New Life – A Haiku

October 28, 2015

DSCF3944

Photo taken June 2014 in Bromont, Quebec by V.Kayuk.

New Life

By Kayuk

New essense of Life

this miracle before us

no eye has yet seen.

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Dreams – A Haiku

October 26, 2015

photo of pink flower bud

Photo taken June 9, 2014 in Bromont, Quebec by V.Kayuk.

Dreams

By Kayuk

With eyes wide open

I dream not of what is now

but of what will be

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.

Several years ago

I had already moved from Canada to Florida, but my sister-in-law, who was in her 70’s still lived in Canada. She was the last of my husband’s family, other than a cousin who was just a few years younger than her. The last year she was alive she was getting senile, but still lived alone and had a series of falls. The calls would go something like this:

‘Hello, is this Mrs. Kayuk? Mrs. Kayuk, your sister-in-law has had a bad fall and is in the hospital. I understand you are the next of kin. She’s not in a state of mind to make decisions at this time, what should we do with her?’

I would do what I could over the phone, find people to look after my horses, book a flight to Canada for the next day, and go sit with her in the hospital, trying to point out to the medical staff that this had already happened several times and perhaps it was time to move her to a nursing home.

The hospital would keep her for several weeks, and release her back to her own home, then I would set up Meals on Wheels and rides for her doctors appointments and when she was back at home I would stay with her for a few days to settle her in, then fly back to Florida. This was an almost monthly occurrence for most of an entire year before she finally agreed to move into a place where they could regulate her medications. She had been pouring them all into a bowl on the table and having one whenever she walked by. This was a colorful bowl of warfarin, diabetes medications, mood enhancers, stool softeners and an assortment of vitamines prescribed by the doctor. She also was a chain smoker and had burn holes in her sheets and her mattress. I have never been so relieved as when she moved into the home.

Flash forward to last month when I had knee surgery.

Sick bed office

Sick bed office

I’ve been a very healthy person all my life. Until my knee started to bother me I had not seen a doctor for over 5 years. I think, for an active person, being forced into inactivity is the equivalent of being locked in a coffin sized box for the duration. For some reason, I felt that others would see this forced inactivity in the same horrible hellacious light that I saw it…that they would understand my feelings of inadequacy and helplessness and be there for me, as I would for them in the same circumstances. Instead, I made the discovery that everyone else has a life of their own to live.

Chair and walker

My new reality

I had my surgery, was dropped off at my apartment, and the world continued to roll along on its pre-determined course while I sat in bed with my leg wrapped in ice and  thoughts of abandonment by family, friends and boyfriend swirling around in my head.

Now that the worst is over and I’m walking again, albeit slowly, I can look at everything with a bit clearer head. Yes, I had surgery. No, it wasn’t life threatening. Yes, I fell and I was frightened and the extremity of my helplessness was brought home to me. No, I didn’t die from it, it didn’t even cause any problems other than my fear of the possible repercussions.

So….Why Did I Feel So Let Down by the Experience?

This is a tougher question than what it appears on the surface. You see, I have never really lived alone.

When I was barely 16 years old I eloped and married my first husband. I lived with him for almost 7 years and when I divorced him I was remarried within two weeks to my second husband. That marriage lasted for 32 years.

During all those years of my life, I had back-up. Not just any kind of back-up, but LIVE-IN back-up. When you live with someone they are always there. OK, not during the day when they’re working, but every evening they are with you–week days, weekends, holidays–they don’t get a vacation, and neither do you. On the other hand, if something goes wrong they are always there with support and assistance, and so are you. Or at least they are there to pick you up if you fall.

Then I Was Alone.

After the loss of my second husband I learned to make my own decisions without bouncing everything off someone else for their ideas and feedback. I learned that if I wanted something I went and got it myself and didn’t depend on someone else to be my support system.

The problem was, I was used to a partnership in times of sickness and trouble. I wasn’t used to being alone and having to care for myself when I was sick or incapacitated. I had expectations that somehow that gap would be bridged and I discovered instead that, when the lights went out and the darkest part of the night came, I was alone.

