Brief update with tiny socks

All week, I've been working on my exercises, and yesterday we did some more out and about. After going to Office Depot, the post office, and K-Mart (to replace our fatally leaking coffeepot), I was exhausted, but still took my lovely husband out to dinner. We went to Outback Steakhouse, where we met a very overly-friendly woman. We overheard her and her companion talking about going to a karaoke place, so Bob asked. Nice people, but way, way too familiar. The woman actually gave me a hug before we left, which was exceedingly weird.

I got a new keyboard and mouse yesterday, along with some ink for my printer. The Daliboard wasn't working out for me, it was too difficult to type on. Add to that my mouse decided to work very intermittently and a trip to Office Despot to fax some papers turned into a major shopping trip. This is a standard keyboard and much easier to type with, so maybe I'll actually do more typing now.

I've been working on wee socks for my mom's friend Jill who is having a baby.


Just plain socks, some smaller than others, I want them to fit 3-12 months if possible but I'm no judge of how big baby feet are.



Oh gee, what's that under them?



Ooh! There's a "C" on it! You know what that means!



I actually got it on ebay for $38. Amazing. I've always wanted a Pens sweater, and I really wanted the Winter Classic version so this was a great find for me.

Here's a large white catbelly photo.


In recovery-type stuff, I'm using a single forearm crutch now. It's hard. I get very tired, very easily. I got my papers for work filled out for another month because as of now there is no way I can go back to work the middle of the week. I need a couple more weeks at least, to get my endurance up with this crutch. Two stores and a post office yesterday and I was ready to die by the time we got home. Not good.

My PCP did tell me that she's surprised to see me getting around so well. She thinks I'm doing just great, considering the reports she got on my surgery etc. So this is good news. I suppose. I'm just not very patient with myself about things like healing taking actual amounts of time, and stuff.

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.

Reasons that we fear won't disappear

While I was in the hospital and nursing home, I was sure that I was either going to blog extensively or write a damn book about the whole experience. Now that I'm home, I've put it off and put it off. Today I was wondering if I subliminally want to forget the whole damn thing and that's why I'm having such trouble writing about it.

I'm almost sure part of the reason is the fact that I'm still not comfortable sitting at the desk, or sitting in one place for long, period. I'm also very worried about my impending return to work and if it can happen on the date planned. (May 1) I've given myself a drop-dead date of next Wednesday to make the determination and take the needed action one way or the other.

I DO feel better. I'm getting stronger. My concern is endurance, and taking the bus, and walking downtown. I need to be off the walker and onto a cane before I go back. Sometimes I think that would be okay. Sometimes I can't imagine getting far enough past the pain to do that.

Anyway. On to knitting, and pretty pictures.

The Luna Moth shawl is going well. I think three more pattern repeats and it'll be ginormous enough to satisfy me.







The springtime Hedera socks might be done before summer.



Man. That is one sock that just does NOT look right unless it's on a foot. I'm pretty close to the second heel, I just keep getting sidetracked by things like the computer, and my camera, and other knitting projects.

I'm making anklets for my left foot. HUGE anklets.


It's getting increasingly uncomfortable wearing the cam boot without a sock but none of my socks fit over my foot yet. I figured once my foot goes back to normal-ish I can felt them smaller for normal feet.

Don't you just love white roses?


They look like they're lit from the inside.




I'm also very happy to report that my orchids (that I was certain would die over the winter) have survived, and are producing buds and new leaves. Woo!



I'm pretty impressed that they're doing so well, considering my normal position with houseplants is to keep them alive until they can be put outside.

Bob the Redeemer

I figured if it's good enough for the politicos, it's good enough for me.

(I really need to delve more deeply into those Gimp tutorials...)

We're going to attempt to go out for dinner tonight. First time since I've been home. It might alleviate some of this stir-craziness.

It's raining violets

Lovely spring rain falls outside. It's warm and breezy. It smells good. Like springtime.

I'm so grateful that I got home in time to see my daffodils bloom. I didn't think that would happen, frankly. Yesterday morning when I looked out my back window, one was looking back at me. There's a scattering of the teensy ones blooming in the driveway as well, and some more in the back just opening.

My tiny blue flowers are opening on the side of the house where the hostas are. And there are crocuses in the bed at the top of the driveway. Spring everywhere, and the forsythia twigs I planted last year are the brighest yellow I've ever seen.

