SO YEAH, I’M BACK HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL

Again.

Last time, I was home for a grand total of 4 – four – days before being sent back to the emergency room.

FOUR. DAYS.

That’s not even enough time to get the musty, closed-up smell out of the house. Poor Happy-dog barely had time to get used to me being home before I had to leave her poor little butt again. (Galen’s too cool for school so doesn’t show a lot of emotion…he thinks, lol – silly kitty.)

They’ve both taken to sitting right at (and, for Galen, sleeping ON) my feet this time around. I think they hope it’ll keep my ass at home finally. I feel bad for them. I mean, sure, they had someone come by every day or three to scoop the litter box, clean up after Happy, feed/water them, and talk to (Happy wouldn’t let them close)/pet (Galen’s a pet-hoe’bag) them, but it’s not the same.

Happy made a point of telling me so.

Loudly.

Ikkle (old) baby girl has NOT left my side FOR ONE MOMENT since I’ve been back.

Ok, so I was discharged late Friday afternoon, got home, VERY VERY SLOWLY did the bare minimum to be moderately comfy, annnnnd sat my exhausted, mentally/emotionally stressed-the-hell-out ass down and CUDDLEED THE FUCK OUT OF MY FURBABIES.

I missed them so, so, SO MUCH.

There may have been some staring blindly at the walls, too.

It took forever Friday for my brain box to shut the hell up enough for me to go to sleep but sometime Saturday early morning, I finally got to sleep AND IT WAS THE BEST SLEEP OF MY LIFE. Never, ever make the mistake of thinking you can get any sort of REST in a hospital.

Then the phone woke me up. Saturday morning.

*sigh*

I swear, anyone who ever spends more than a week in the hospital should be given a day planner and a private secretary to handle all the calls and notes and appointments and paperwork that springs forth immediately thereafter.

Saturday, thought, was one of the worst days of my life, physically speaking. Keep in mind that I had spent most of February and March horizontal in hospital beds NOT wearing/using my prosthetic or real leg. All the progress I’d made with my getting used to the fake leg? Gone. It was almost as though I’d never worn one before. My real leg? It had basically forgotten what that whole “standing” and “walking” thing were all about. Comfortably bearing my body weight? Both legs were all confused by the concept.

I was so sore Saturday when I tried – TRIED – to get up to go to the bathroom I cried. Peeing my pants almost seemed like a viable solution to the Nature Calling problem. Almost. I knew, though, that there was only one non-medical way to resolve the problem and that was to use the LOUDLY SCREAMING muscles, joints, and bones to work out the lactic acid and get my ass going. So, ever so damn slowly, and quite shakily, too, I crutched my way to the potty room. Granted I set up housekeeping on the throne for a bit to recover and overcome the absolute and extreme dread of WALKING BACK, but…BY GOD I DID IT.

Later…ok, much much later, I grabbed my courage by the balls and made myself crutch to the kitchen – OMG, COFFEE – then crutched back. The only other crutching I did on Sat. was back to the bathroom – I’m ballsy but not a pain lover – but still, I did it.

Sunday was a smidgen better, not much I’m sad to say, but almost vaguely tolerable. It was still very, very painful. Today, yeah, still sore and a little shaky (Friday evening at home I was horribly shaky and honestly should not have been up by myself in this house but when you have no one, you gotta do it yourself or you don’t do it at all), but I’m…getting there.

NOTE: If you’ve spent more time horizontal than vertical, expect muscle soreness and weakness, bone soreness, joint soreness, and a general shakiness when you DO get vertical. Also, prosthetics will not feel, act, or work the same because the shape and condition of your limb end will change.

Ouch.

Anyway, so I’m back home, at least for now, and my pets have told me I’m never, ever allowed to leave again. (Don’t tell them but I have an apt tomorrow…which is its own gripe but I won’t bleed your ears with it.)

So – how has YOUR Feb/March been? Better than mine, I hope! The weather has been weird EVERYWHERE so I hope y’all have been safe??? Dry??? Not blown away or snowed in for days on end???

Lemme know how it’s been going in your world!

Love and shaky hugs,

~Mer

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YE OLDE PAYPAL LINK HERE ‘CAUSE, YEAH – all kindness, no matter how big or not, is absolutely and very most sincerely appreciated – SRSLY!