To my shame, looking back, I didn’t handle this very well. To all of you who were victims of my bitchiness, whining, and general childishness in the first week, I sincerely apologize. I could use the excuse of pain, but to be honest, there was very little pain and a lot of fear. Fear that I would fall again; fear that damage had been caused by the first fall and that I would need to have the surgery again; fear that my knee would never heal properly and that I would be unable to walk properly ever again… But, as you already know, I am superwoman so I couldn’t possibly admit any of these fears. Instead, I internalized them all and became super-bitch.

In my mind, because I was alone in the apartment in bed for 24 hours a day, the time flowed slowly. For hours no one called, therefore no one cared. I was sorry for myself, frustrated by the simplest of chores, afraid to even have a bath without someone else in the house.

Mark2And What REALLY Happened…

How do you thank someone who kept you sane for a week, who travelled thousands of miles and–instead of enjoying Disney World and having a vacation–fed your horses, cooked, let the dog in and out, chatted and just generally kept your butt in bed and did all the work. AND taught you  more than the basics of audio production AND produced a radio show for you?

Mark’s original plan was to have a nice, relaxing trip to Florida, take in some Disney World, collect some sound clips, have a visit, and fly back to Canada. When he found out I was laid up and needed nursing and 24 hour dog service, he never even considered backing out of the trip. Through the whole time he was here, through extreme bitchiness and lack of sleep, he never once complained and always showed a smile and concern.

Cal and Me

Cal and Me

Well, I thanked Mark by taking him out to dinner and inviting him to come back for a more ‘fun’ time when we can walk around and enjoy Disney World together, after all, Disney World is not a place where you want to walk around by yourself!  Thank you Mark, my friend, for being here when I needed a hand (and a maid and a cook) and someone to talk to and feed my horses.

How do you thank your chiropractor for making a house call at no charge, and your blog partner for putting her own physical obstacles aside to travel an hour, one way, to visit?

How do you thank almost total strangers who dropped off ice, delivered bags of fruit, fed your horses, and checked on you when you were alone, unable to walk, with only your dog and your thoughts for company? Without the guys from around the barn I don’t think I would have been able to make it through the first week.

Ernesto and Me

Ernesto and Me

Cal, the stable manager, dropped off bags of fruit and was always ready with a smile and a chat whenever I was able to stand at the door for a few minutes.

I was going through two bags of ice a day and Martine brought me bags every afternoon when he came to the barn to feed his horses. He even came in, refilled my Ice Man, chatted for a while, and made sure I didn’t need other odds and ends from the store.

Vickie fed my horses for the first week and stopped in to see if I was ok or needed anything, and when she left at the end of the first week to run her horses at the racetrack in Virginia, Ernesto took over and fed my horses and cats until Mark arrived.

DadCarolyn

Dad and Carolyn spent almost the entire day of surgery with me at the hospital, delivered me safely to my apartment, and came back later in the week with groceries, home-made chicken soup, and best of all, a chair that would fit in the bathtub. Then they stayed while I had my first post-op shower so I wouldn’t have to face the scary, slippery bath alone for the first time.

My sister texted me off and on every day, and even ‘face-timed’ with me from her work a few times. She also sent me this video to make me laugh when all the antibiotics had my stomach in turmoil…because she loves me….really. And I’m including it because she’s just so darn cute and I love her, too.

My boyfriend hung in there, calling several times a day from California and later from Connecticut, in spite of my moodiness. (Leaping onto a shiny white steed and racing to the rescue of the damsel in distress really only happens in the movies and cartoons) He even answered my calls when he was pretty sure I was going to be a bitch. And many times I was a true bitch. I know it’s no excuse, but forced idleness does not suit my personality. Thanks, Doug, for sticking with me through it all.

Meantime, there were friends from all over who were wishing me well on both WordPress and Facebook. Each and every one of you made my day with every single note.

To all of you I say: THANK YOU!

You can find the original 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)

Of Dogs, Knee Surgery, and Large Horses (Part 5)

Of Dogs, Knee Surgery, and Large Horses, Part 6

My eyes slowly opened and I lay still for a moment wondering why I felt so heavy, then I realized that I had bandages on my knee…oh yes, knee surgery….oh crapp! I fell.

Now fully awake, though a long way from feeling it, I scooted to a sitting position and removed the bubble-wrap ice-pack extension from my knee. Under that was more wrap, and the instructions were to leave that on for 36 hours. Even the wrap felt hot, and I had to go to the bathroom, so I decided to put new ice in the machine on my way back to bed.

