Total Ankle Replacement (Mostly Splat-Free)

 I once was a very fast walker.  And proud of it.

This was my right ankle in November 2016.  The pronounced bulge caused much pain, but only if I walked. Or stood.  The beach was the worst.  I could walk in one direction, with the bad ankle down slope, closest to the water,  The return trip, with the ankle on higher ground was misery.  Cortisone shots temporarily eased the pain for years, but relief time was shorter with each shot.

So I opted for a Total Ankle Replacement.  Unlike knee and hip replacements, ankle replacement is relatively rare.  Google TAR and you get manufacturer and hospital promos.  There was little information from the patient's point of view.  I didn't know what to expect.

The pain after the surgery was not bad, until the nerve block wore off.  This happened literally as Medical Transport was wheeling me out of my hospital room.  The nurse ran to get me an oxycodone.   I was in agony.  The transporters used a Rube Goldberg type contraption, to get me up the spiral staircase to my bed.  I promptly threw up.  The pain, which the doctor said would be about a '7' for three days, was unbearable.  I could not imagine enduring three days of it.  Soon I was dehydrated, writhing and frightened by the pain.  My husband called the night nurse.  Her suggestion was to go to the emergency room.  After all the effort to get me home and up the stairs, returning to the hospital was not an option.  My husband went out and bought 3 big bottles of Pedialyte.  I honestly don't know how I got through that night.

By the next day the pain was bearable.  And within two days I was off everything but Tylenol. The next six weeks were uneventful and painfree. (Though sleeping with a knee high boot with 5 velcro straps was not optimal.)  I read 14 books, watched Netflix and ate all meals in bed (My husband has been a delight.  Our only fight was when I tried to direct him while he changed the bed sheets).  There was no Thanksgiving, no Christmas and no New Years celebrations. I only braved the spiral stairs for doctor's appointments.

Last week the big boot brace came off and I started putting weight on the right foot.  Pain has returned, but I am optimistic.  My one mishap happened when I got uppity, thinking I could wheel myself to the car for my first physical therapy appointment.  In my defense, the walkway was narrow and wet.  A wheel slipped off the edge and I tumbled into the flower bed.  I kept my bad angle up, but the rest of me was caked in mud.

Who Knows Where the Fat Goes?

I lost 40 pounds this year.  "Lost" is a misnomer.   Fat doesn't just disappear.  Some theorize it is follows the Buddhist allegory of the soul as being tea in a teacup.  The teacup may break apart, but the tea still exists. Some think your loss is another's gain.  It sure as hell doesn't go away on a radio flyer red wagon, as Oprah learned the hard way.

I believe that fat exists in two states, solid and gaseous.  You may remove the blubber physically, but it is never far away.  Its vapors lurk, waiting to pounce.  The scientific news about maintaining weight loss is not good.   To stay at your new weight, you have to consume 500 calories less a day, and exercise an hour more than a person who is normally that weight.  Face it, your metabolism has doomed you.

Fat is confident.  Anxiety, Depression or Boredom are its tickets back.  I am facing a confinement that features all three.  Tomorrow I go into the hospital to have a total ankle replacement.  Six to eight weeks of bedrest.  And bonbons.....

Were There But Meds Enough...

  Like most of America, I'm having a rough go of it lately. 

  My husband discovered a suspicious growth on my back last night.  I can't think about that now  because in three weeks my ankle will be replaced.  Unlike my three knee replacements, this is an uncommon surgery.  Oddly, there's not much written by successful patients online.
   It's the aftermath that worries me.  My right foot cannot touch the ground for 6 weeks.  Sadly, I have no balance on my left foot as spinal surgery in the 90's left it atrophied and the bottom of the foot numb. 
  The first hurdle is to reach the second floor as we have no shower or bathtub on the first floor. And though my husband has graciously offered to hose me down on the porch this December and January, I'd rather not.
   His next idea was to drape me around his neck while he scaled the stairs.  Sort of like one of those moving men who strap a refrigerator to their back.  We tried it for one stair and both realized the folly.  
   Did I mention that it is a circular staircase?  My husband looked into temporary stair lifts.  Those for a curved wall start at $7000.  Short of hiring someone in front of Home Depot to carry me upstairs (and don't think we haven't thought about it), I will have to butt-hop my way up.  I have been practicing.  The only problem is once I get to the top stair I will have to pivot and hop with the aforementioned atrophied leg.  We are now looking into freight dollies.
     

