Thanks to the I.L.G. we're paying our way

"Labor is prior to, and independent of, capital. Capital is only the fruit of labor, and could never have existed if Labor had not first existed. Labor is superior to capital, and deserves much the higher consideration." --Abraham Lincoln

Happy Labor Day to all my fellow wage-slaves out there. Today will be a mixed bag of sorts because I have no direction and no capability for cohesive thought at the moment to get a thinky post together.

First up, strangely enough, a recipe. I made this yesterday and we proclaimed it good.


Sauteed pork in pesto wine sauce

Approx 1.5 pounds of cubed pork. I used center cut rib chops, boneless, and cubed them.
Two cups of dry white wine (always use wine you'd drink, none of that cooking wine, eww)
Two tablespoons pesto
Olive oil
Frozen asparagus, thawed and cut into one-inch pieces
One cup sliced mushrooms of choice
Fresh garlic to taste
Large sweet onion
Black pepper
Flour for dredging, seasoned with salt and pepper if desired
Half to 3/4 pound of pasta of choice.

On medium-high heat in a deep skillet or wok, sautee onion, mushroom, and garlic cloves in olive oil until browned and tender. While that's cooking, dredge cubed pork in flour.

Remove onion, garlic, and mushrooms from olive oil and put the cubed pork in the pan, adding oil if needed. Cook until brown on both sides. Put the OGM mix back in and stir. Add the wine and bring to a near boil. Add pesto, fresh black pepper to taste, and asparagus. Stir to mix pesto well with sauce and cover, reducing to a simmer while you cook the pasta.

Serve over pasta. You're done! It's good.

I made that yesterday after we came back from Frick Park, where we went with the dogs to enjoy the gorgeous weather, which was perfect for a long walk in the park. I really pushed myself hard, I have not walked on trails since before the accident and parts of these trails were steep and hard going, and some had steps. I made it ok, though. Worn out but OK. My leg wasn't talking to me last night but it's ok today, so we'll have to do that more often.

I took some random pictures, here's some highlights.















We walked up to the corner ice cream shop after and had a cone. It was a nice day.

Dylan (the larger corgi, the one with the V on his head) is having some problems. He's getting older and he's starting to have back trouble in that he's losing control of his back legs sometimes. The vet put him on a course of steroids which seemed to help but just a little. If that doesn't work, options are limited as surgery is horribly expensive and not guaranteed to work IF it's a disc problem. It also might be a disease called Degenerative Myleopathy, corgis are prone to it and it's pretty much incurable and can't really even be treated. It causes paralysis starting from the back legs and is always fatal, but it's painless. Much of the time when you see a corgi using a cart, it's because they have DM. So we'll see what happens and make sure he has the best quality of life we can give him in any case.

We have grasshoppers infesting our lamb's ears plants.


Quite the little colony going there.



In crafting, I have two pair of socks in progress and can only show photos of one.


These are "Angee" from the Cookie A book. They're probably going to be for my mom.

Also spinning the orange Border Leicester from the Waynesburg sheep and fiber thing. This is working out to a nice laceweight two-ply, though I have no idea what I'm going to do with it yet.



It's very creamsicle when spun up.

Maybe a thinky post later in the week. Until then... look for the union label!

Bend but don't break.

My physical therapist tells me to record my progress so I feel a sense of accomplishment and can recognize progress. It's difficult for me not to feel frustrated with my perceived lack of progress sometimes.

So, today my left knee bent 53 degrees. That's an 8 degree improvement in a week.

The therapist (my third and hopefully final) is a very soft-spoken man named Mike, who claims what he says isn't a threat even though it sounds like one. He gained a bit of respect for me once he felt my bicep, though. I think he had the typical "Oh, she's fat, she won't work, she's lazy, it'll be difficult to get her motivated" but hopefully, our discussion of my former weightlifting and the activity level I enjoyed before the accident will nip that in the bud. He promises (not threatens) that he won't forcibly bend my knee as long as he sees progress. Yow.

Anyway, nothing really new in knitting. The Luna Moth shawl is percolating while the weather's warm. (Don't like having a pound of wool in my lap when the temp is over 70) The hedera socks move, slowly. I finished Puffy's anklets. Now I have four socks I can wear on my bad foot. I'm doing wee baby socks from leftover sock yarns for a friend. And I'm doing some practice squares from the Koigu book, "Knits from a Painter's Palette", to learn the modular techniques she uses, also in leftover sock yarn.

I did finish spinning (on the wheel) some yarn I started on the spindle in the nursing home.

(Yes, that's a woot monkey)



I think it's pretty nice, but I'm disappointed that it's not sock yarn. 2 ply sport weight, 365 yards. One ply spun on a spindle while I was in the nursing home, the other ply spun on the wheel after I returned home. Plied on the wheel. I'm pretty rusty on spinning, and it's not easy as I must do one footed for now and in an awkward position, to boot. It'll get better.

