My deepest apologies for being absent.

Maybe no one has noticed, but I haven't written in a long time.  I have a series of excuses, but I won't go into disgustingly boring detail.  My life has just been a little out of my control.  In anticipation of surgery last Wednesday, December 14, I was working like a wild woman to get caught up at both of my jobs as well as trying to get everything done and prepped for Christmas.  Having surgery in December seemed like an ok idea at the time I scheduled it, but the reality is not so great.  On the other hand, I honestly can't remember the last time I had EVERYTHING ready for Christmas by December 12 (my self-imposed deadline).  HOWEVER, it did make me a little nutso the last month.

The night before my surgery I worked at job #2 until 7 pm trying to finish up loose ends--cut checks, run reports, send emails, you know try to pre-empt those questions and requests that might come up.  It really was all for nothing.  My intention was that no one would 'bother' me for at least 2 weeks.  In fact, I had been quite clear that I was intending to be on pain meds and so asking me questions regarding bookkeeping matters was ill advised.  My REPEATED warnings didn't sink in.  Sad to report, the day AFTER surgery I started receiving texts regarding job #2.  Good grief.  I understand on the one hand, but seriously??? That was not to be outdone by the phone call I received yesterday informing me of yet more 'issues' that this person felt I needed ot take care of.  CAN EVERYONE PLEASE JUST MELLOW OUT AND LET ME HAVE A LITTLE TIME OFF???  Now, don't get me wrong, I'm more than willing to answer questions, but the bookkeeping 'stuff' I specifically asked to not be bothered about for 2 weeks.  That is all I asked, 2 weeks.

So, here I sit, 6 days post-op.  I honestly canNOT remember the last time I stayed inside my house for 6 days.  I don't think I have ever stayed in my house for this long...wait, maybe I have when I was on bedrest with Kirsten.  Ok, but that was 19 years ago, so does that really count??   I got through surgery last week, not without a few little 'issues'. 

First, I decided that I didn't want to have anyone sitting with me behind curtain #1 while I anticipated being drugged and cut and sawed.  Soooo, I told Dean to drop me off at admitting and come back when he heard they were finishing up.  He works down the street from the hospital so it isn't as cold as it sounds.  PLUS, he could log into the hospital's website and watch the surgery schedule board from his office and thus monitor the progress of my surgery.  So, he went in with me to sign in and then headed to work.  I sat and waited.

They checked me in, bagged and labeled my comfy yoga pants and hoodie in exchange for a lovely hospital gown, put the IV in and then pulled the curtain.  I dozed for the next hour, until at one point I woke up and realized the IV line was red, BRIGHT RED.  Hmmmmm, I don't think this is right. I pushed the nurse button.  Soon there was a bit of a buzz behind curtain #1 as they realized the IV line had come undone and my blood had been leaking out into what had become a rather large puddle on the floor.  BRILLIANT.  (Have I mentioned that the last surgery I had resulted in a second emergency surgery due to internal bleeding??  uh huh--that was another interesting stay in the hospital.)  So, we had a little delay getting into the OR that day.  At one point, I do remember waking and hearing sawing and deciding it was better to sleep.  After surgery, the Dr. told me that my foot was worse than he had anticipated.  OUTSTANDING!  Then I asked him if that meant I had a good reason to 'be bitching about the foot pain I had been having?'. This seemed to make everyone laugh and he told me that yes, I DEFINITELY had a reason to bitch.  Whew! I was worried that maybe my Grandpa SK genes had failed me in the "tough it up department", now I had confirmation from the surgeon that my foot had in fact been a mess that definitely required surgical intervention, thus my occasional bitching had been warranted. 

Then the good news.  Because the foot was worse than anticipated I was informed that I could put absolutely NO WEIGHT on my foot for the next several weeks.  Yippee!  This was going to add an entirely new dimension to my 'learning patience' exercise that I had been anticipating in the weeks leading up to surgery.  I had gotten pretty comfortable with the idea of walking in a boot bearing weight on my heel only and felt I could conquer that no problem.  This was something different.  This meant crutches, or HORRORS, a WALKER.

This thing comes with a warning that states: 
Do not use on stairs.

We returned home that night with a walker and crutches.  Let me be the first to say that trying to use either of these devices while balancing on one foot is not an easy task.  Add to that the fact that I have rheumatoid arthritis which has weakened my arms and elbows (oh and let's not forget that I had to go off my RA meds for weeks in anticipation of the surgery), and I was a very annoyed and frustrated patient after the first day.  Oh, and did I mention that the pain meds make me itch UNCONTROLLABLY from head to toe??  That's right, I had told the Dr. this and he told me to just take Benadryl with the pain meds--guess what? Benadryl didn't help. AT.ALL.  By the end of Day 1 Post-Op, I think Dean and the girls were ready to kill me and I was ready to at least severely mutilate anyone in my path I was so miserable.  On Day 2 PO I decided to skip the pain meds.  I will take the pain over the itching ANY.DARN.DAY.  Yesterday, I finally gave up on the crutches and Dean brought home, this wonderful piece of durable medical equipment called a 'knee scooter'.  I NEVER in my life thought I could be excited about such a thing, but the first spin around the bedroom, I was hooked, I will be able to move farther than the bathroom!  Yippee!!

So, here I am Day 6 PO and I am beginning to wonder how I will make it through the next several weeks without going completely nutso.  I guess I am slowly accepting how much I need to learn patience.  And guess what?  When this foot heals, I get to do it all over again.

Good times, good times.