Chainsaws in Trees and Role Reversal
On Sunday, my dad was high up his extension ladder wielding a chainsaw as he attempted to cut down unruly tree branches. He seems to enjoy tempting fate and the angel of death, because he does this little acrobatic routine quite often. I should also add that his chainsaw doesn't have an automatic switch-off. Can you sense the foreshadowing?
My Dad, propped at an unusual angle, attempted to saw down one of these branches (which was actually quite large for a branch) and did not anticipate the kick-back that would occur. The ladder moved wildly, his foot got caught on the ladder rung, and down he fell, somersaulting backwards off the ladder and onto the ground. The chainsaw ended up 10 feet away from him, still running.
He said he doesn't really remember the fall, only catching his foot and then being on the ground. But a neighbor saw it and it was not pretty.
After having a craniotomy a few years ago for a bleed in his brain resulting from a bad landing with his hang glider, we are all super paranoid and concerned about my dad and his head. It wasn't that long ago that a bad headache, six weeks after the initial injury, landed him in emergency brain surgery. It wasn't that long ago that he had about 30 staples holding his scalp shut. It wasn't that long ago that he was in the ICU and we were all praying the swelling in his brain would go down so he could speak normally again. Yes, he hit his head on Sunday; yes, he also refused to go to the ER to be checked out.
My Mom said he has a huge lump on the back of his head and that she is treating him as if he has a concussion. He says his entire body hurts and he has cuts and bruises in places he didn't know he could have cuts and bruises.
I spent a split second being concerned and upset and then I got mad. This was right about the time my dad asked my Mom for the phone so he could speak to me. My Dad rarely asks to speak to me on the phone.
Dad: "I need to tell you a couple things."
Me: (Bracing for the worst. He's probably upset with me about something.)
Dad: "First of all, I love you. . . very much."
Me: "I'm sensing a 'but'. . . is there one?"
Dad: "Second, you are doing an amazing job with your kids. They are great kids and you are raising them right. I'm really proud of you for that."
Me: "Ok, I'm sensing a major 'BUT' coming."
Dad: "You also did a great job picking a husband."
Me: "Um, ok, where is this going dad?"
Dad: "Finally, when I sent you out to Pitt, you really screwed up the first year. BUT, you turned it around in less than a year! That was impressive and I'm really proud of you that you did that."
Me: "Ok, so Dad, you must have hit your head really hard? Don't you think you need to have it checked out? And why are you telling me all this stuff? Are you afraid that you did hit your head really hard and it's going to end badly?"
Dad: "No, but when something like that happens, you just realize that you don't want to leave this world without saying some of the things that are in your head and you never get around to saying. So, I just wanted to tell you."
Me: "Oh, well thanks."
Dad: "Ok, well I'm going to go now. . . "
Me: "No, Dad wait. I want to tell you some things too. . ."
Dad: "Ok, what?"
Me: "Well first, you're a freaking BLOCKHEAD! If you ever saw me dangling from a ladder like that with a chainsaw, no less, you would tell me I was an idiot. So, I am returning the favor. That was really stupid! If you and I had been driving down a street and saw someone doing that, you would be joining me in calling them an idiot. . . Second, you're going to be 60 years old soon and I think it's high time you realized that you need to call a tree service instead of risking your life! You have two little girls who ADORE you in my house and they would be DEVASTATED if anything happened to you. How would you expect me to explain to them that you are gone because you went climbing a ladder with a chainsaw? I mean seriously! Third, we ALL need you so think about all of us before you do something stupid like that again. . . got it? Oh, and I love you too."
Apparently, the parental role has switched to me. Next week I'm going to yell at him about driving too fast and taking the corners like Mario Andretti. I may also sneak over to the house and hide his chainsaw.
PT Progress and Insurance “Love” Letters
Tomorrow, I will not be surprised one bit if people are calling me Egor, as I drag my useless leg around behind me. I can't recall what movie that creepy, monster dude is from but tomorrow I will become him. I'm half way there already.
Yes, that's right everyone, I had another PT appointment today. I should probably be happy, overjoyed in fact, that I'm moving along as quickly as I am when it comes to progress from appointment to appointment. Today, I went from riding the bike for 10 minutes to 15 minutes. My leg press weights went from 20 lbs. to 40 lbs. And then my PT added all kinds of crazy squat business that made me want to scream out a long and dramatic, "NOOOOOO, PUUUHHHLLEEAAASSSEE, NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
But I didn't. Instead I stood on the squishy rectangle thing, faced the metal beam in front of me and attempted to do squats. They felt awkward and weird and I kept asking the assistant guy if I was doing them correctly. He told me to pretend I was sitting down on a chair, but every time I did that I had to grab the beam in front of me for balance. I joked that he had that balance ball behind me so that if I fell on my butt, it would bounce me back up.