Happy weekend with all sorts of things approaching normal, though. We went to the Italian store, Labriola's, where I spent way too much money. We also went to the local Karaoke bar on Saturday. By the time we got home that night, my left leg was no longer speaking to me, but I didn't really care that much.

I only have a couple of days to decide on going back to work after the 30th. I'm not feeling too good about it, frankly. I don't think I'm ready yet, and I really want permission from Dr Tarkin (the orthopedist) before I decide. And I don't see him until the 30th, but the paperwork has to be in before that if I'm not going back. Damned red tape. I'll probably have to make an appointment with my PCP before then to get the papers filled out for additional medical leave. Two more weeks might be enough.

Relearning

My leg has a new geography, inside and out. I explore the new contours of my left knee, as well as I can through the boot and around the bandages. I wonder what the scars will look like. I can feel my muscles object when I try to move them. The pierced places are stigmata, but with pain and resistance instead of blood.

It needs time. The hurt is deep, and it's not just in my knee, it's in my head and in my heart too. The nice people from physical therapy assure me that it will hurt when I bend it. At first, it will be very bad. But it will get better. I fear that pain. I don't have strength for pain. I'm a wimp, I admit it. Stubborn resistance, I'm a fearless expert. Smoking? Quit it. Beat the hell out of it. Never met a substance I couldn't conquer. But pain is something else again.

My hand feels around my knee, nervously. I wonder what has happened in there beyond the injury to the bone. I felt things like rubber bands snapping when I fell. I can't help but wonder what ligaments and tendons I've destroyed, never to find again.

I talk to my knee sometimes. I have to be conscious to speak nicely to it, so that it will understand that I'm not upset with it, I still love it, it's still a welcome and treasured part of my body. My new favorite curse is "BASTARD! Not you." The "not you" part is directed to the nurse, the therapist, myself, my knee. The bastard part is for the pain. Misbegotten unwanted slug of agony burning inside my skin and bones. But it's there because it needs to be there. Can I learn to accept it, to even embrace it, to help it move on? Where does pain go when it dies?

Today, I can move my knee joint about an inch before it hurts enough to make me cry. Yesterday it was half an inch. Maybe tomorrow it'll be two inches. Maybe not. The PT folks aren't here on the weekend, so any progress will be made on my own initiative. I feel weak. I feel afraid. I feel paralyzed. I have to move past that, but I don't know how.

I will have a rich terrain of scars on my left leg when this is all through. Two long incisions from the fasciotomies. An incision from the bone reconstruction. Holes where the pins for the external fixator pierced my thigh and shin bones. Holes where the drains came out of my flesh. I joke that my stocking-modeling days are past, but the truth is I've always been vain about my shapely calves and nice ankles. The left one will be shapely in a whole new way now.

How I wish I knew where to begin. I want my life and movement back. Two more months of contemplation upon the proposal of walking before I can begin again.

Flakes of dead skin fall away from my leg, a fatality from the stretching of the swelled flesh and the dryness of the hospital. A hideous dandruff, I wonder what it will feel like on some distant day when I can get into a shower, or better still, bathtub, again. Showers are still pretty frightening, even with all the security of the hospital staff and the safety bars and such. And of course, the injured leg can't be washed yet.

An aide washed the foot on my injured leg the other night. It was the first time it had been washed since the accident. It was covered in flaky, corroded layers of betadine and dead skin and who knows what else. As she washed the foot, ever so gently and patiently, I nearly cried. I was sorry that someone else had to wash my foot, I still can't reach it, but it felt so nice. Such a simple thing. I will learn to enjoy and appreciate such simple things from now on, I promise. Things like wearing shoes, and being able to walk. Things like standing on two good legs.

The swellings on and just above my knee are rather frightening. I remind myself that they were much worse, not so long ago. It's a small comfort. Tentative touching and probing of the knee yields weird sensations, like warning lights. Fear. I must get past the fear. When I had my second daughter, I read a lot about fear and the connection with pain. Maybe if I understood the processes of what was happening inside my leg, I'd be more willing to face the pain without the fear.

I am trying to allow myself to feel hopeful. So many people wish me well. So much love. I allow that love to move into my knee and my leg bone and the right leg and foot too, mustn't forget that one, it's doing double duty. I don't fear scooting around on one foot. I don't fear falling, I am confident in my balance. I scoff at people who think they should deflate the bed to let me out. My right toe touches the ground and I'm safe, that's all it takes. I must stop fearing the pain. I must take that fearless ferocity that I've bandied about for so many years and put it to this task, to this work, now that it really matters.

And all the while, the geography will change, evolve, and flow into recovery. Or so I can hope. So I can choose to believe.