I flipped the light switch on, swung my legs over the side of the bed and glared at the crutches, still wary of using them and feeling more than just a little woozy after my traumatic night. I didn’t realize just how ‘woozy’ I was until I tried to stand up and flopped in an uncontrolled ‘whump’ back onto the bed.

OK…now I was frightened in a different way. It was no longer the crutches I feared, it was my own balance. So…I carefully stood again, took up the crutches, and concentrated my way through the apartment to the bathroom. I sat down (do you know how hard it is to sit down when your knee doesn’t bend?) and wondered how to change the ice in the Ice Man.

Gathering my resolve, I crutch-hopped back to the bedroom, stopping at the freezer on the way to pick up the small bag of ice. Once leaning on the side of the bed, I bent over and removed the top from the machine. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but an almost-overflowing reservoir of warm water was not it. Now what? I couldn’t carry it, or drag it over the lip of the door, or pick it up even if I got it there. Back to the kitchen I went for a large, deep plastic or metal bowl and a cup. For the next 10 days the procedure for emptying the Ice Man was to scoop water out of the machine until the bowl was about half full and sit the bowl on the bedside table. I would move to the doorway, pick up the bowl and shift it to table at the end of the sofa, move a few steps into the kitchen area, and move the bowl to the work table, move a few steps and transfer the bowl to the sink, follow the reverse track back to the bedroom, refill the bowl and do the whole thing again.

By the time the third trip was completed, the ice man was back in working order and velcroed to my knee, and I was propped up on pillows in bed I was ready to go back to sleep… and Rally barked at the door. Fortunately, there was a plug between the Ice Man and my knee so I could disconnect it without completely removing it. This was the last time I got up for a bathroom trip without waking her to go out at the same time, and it was the last time I got all the way back to bed without making sure she was back inside first.

Refilling the Ice Man took three round trips the first day, then I remembered the walker Dad had loaned me. It was still sitting at the front door. On my next bathroom trip I made a detour and traded the crutches for the walker. This gave me a lot more stability, and after that first night and the fall I never took another pain pill, but even so I was shaky for another few days as the drugs worked their way out of my system and my muscles grew accustomed to my new mode of mobility. At first it took three trips to get enough water out of the machine, but later I became an expert bowl shifter and I managed to get it done in two trips.

I checked the clock…7:00 am. Is the doctor’s office open that early? No answer. The next time I woke it was 8:30 am so I tried the doctor’s office again. No answer, but this time I listened for the message to end so I could leave a message and discovered that there was an emergency number. Awesome! I left my name, phone number and a brief message about what happened, then went back to sleep.

When I woke later the sun was up and my clock told me it was 9:45 am. Still no message from either the doctor or his emergency number, so I called again. No answer. That’s when I remembered that it was Saturday. Still, someone should be checking the emergency messages. I left another message and spent the rest of the day propped up in bed drifting in and out of sleep and waiting for a return call that never came. I was up and down several times through the day changing water in the Ice Man, pretending to work on my blog, and telling parents, family and boyfriend about my fall, making light of it, and worrying myself sick.

Through this time the Ice Man used more ice than my freezer could produce, so when one of the horse owners I usually chat with knocked on the door to see how I was getting along, I asked if he could bring me some ice later in the day. Fifteen minutes later I had two large bags of ice and he even emptied and refilled the Ice Man for me. Martin continued to check with me each day for the next two weeks to make sure I had ice. I hope he knows how much that meant to me at the time, and how grateful I am to him for his concern.

Another who checked on me several times and brought a bag of bananas, oranges and apples when he heard I was eating cookies for most meals was Cal, the gregarious farm manager. Usually seen in the driver’s seat of truck, tractor or ATV, he always has time to stop in for a chat, normally with a son, nephew or grandson in tow.

Vickie, another boarder and registered TB trainer fed my horses for the first week, after which she followed the racing season to Virginia with her 7 horses. At that time Ernesto, another TB owner, graciously took over the feeding of the horses and, by that time, I was able to take over the feeding of the cats.

Five days after the initial surgery Dad and Carolyn returned with bags of groceries, including a roasted chicken, some microwaveable foods which turned out to be my main source of food for the next week. However, the best gift they brought was a plastic chair that would fit into the bath tub so (with a plastic bag taped around my leg) I could take a shower. What bliss!