It took a while for me to get through three sets of not-at-all-deep-squats. I figured I had earned my stims and cryo-cuff time, but I was wrong. Next it was circus trick time. They had me stand on a curved piece of foam, barely bigger than my sneaker, while balancing on it on my bad leg and doing one leg squats. Not only were they one leg only squats. I had to hold and count to five when I got to the most bendy point. Two sets of 15 seemed like extreme and unusual torture and it took me a while to get through all of them. When I was finished, it was onto the bike for 15 minutes. When I finally got to ice my leg and hang out on the table again, I was one happy and exhausted girl.
Before leaving, I also got striped. . .
For over a month now, I've had some serious pain on the opposite side of my leg, post surgery. My ortho thinks it's just cranky muscle from the immobilizer, but after weeks of trying to rub it and work on that spot, it is still sore to the touch and it just doesn't seem to be getting better. My PT thinks that it's blood and post-surgery yuckiness in there (he used more technical words than that of course), so he put this pink stripe down my leg and it's supposed to lift the skin up and get that junk moving along.
I guess I'm wearing pants to teach this week.
As we left the PT area today, Lil C asked if we could take the elevator. I usually take the stairs back down to the parking lot, to practice alternating legs and doing so without looking all crazy and out of alignment. But you know, Lil C REALLY wanted to take the elevator, so we did. After an hour and 45 minutes of PT, I can say I earned that one flight elevator ride. Truly, I did.
Here's the leg so far. The incision is healing up nicely now that the dissolvable stitch that decided it didn't want to dissolve has been removed. Yeah, that felt great getting it taken out, just so you know.
But overall, I have to say that this stupid muscle pain and the discomfort that normally comes with a healing incision and bone wound is 1000 times better than the pain I dealt with on a daily basis from that screw working its way back out of my leg. Having it gone is a wonderful thing.
The not-so-wonderful thing was waiting for me in my mailbox when I arrived back home. I'd like to send a great big shout-out to Cigna for the lovely medical statement that arrived at my home today. It says that almost $2500 worth of my surgeon's costs are not being covered by them, despite the fact that they said pre-surgery that my surgeon's costs would be covered, just not the alloderm. This is all despite the fact that I already paid $225 in co-insurance, and $950 for the alloderm that they wouldn't cover because apparently it's not "medically necessary" to give a girl a little cushion when she could simply be kneeling on bone her whole life.
Cigna, if I could kick you in the head, I totally would.
A Visit from my Grammom
Yesterday I was busy cooking lobster macaroni & cheese for our guests who were coming later in the day. Earlier in the day, I had been in the grocery store choosing my cheeses. I needed extra sharp cheddar and started reaching for the yellow block of cheese. Then something inside me stopped my hand and I grabbed the white cheese.
"Grammom always used the white cheese," I thought to myself.
I came home and was busy making several courses. I had my pasta boiling and had just drizzled some olive oil in the water. I placed the cap back on the olive oil that was on my counter several inches from the edge. I went back to shredding my cheese. I had a lot of cheese to shred and I forgot about my pasta that I only wanted to have boil for about six or seven minutes.
The girls were busy upstairs and no one else was in the house with me. No breeze blew through the kitchen, but all of a sudden the cap from the olive oil was hitting the floor far from the counter where the bottle sat. It didn't bounce straight either. It went on an angle and crossed the kitchen to where I was standing. I spun around and all at once, this wave of warmth washed through me.
"You don't want your pasta to be too soft!" I heard in my head. It was my Grammom's voice and suddenly I was surrounded by her. It was like she had walked right into my kitchen and put her arms around me. Instead of getting upset that she's physically gone, I smiled and turned off my pasta.
I know it sounds crazy, but yesterday my Grammom paid me a visit. And because of it, I know she's ok and that she's watching over me. At the very least, she's watching over my macaroni and cheese.
Ke$ha Style Revenge at the Post-Op
I'll admit it. My pet peeves are plenty. But if there is one thing that absolutely drives me insane, it's waiting in a tiny room for a doctor forEVER. Today, my appointment with my ortho surgeon was at 1:45. I was the only person in the waiting room. The office staff was just back from lunch. There was no backlog of patients waiting to be seen. No emergencies busted in before me. And yet there I was, 20 minutes after my scheduled appointment, still waiting for a room.
When I was finally taken back to the room (with both girls in tow), I figured I'd be seen quickly. I figured wrong. At the 35 minute point, post appointment, I decided that if Lil C wanted to sing her heart out I was going to be ok with that. In fact, if Big I wanted to join her and if the two of them wanted to dance around, stomping like elephants, that would be cool too.
At 40 minutes post appointment time, the exam room concert began. Lil C started by standing in the center of the teeny room and clearing her throat. She then broke out in a near perfect version of Katy Perry's "Hot and Cold." When she forgot the rest of the words, she switched to her tried and true, Ke$ha's "Tik Tok." She knows every word to that song; she also knows that brushing your teeth with a bottle of Jack is a bad idea. She has motions to go with each line. At the end of every other line, she threw up some crazy side kick/roundhouse business. It was loud and it was awesome.
I sat on the exam table bopping my head to the beat. I encouraged her to continue singing and louder. Any doctor who's going to make me wait that long should have his office graced with little girl concert. It's called the patient's revenge and it's my right as a human being.