Damned Wasps

 

September 18, 2016

Why do wasps ruin all the fun?  Not Muffy and Biff, but those dreaded hornets and yellow jackets that spend September slowly circling me like I'm a slice of juicy melon. They land on me, crawl up my arms, sneak under my shirt sleeves.   My teeth all but chatter as I try to stay still.  ( I may have wasps confused with bears.)  My husband likes to bat at them.  An act of provocation that will end with me stung  six ways from Sunday.
    I should pity the wasps.  They are essentially looking for their coffins.  Over the winter, all but the queen will die.  But I have no empathy as their mortuary is smack in the middle my favorite spot to sit in all the world  And wasps mean summer is over.
    My 50th high school reunion was last weekend.  I didn't go as I was two ferry rides and fifty years away. But the lead-up to the reunion brought lots of memories posted online.  I couldn't get over how many of my classmates were dead, especially the athletic ones.
   I ran into a girl from my freshman college dorm in the Edgartown Stop and Shop.  I wouldn't have recognized her without the Facebook connection.  Unbeknownst to me, she had once dated my husband.  Stranger and stranger, this whorl of memories.
  Later that week I met up with a girl from my Chappy days of horseback riding.  We had a long, lovely afternoon speaking of the past
   All these memories swarmed.
   But the wasps were louder.

Not my first rodeo....

I am no stranger to hurricanes.  I have ridden out many a storm in this very house, an 111-year old Victorian on a small island.  As a child, my fears were allayed by the fact that the diamond pane windows in the house were explicitly made to withstand gale force winds.  I was too naive to realize the large pieces of glass below the diamond panes were not protected.  Thus, when my brother, Vance, suggested I play dolls beneath the 8 foot square picture window during Hurricane Carol, I complied.
Currently, Hurricane Hermine which had headed out to sea decided to change course and thrash us.  We have just lost power.  Nothing makes me edgier than a loss of electricity.  Last night I couldn't sleep for all the noise: windows juddering against their weakened frames, doors trying to break loose.  The wind seems to be coming from all directions at the same time.

The power came back within three hours, which is a downright miracle.  Many was the hurricane that left us without electricity or water (electric pump) for a week.  We had to go to the fire station to retrieve buckets of water.
We are silly enough to think that the endless hours and dollars we spend to keep the house upright will be enough to see her through.  I hope to God it does.

Jitterbugging Down Memory Lane

I have two big brothers. This is the eldest, Vance.  I used to describe him as barbed wire wrapped around cotton candy.  Most would just describe him as cantankerous.  When I was little he sprinkled Tabasco sauce over random jelly beans in my Easter basket.  If he'd sauced them all, it would have been better.  I would have thrown them all away.  This way I was in constant suspense as I picked my way through candy landmine.  He shares a birthday with Hitler, which I've always thought explained a good deal.  He had a tender side but few people other than his wife saw it.

Vance was an Industrial Archaeologist in Pennsylvania.  The man can fix anything and solve just about any problem.  We would not have been able to keep the family house on the Vineyard if not for him.  He is also a wiz with woodwork, building dining room tables, cabinets, cradles, castles and doll houses.
He traveled the world and and sent me gorgeous photographs from which I paint.

But fate has been unkind to Vance.  Nine years ago his short term memory left him.  I don't know if it's from Lyme Disease or Alzheimers'.  He no longer barks commands, but asks for help.  Those of us he once 'supervised' are uneasy.

I spent a few days with him this week.  He still has a sense of humor which, like mine, is fairly mordant.   His long term memory is active.  The two of us spent 8 hours one day going back in time.  Over that span of hours, he repeated one story seventeen times.  His wife later told me the story wasn't true.  Vance now conflates the truth with imagination.

We are more alike than I thought.  I wrote two novels that reflected my family in a comedic vein.   Problem is, I no longer know what is true and what I made up.

Bereft

I am bereft.   No grandchildren to enjoy, no dogs to walk.

One dog, Rosie,  of the Quentin Tarrantino Christmas saga, has been banned from the house.  She is a sweet pit bull that was once a bait dog for fights.  It is small wonder that she has anxieties.  Her parents went to Seattle for nine days.  We were held hostage for the same duration.  If left alone she tried to chew her way out.

 

Last Christmas there was no blood shed, but when we went out to dinner, she tried to tunnel out the front door.  She gave the back door a half-hearted go.  She was more earnest this time.  She passed on the marrow bone in favor of the trim (which was liberally doused with the chewing deterrent, bitter apple)  My husband went to the grocery store and came back to a shredded door frame.  After that, one of us had to be where she could see us.  After six days, I thought she was settled in.  Lots of licks and kisses.  I ventured out.  My board meeting ran long.  She re-attacked the above spot and then started a new hole two feet away.

My other granddog, Sam, used to be a lunatic but age has calmed him.  He still talks or rather grumbles with dispiriting regularity.  But a good dog.

Which brings me to the hardest bit.  My son, his wife and two children (seven weeks and 17 months) and Sam, left for TWO years in Korea today.  

This will be a bold, new adventure. 

Eventually, I will be happy for them.  But not just yet.