Looking back, I don’t think I would have made it without all my friends at the barn.

To Be Continued….

You can find the original 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)

Of Dogs, Knee Surgery, and Large Horses, Part 5

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning and lay there for a moment in the dark wondering where I was and what woke me up. BARK!! I had fallen asleep well before my normal bedtime, and my dog didn’t get her usual early evening constitutional so she was standing at the door. Every few minutes she would give a short, urgent bark. ARGroan!

I tried to roll out of bed to let her out and almost fell on my head. Something was wrapped around my leg! Then the events of the previous day seeped into the mush that filled my head and I remembered the surgery….and the fall. I reached down and felt around my knee to see how big it was and realized that I couldn’t find it under all the wrappings.

For some reason, as I lay there alone in my apartment with my dog barking at the door, this struck me as funny and I was overcome by hysterical laughter. Then, an intense feeling of sadness and abandonment rolled over me in a wave and before you could say ‘post traumatic stress syndrome’ the tears were rolling down my cheeks and I was sobbing as uncontrollably as I had been laughing a moment before. Fortunately, before I could get entrenched too deeply in this frame of mind, the cycle was interrupted by another bark from the direction of the door and a suddenly urgent bladder.

And the reality of my situation thundered in on me. I was afraid to try to get up. I was afraid to use the crutches. And every living creature in the apartment had to pee. Soon.

legphoto 2I’m not sure if it was the drugs or the nerve block, but I was certain that I had very little time to do SOMETHING or I would have to find someplace else to sleep. So….I sat up, got my crutches lined up, and slid my legs off the bed. OK…so far, so good. Then I very carefully bent over and disconnected myself from the now warm ice pump. I stood up on the crutches and swayed back and forth before staggering like a drunken sailor through the house, throwing open the front door and watching Rally trot out, then I turned, waited for equilization of my internal balance bubble, and hitched-slid, hitched-slid, hitched-slid my way to the bathroom. I forgot to move the crutches out of the way when I tried to sit down and nearly spun myself to the floor again, but managed to catch the edge of the door, disengage the crutches and settle onto the toilet. Aaaahhhh!!

legphoto 14I was there for quite a while. Thinking about the trip back to the bedroom. How I would place each crutch for maximum stability. I could turn the lights out on the way, and tuck myself safely back into bed. The ice water was warm now, and I could feel my leg swelling the longer I was more-or-less upright, but I couldn’t think of a solution to that at the moment, so I decided to leave it for the next time I woke up.

Finally, all my decisions made, I worked my way back to the bedroom, swung my legs back into bed, flipped the covers over myself…..and BARK!! Rally wanted in. Sigh….maybe she’ll change her mind, I thought…. BARK!! No, she wasn’t changing her mind. I sat up, swung my legs back out of bed, braced myself for the pressure under my arms and on the heels of my hands (they already felt bruised after only one trip to the bathroom) and staggered back to the door. Naturally, my blind/deaf dog was standing three feet from the door and I had to reach out and touch her with the crutch before she realized the door was open, while at the same time fending off the barn cats who were attempting to sneak into the house. I would have let one or two in to comfort me, but I didn’t think I could bend over to clean out the litter box.

Eventually Rally ended up inside, the cats remained outside, and I was ready to collapse. How do people who use crutches all the time survive it? I wondered as I sat there gathering strength for the trip back to the bedroom. I would like to say that I surged to my feet, took control of those crutches, and marched in a frog-hopping sort of way straight back to bed, but instead the trip was completed in a 100 year old geriatric shuffle, and probably took several minutes.

By the time I had reached the bed I was freezing—except my knee, which was on fire—and I could barely lift my legs far enough over the edge of the bed to be safe.

Too tired and defeated to even cry, I tucked myself in the best I could, huddled under the covers, and slipped again into a mostly drugged sleep.

To Be Continued….

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….

You can find the first and second episodes at:

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

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

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

Great! I was a widow living alone with six cats, a blind and deaf dog, and four horses. The aftermath of the surgery would leave me unable to touch my toe to the ground for almost two weeks. How many favors was I going to have to call in to get all this done? For a minimum of two weeks?