When he finally entered the room about 10 minutes later, Lil C was on her 6th round of "Tik Tok" and she was getting more and more energetic with each round. He walked in the room, and she backed up into the chair, crossed her arms and said, "You took WAY too long." This is the second time she has scolded him; and it is times like this that I swear that kid and I have a mental connection. I think it; she says it.
A few minutes later, as he was consulting my surgical notes, Lil C leaned forward in her chair and said, "Ok, ok, ok, so I have to know something. Can Mommy swim now or what?" Once again, mental connection. What I love about this surgeon is that he totally gets my kid. He turned to me and asked me if this drama was the norm for her. I nodded that it was and he told her that I was going to have to call my plastic surgeon to get the swimming answer for her. She didn't like that one bit.
I also didn't like being told that I have to wait two more weeks to do anything. In addition, I have to start going to physical therapy again next week. Until my flexion is back to normal, I'm not allowed to do any treadmill walking or running. I'm at about 75% of where I should be, but it's the last 25% that is always bite-your-pillow-and-swear-a-lot killer. I need to be going to PT appointments three times a week like I need a hole in the head. I just don't.
Once I'm allowed to exercise again, I have to be careful so as not to get a stress fracture right through my bone thanks to the huge hole the screw being removed left. He said I have a Level 1 PCL sprain still happening. So, no knee extensions, no squats, no breast stroke (Ugh-how does he think I can survive???). Once I can go back to the gym, I'm going to find a good trainer and get this atrophied leg whipped back into shape. The problem is that there are so many limitations.
Here's the good news though. My surgeon had me sit on the table with my legs hanging over the side. He grabbed my left leg, twisted it a bit and held it tight and asked me to pull it back towards the table. This has always caused me a ton of pain. Today, he grabbed the leg and watched my face for the grimace I've had each and every time I'm there. Today, there was nothing. The screw is gone and so is the pain associated with it. I just need some more time to heal. I am starting to believe I will really be better. . . finally.
And that feels almost as good as the Ke$ha revenge.
Today, I am speaking out at Violence Unsilenced. Check it out. There are also some great winning opportunities on The BBM Review. Check them out too!
For Those Who Will Meet Me Soon Enough
Filed under: ACL Hell, BlogHer 2010, Mental Strain for Mama
For the first time ever, I am attending BlogHer in New York City this coming weekend. I bought my ticket as soon as they went on sale and we booked our hotel room quickly too. I was super excited about going, and then life got in the way and I put it on the back burner. My Grammom got sick and passed away. Then this knee business started again. . .
Mr. BBM kept asking me before my surgery on July 20th, if I was excited to go. "No," I told him. I simply couldn't think about or concentrate on anything other than getting through my surgery and recovery. To be honest, I'm nowhere near finished worrying about the recovery part yet. Walking after being in an immobilizer for so many days isn't exactly a piece of cake right now. I'm hoping the only forms of transportation in the hotel and around BlogHer are elevators and escalators. Because otherwise. . . well, you don't want to be behind me going up or down the stairs right now, especially if you're in a hurry. Imagine your 1-year old when they're learning to navigate the stairs. That's me. I also kind of limp and walk funny right now. You would too if you had a hole in your bone.
By the time the conference rolls around this week, I'll be able to stop wrapping my leg up in gauze, but the steri-strips will probably still be there. They're nasty. There's dried blood and pen marks underneath them. It's not exactly the first impression I want to make. I thought about wrapping my obi around my incision. I mean, I am "Black Belt Mama" and all, but somehow I'm thinking that obi's are meant for the dojo, not for blogging conferences. I'm also thinking that keeping it wrapped in gauze to hide the steri-strip excitement is a major fashion faux-pas, and who wants to wear pants in August?
People who might meet me this weekend should also know this. On Friday night, I sat outside for hours and have like five mosquito bites right by my left temple. It's so flattering, and the stupid bug couldn't have sucked the right side of my face where my hair covers. No, definitely go for the side where I always push my hair back behind my ear. Because of the way my body reacts to mosquitos, I'll probably be scabbed and diseased looking by Thursday, so people who are about to meet me are in for some serious fun.
Oh, and thanks to some weekend virus that came to haunt me, I've lost five pounds. Most people would be happy about this, but I believe that the entirety of those five pounds came straight from my atrophied hamstring and quad muscles. In other words, I'm not even symetrical.
In addition and thanks to my whole "have to get through surgery" attitude, I didn't realize that when you attend the conference, that doesn't mean you're signed up for the parties. I am waitlisted on all of them, and at this point, I'm not exactly hopeful that I'll be breaking into any of them. I told Mr. BBM, who is tagging along with me to explore the city while I attend the conference, that we may be having some quiet nights alone while there.
Then again, maybe I'll throw a private "Black Belt Blogger" party. If you can't attend the parties, make your own right? I just need to get out of this mental funk and enter the conference with an open mind. Those who know me in real life probably have a hard time believing I'd have anxiety about entering a conference of 2400 people without really knowing anyone there. But I'll admit, I'm a little bit intimidated.
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