PS: Thank you very much for reading, and for caring – y’all are the best!!!

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THE WORLD HAS GONE NUCKING FUTS, ALSO EGG TOAST AND SOCKETS



No, srsly, it can’t even go fucking nuts right anymore – it’s gotta be nucking futs now! 

Ok, let’s all agree that I can be one of those superbly annoying folks who can see both sides of most issues.  I blame the preponderance of Libra in my charts for this.  But even I, with all my “devil’s advocate” annoyances, cannot see one single reason for any one not in the actual military to possess military-grade “rapid action” firearms. 

I can see victims, or potential victims, of domestic violence or stalking having a decent handgun for literal self-protection.  I can see people, singles, families, whatev, keeping a well-secured, well-protected handgun in the home for protection if that’s what they want to do.  (Personally I’m a proponent of those pressurized spray cans of “25-foot wasp spray”…hella wide range of nasty in-the-face chemicals, too, y’all.)  I can see cops, federal marshals, and actual peacekeepers having appropriate armament so that they CAN keep the peace.

What I cannot see is some deranged generic psychotic shithead with a grudge with red flags dinging all over the place getting their thirsty-for-blood hands on any sort of firearm for any reason, whatsoever.

No.

I can’t see it, I can’t excuse it, I can’t understand it, and I can’t approve it.

Deranged psychopaths need strong, effective mental help, not military-grade firearms.

**bangs head on desk while mourning dead people**

Ok, I’ll shut up with that rant now. 

***deep breath***

Ok, ok, so…subject change… 

Well, I’m now on my third ‘socket’ – the thing that what’s left of my left leg goes down into that connects to the metal “ankle” and “foot”. 

My leg is shrinking/compressing well, not fast enough in my impatient opinion, but it’s slowly getting there. 

Painfully.

This new socket is smaller and shaped slightly different from what I was used to so it’s applying pressure in different places on my poor, beleaguered flesh.  (Remember, after they cut the bone off, the leftover calf muscles were pulled forward, wrapped around the end of the cut bone, then sewn to the flesh in the front?  It’s like a line stitched in a baseball.)  Well, that flesh is now being pounded in new and unusual ways because of how the socket is made.

Yup, it’s painful.

It makes me not want to get up and move around but I have to get up and move around because, 1. I want/need to get up and move around (lol), and 2. if I don’t, I’ll never get used to it.

So I have to hurt myself for my own good…especially if I want wild and crazy things like food, coffee, or the toilet.

This latest socket is also odd – it allows my knee both MORE freedom…and less.

This is not fair, y’all.  Or fun.

But I do have a teeny success story to share, fwiw, even if it’s proof of the “one step forward, two steps back” price of life.  Ok, y’all may know that I love what I call “egg toast” – it’s just plain white bread dunked into beaten eggs (sometimes with a bit of milk/cream added, dash water, herbs as wanted) then fried until golden and crispy.  Frying anything is still very iffy with me what with the balance, stability, and pain issues especially NOW with the new socket, so this time around I decided to try something new – I microwaved those eggy untoasty bastards. 

It worked…for the most part.  Wasn’t at all crispy (hi, microwave) but was “done” and tasted mostly like it was supposed to (Does “golden crispy” have a flavor? Yes, yes it does and no, it wasn’t there), so it counted, mostly.

It’s one of those things that I’m not in a rush to do again but am glad I did it at least once to see how it went, ya know?

Seems to be the basis of my life now…

I’ll wrap up this pointless, meandering mush-blob by saying that it’s a rainy day.  I love rainy days (when I don’t have to get out in it, let it rain!!) when everything seems a bit quieter, a little slower, a lot safer.  Rainy days imply a sort of coziness, kind of like snow days do.  It’s like they let the earth, and us, breathe a bit easier.

So, if you’re having a rainy day, join me in a nice warm cuppa – coffee, tea, whatever you like – and toss me some cookies.  I’m out. Also out of milk, too, but I can pretend, right?

Anyway, thank you so much for your patience with me, your support, your kindness, and your bitty baby spider vids (lookin’ at YOU, our amazing Duckbutt!)!

Love, hugs, patience, and naps if you can get’em,

~Mer

FUNDRAISER LINK STILL LINKING

Not the new socket – no photo of it yet