Vickie's Camera 006 (2)I was an active person! I rode horses, walked my dog, wandered around flea markets,  blogged (OK, so I can blog while laid up, but I only sleep about six hours a night because my back hurts if I lay in bed longer than that.) How on earth was I going to make it two whole weeks without moving faster than …….I couldn’t even think of anything slower than what I would be. AND he scheduled the surgery less than two weeks away….ARGH!!

OK….I took a deep breath, at that moment ‘Hitch Hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy’ popped into my head, and I whispered, “Don’t panic….!”

Then I put my thinking hat on (yes I do, too, have one!): boyfriend had just flown to California and from there heading off to Connecticut for three weeks, brother was at sea for two weeks, sister was in South Carolina with too short notice for her to get time off…..I called Dad.

The invitation was from the heart, Dad and my very sweet new step-mother, Carolyn, wanted me to stay with them, but lived on a busy corner and didn’t want my deaf/blind dog (that smells like an old dog) in the house. I wasn’t willing to put the Rally Dog in a kennel because the last time I did she panicked and tried to eat her way out resulting in a broken tooth and twisted jaw.

Thinking hat on again…No one with a farm was willing to take the responsibility for having her because she couldn’t hear, could barely see, and they were afraid she would get stepped on by a horse, or run over. Some had other dogs that were territorial, some lived on busy streets and worked through the day… well, it looked like I would just have to stay home and take care of myself. What’s the big deal? After all, I AM SUPERWOMAN, damn it!

So, the race was on and I made my lists:

  • get big hay bale for field horses (so helpers will not have to take hay to them every day)

  • buy enough feed to last until I can walk (had to guess at this)

  • stock up on dog food

  • stock up on cat food

  • clean my apartment (I know it won’t last, but I really like living in a clean space)

  • set up the computer and printer in the bed

  • box of food in the bed (all the best stuff, cookies, granola bars, water, peanuts)

  • phone charger in the bed

  • (too bad I couldn’t put the toilet in the bed—more about that later)

  • clean the fridge and throw out everything that will go bad

  • buy groceries that I can prepare easily or that are ready-to-eat

  • gas up the car to drive myself to the hospital

  • make arrangements for a pick-up

Wow! So much to do, so little time, but I managed to get it all done, and off to the hospital I went.

Normal procedure is to be at the hospital two hours before surgery for all the prep work, the surgery lasts about 30 minutes, then an hour in recovery and away we go….NOT!

photo 2I was there only a few minutes late and everyone—nurses, doctors, anesthesiologist, and hospital staff—were wonderful. They were all pleasant, efficient and helpful, and I spent the extra time working on my small laptop in between interruptions for divesting street clothes and donning the excuse for a garment you wear for surgery, being stuck and fitted with a port, and meeting with surgeon, anesthesiologist and surgery nurse. Each of them checked my name on the cute bracelet they gave me, asked me which surgery I was having done and where, and what my name was. The doctor even wrote YES! in large letters on my leg just above my left knee. By the time they came with the roller bed to take me to surgery I felt pretty confident that they all knew who I was, how old I was, and that they were doing surgery on my left knee.

Since there was a surgery planned ahead of me, and day surgery started at 9:00, I did end up delayed by about 45 minutes, not too much in the general scheme of things. This actually worked well because Dad and Carolyn arrived to sit with me for a while and take me home after the surgery. I thought they would have been better arriving around 1:00 in the afternoon, but in my heart I have to admit that I was happy to see them both before going into surgery. As soon as they sat down the nurse, (how sadistic!) brought a coffee for Dad, who appeased me somewhat by making faces and telling me how bad it was as he slurpped it up. Eventually the nurse put something in the IV and the transporter came to get me. I barely remember getting rolled out the door.

To Be Continued….

Awards Nominations

May 13, 2013

RaysOfLight

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Just A Baby Monster

May 13, 2013

Monster Kitty was absolutely the most
adorable little thing ever!

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Monster Kitty told me the story this way…
“Da Mousey was diiiiisss biiiigggg!”

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“But I was fast and I gived him a right….”

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“then I gived him a left like dis….”

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“den I made a big ROAR like dis and scaret
dat Mousey away!”

Monster Kitty,
who’s quite witty,
grew up far
outside the city.

Chasing dust motes,
shedding out coats,
shredding scarves,
sleeping in totes.

Mousely terror,
haughty bearer
of sharp claws.
No collar wearer.

A feline talker,
now a stalker,
through the night
a ghostly walker.

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