Chasing Squirrels in an Arm Brace

 I've been safer at home for a year now. I have all the supplies for dozens of crafty projects, and a plethora of Pinterest boards for home projects which probably won't be completed in this life time. I've spoiled the pets, cooked like a demon, and tried to keep up with the laundry. Tried being the important word. Mainly what I've accomplished is gaining 50 pounds and creating a permanent butt indentation in my Lazyboy recliner.

Granted this is not all Covid-19's fault. The year before the wasteland of 2020 I had surgery twice and moved. The moving was what led directly to the second surgery. I dislocated my arm picking up a coffee table and tore a few things. At the time, I put my shoulder back and figured I'd be fine when it quit hurting after a couple days. Unfortunately the day after that at exactly 7:00 am I turned over in my sleep, dislocated my shoulder again, and woke up screaming. My poor husband was rudely awakened and practically levitated straight up out of the bed upon hearing my dulcet tones. I managed to put the shoulder back in place again, and after a short chat with the hubs which involved the words "don't ever do that to me again", I went to the doctor. I was fitted for one of those braces which involves a pillow between my belly and my arm to keep the arm out at exactly the appropriate angle, and was also scheduled for surgery. Yay! I was still wearing a boot on my left leg trying to heal Achilles tendon damage, and now had a contraption on my left arm too. 

Have you ever tried to unpack boxes without the the use of one arm and one leg? I had a stack of boxes in the kitchen which was 8 boxes long, 4 boxes deep, and 4 boxes high. Putting away many things required the use of a step ladder, and every 3rd box included an item which needed to go upstairs. I was fortunate enough to get the help of several friends for an afternoon here and there, but that still left a lot to do. I tried to go slow and steady and get a few boxes done every day. I was severely hampered by the hubs who yelled, " For the love of God go sit down before you break something else!" every time he caught me.

Before I could unpack all the boxes, I got a call putting me on the surgical calendar for the next week. The doctor made the procedure sound simple and scheduled me as an out patient. Wahoo!! No jello, no nasty bouillon, and no one waking me up every hour to take my vitals.This was going to be so much easier than my previous surgery. The morning dawned and I thought I had everything ready to go right up until we turned out of our lane and came upon a massive tree blocking the road. By this point I was a little desperate to get my arm fixed and get the whole drama behind me. I wanted to be fully operational and make those moving boxes history. The doctor's office had also repeatedly warned us that if we were late, the procedure would be rescheduled. There was no way for even two people with fully functioning limbs to move the tree let alone me in my arm brace and my husband. So we made the executive decision to drive over the tree and take our chances. It's an AWD SUV right? Note to readers: Don't ever drive a RAV4 over a tree. It will cost you a couple thousand dollars in damaged plates, each of the plates will arrive for installation separately, and it will take a total of 6 months to finally source them all. 

Surgery went well and before I knew it I was back home in my Lazyboy heavily supervised by my beloved bichon. The Lazyboy was brand new and had only been delivered a few weeks previously. I was looking forward to some quality time with premium leather and HGTV. And I got it. OMG did I get it. By the second day moving hurt so badly that I wouldn't hardly drink anything so I didn't have to get up and go to the bathroom. That and I couldn't pull my pants down or up without help. It was an unwelcome assisted living preview of my old age future. I couldn't sleep at all laying flat so I slept in the chair. Ate in the chair. Watched TV in the chair. I spent 24x7 in the chair except for PT appointments for months. 

By the time my shoulder finally healed enough that I could do anything, I was a desperate woman. I walked dogs, tried to evict all cardboard boxes, arranged decorative items. Anything to get out of the recliner for even a few minutes so I could regain feeling in my butt. I succeeded and life returned to normal for awhile. The recliner and I returned to a more healthy and less dependent relationship.

Then my knee decided to give out again. Once upon a time I participated in a walk to run program and while the mentors meant well, they pushed me until I tore the meniscus in my knee. I had it repaired and my knee worked great again for several years. What I wasn't told at the time of the repair is that now that the meniscus was no longer protecting it, my joint was wearing through the cartilage like a dog with a bully stick. So the doc gave me cortisone shots. After every shot I got a headache and couldn't sleep for a week. It did make the unpacking go a lot faster. I had framed pictures on the walls and all the china washed and packed in special cases by the time the second shot wore off. Then I started getting what the doc called a WD40 shot for my knee. More headaches, I lost hearing in one ear, and had days of stabbing pains in the joint. I retreated back to my recliner and added more bichons for comfort. I had exhausted HGTV by then and moved on to the DIY Network where I watched people try to build Off Grid Homes by themselves. Drooling over the Property Brothers is a good time, but nothing beats watching stoners build mud huts barefoot with limited supplies and tools. Eventually the new shots stopped working and I could feel my knee grind with every step I took. It is odd and excruciating to feel the inner workings of your knee. It also hurts like hell.

Now I'm scheduled to go in for surgery to replace the joint altogether. Guess where I'll be recuperating? That's right! Recliner here I come! Oh beloved butt indention, I'm coming home to you. Of course, because it's my life we're also doing construction on the house and ripping out the kitchen at the same time. I seem to have a strange confluence between joint problems and kitchenware. Since I can't cook, there's no point in cleaning with the daily construction dust, and my ability to get into trouble is limited, I've decided to fulfill a lifelong promise to myself. I'm going to write something every damn day. I am going to focus on being creative and not just functional. I'm going to try to write fiction and see if I can finish a book even if no one ever reads it. 

Part of me says I need to develop some new career skills which don't require much physical movement because I already know I need another shoulder surgery after I get my knee fixed. The recliner and I are going to be tight for many future months if not years. I'd also like to create something instead of only manipulating the creations of others. Most of my work life has been in operational or service capacities and I'm really tired of trying to get everyone else's shit together and moving in the right direction. Not only is it difficult, they rarely appreciate the person who does it. Lastly, I've written a lot of book reviews and told authors what I think they should be doing. I feel like I should take my own advice and try to do what I say instead of only saying it. 

So tune in her for updates, rants, fiction, and whatever else tickles my fancy while I'm recuperating in the recliner. I have a new blog, a new computer, a bad internet connection, and a lot of time on my hands. God help us all.