carolyn tucked me in and headed for home.

I was alone….the curtains blocked the late-afternoon light…it was quiet…I had just taken a Happy Pill…I drifted off into a deeply drug-induced sleep. Just for the record, I’m not a doctor person and I don’t take pills. If I have a cold, I use a box of tissues and get on with my life, if I get a cut, I put some cream and a bandage on it and get on with my life, so every pill I take has an affect almost twice as strong as anyone else the same size would get. Oh, I did mention this? Blame my repetitiveness on the drugs.

6photo 2When I woke the bedroom was dark, but the lights were on in the living room and, of course, how could I sleep with the lights on? Also, I had to pee again. So, I disentangled myself from the bed, remembered to disconnect the ice machine, grasped my crutches, slipped, and promptly fell down…Right Smack In The Middle…. of my freshly repaired knee onto the linoleum-over-concrete floor yelling, “Oh SHIT!” all the way down. I may have used the F word.

Even in a drug-induced stupor I knew nothing good was likely to come of any of this. I lay there attempting to assess the situation and the only thought that would form was, ‘How am I going to get up?’ so I rolled to the side, wondering if it mattered now whether I used that leg or not. After laying there for a few minutes and thinking (ok, not so much ‘thinking’ as rolling random thoughts around in my empty, echoing head), I grabbed the door handle and a book shelf and managed to regain my foot. As I was struggling to stand I realized that it didn’t matter if I tried to use the repaired leg or not, the nerve block was still in force and nothing this side of a cattle prod was going to get any use out of it.

Now I was afraid to trust my balance on the crutches so I re-connected the ice machine, packed myself back into bed, took another pain pill—more to kill my, ‘Will I ever walk again?’ thoughts than any imagined pain–and went back to sleep.

My thought, as I was being pulled to unconsciousness by the overload of drugs:

‘Please don’t let my kneecap be shattered!’

To be continued….

Knee Haiku

May 22, 2013

It’s so amazing what they can do with modern surgical proceedures. My knee feels like an alien grafting, but with 5 small bandaides you can conceal every incision. As Spock would say, “Fascinating!”

Good Knee

kneesBend, stretch, step, crawl, leap,

no matter what you’re doing

you need a good knee

Knee Meaning

Hot and fevered joint,

why do you torture me now?

I treated you well.

Bad Knee

Heat builds to boiling;

Ice pack elicits shocked squeals.

Oh no! A bad knee?

Swelling

Skin stretched shiny taut

bulges out where dents should be.

Swelling binds my knee.

So….my horse was fine and my knee hurt like hell. Am I on Candid Camera or something? Or a victim of one of Murphy’s more sadistic Laws?

superwoman

Can You Find Super Woman?

OK, it didn’t hurt like hell all the time, only when I walked, or rode, or tried to sleep. The rest of the time it was a strong and active ache. For about a week I was hobbling around like a 100 year old woman with arthritis, and for another two weeks I was not hobbling, but it was only because I am superwoman and I refused to show signs of weakness. After all, I had places to go, people to see, things to do. I couldn’t stop, or even slow down, for an injury. Animals depended on me. But, when no one was looking I lifted my leg into the car with my hands because I couldn’t get my leg to work that way.

Meanwhile, Olivia went lame again. What was wrong with that horse? A call went out to the vet, who spent three hours at the farm blocking, ultra-sounding and x-raying. Diagnosis: she will not get better (more about that in a future blog). No more riding Olivia. Fortunately, she was gorgeous, had fabulous movement, and was a good age for breeding so away she went on lease to be a mommy. A great life for her; one less horse to worry about with a bad knee.

photo 02Finally, in the dark and secret hours of the morning, when no one could see me, I took an aspirin …I ….TOOK ….AN ….ASPIRIN. I, who NEVER take pain medication unless on death’s bed, took an aspirin. That’s when I decided it was time to see a doctor. Well, I thought defensively, I just spent hundreds of dollars to find out why my horse is lame, and the results were somewhat frightening. Was I not worth that? That thought was immediately followed by: Doctor??  What doctor?

Dear Me…I had been in Florida for five years and had not been to see a doctor once. Or to a hospital. Or a clinic. I didn’t know any doctors. As a disgustingly healthy person, what need did I have for doctors? So I called around and, after speaking with several friends, I had an appointment—in a month—with a well respected doctor. Isn’t it funny, once I made the appointment my knee felt better. I almost canceled several times but, just as I was making that decision and reaching for the phone I would step slightly wrong and the knee would hurt again. I somehow knew that if I canceled the appointment Murphy, with his fist full of wretched Laws, would raise his evil head again and my leg would fall off. So, after about a year, that month passed and I met with the doctor. Following the Torture Of 1000 Questions and a cursory exam, she gave me instructions and off I went on my merry way.

From the doctor’s office I was sent to the vampire house where (pleasant surprise) I really didn’t feel a thing, and from there I drove to the MRI/X-ray building. It was quite amazing to me that everything was right on schedule. I waited less than five minutes at each house of small horrors, then had the joy of waiting for the doctor to call with the results.

To my shock, the first thing I was told was that I had high cholesterol—both ‘good’ and ‘bad’–and that, no, they don’t balance out. This is something that I don’t understand. If one is ‘good’ and the other ‘bad’ isn’t that like plus and minus. If you have similar amounts of plus and minus you end up with a very low number. NOT! I, who normally prefer to eat chicken and fish, was told to cut back on my red meat. I wondered how I was supposed to do that?

Oh well, that wasn’t my big problem, the big problem was that I had a new appointment with a specialist. Why? Because there was a tear in my ACL. Naturally, the appointment was a month away.

Another year that lasted a month passed and the great day arrived. And I spent all of 15 minutes with the doctor. He pulled my knee this way and that, told me it was swollen, the joint was loose, and that the MRI and X-Rays showed that I needed surgery. Why? Because I had torn my ACL almost in two, and a section of the meniscus was pulling off the bone. And, guess what? They don’t get better without surgery. Then he asked me if next Friday was OK.

WHAT?   Who was going to look after the horses? The Rally Dog? The cats? ME!? How long would I be off? How long before I’d be normal? (Ok…I do realize the ‘N’ word is not one that is normally usually associated with me, but to me I am ‘normal’.) I had almost a week to figure all this out.

To be continued….

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