I've got so much to write about, but it's still quite uncomfortable to sit in one position for long and I can't find a good way to sit at my desk yet. My leg is skewed off to the side when I sit here, and is painful and stiff after less than a half-hour or so.

I'm working hard on bending my knee. If my knee doesn't bend, I can't drive my car. My leg gets stronger every day, though.

Of course I'm knitting like a fool. I'm making the Luna Moth Shawl from the yarn that was previously the Lovlund sweater. Yes, I frogged that. I didn't like the way that the colors were not going to match up front to back. I think the shawl is a much better option.







I'm also doing Hedera (from Knitty) socks for myself out of this lovely Trekking Handart yarn. I cast on the second one last night so the photos are out of date.




All in all things could be far worse. Although boredom is starting to get the better of me, I'm not up to spinning on the wheel yet (logistical difficulties) and the cats think the spindle is a toy JUST FOR THEM. Of course, Figment tends to take possession of whatever strikes him at the time...



I will try to do a real post over the weekend. I HAVE to post about the Cake Nazi at the hospital, and about Tuesdays, and about my wonderful PT/OT folks at Forbes Road. But we'll be rooting for the Penguins tonight for sure and there may be an actual dinner out of the house in the offing at some point. Woo! I'm not making any promises, is all.

As a terrific clown I know has said, "be safe out there, and keep your stick on the ice". GO PENS!

Idle hands are the devil's etc etc etc

Lest anyone think I was lazy whilst in the hospital and nursing facility, I present the following gallery of completed socks. These are in addition to the Noro socks in the prior post.


Pomatomus, from Knitty. I was on a lot of pain meds when I did these, that may explain the difference in striping from one to the other.



Waving Lace socks, from the Interweave sock book. I call these my easter egg socks because of the color.






Finished the Hundertwalkers, and wore them many times. The other one is in the wash.



Finished the "circus monkeys"




Made Jaywalkers for my mom...




...and Spring Socks for my kids.












I also ripped out Lovlund, the sweater, because I didn't like the way it was coming out. I may restart it, in the round this time, but I may not either. I started a pair of Hedera in a wonderful colorway of greens, blues, and yellows from Trekking's handpainted line, called Brasil. Pictures will be forthcoming on those.

Apologies for the craptastic quality of the photos, literally everything I do these days is a balancing act and I'm just not able to get the angles I need yet. In time, I guess.

Updated- Noro Entrelac Socks

Updated 7/20/2008 to make the instructions make sense. I must have been on drugs when I first wrote up this pattern!

I improvised these socks when I was in the skilled nursing facility, so I thought I'd go on and write up the pattern as best I can. I love the Kureyon Sock and I understand the garishness of the colors doesn't suit everyone, but this pattern should work well even in the more subtle colorways of Kureyon Sock.



You need to be familiar with the general concept of entrelac to make these. If you're not, go here.

stuff you need:
needle-size 1 US (2.25) in the method of your choice-I used DPNs but only
because my magic looper was broken.
1 skein Noro Kureyon sock.
Tapestry needle for the ends etc

Size large (medium, small)

Cast on 72(66,60) stitches in the method of your choice. Divide as evenly as you can over your needles of choice. Do an inch and a half or so of 4x2 ribbing. Decrease over 4 knit rounds to 54 (48,42) stiches. Your needles will need to be set up in multiples of six.
(The reason you need to decrease so dramatically is that entrelac, sitting on the bias, will be much bigger around than stockinette. You're esentially turning your knitting on its side.)
Begin entrelac with six-stitch stockinette triangles. You will make 9 (8,7).

k2, turn
slip 1, p1, turn
slip 1, k2, turn
slip 1, p2, turn
slip 1, k3, turn
slip 1, p3, turn
slip 1, k4, turn
slip 1, p4, turn
slip 1, k5, turn
slip 1, p5, turn
slip 1, k5, turn
Repeat rows 10 and 11.
Work all stitches into triangles in this way.

The rectangles:
Working left to right, with right needle pick up six stitches. Slip one, purl four, purl 2 together using first stitch of first triangle on right needle.
Slip one, knit five, turn.
sl 1, p4, P2tog w/next live stitch, turn.
sl 1, k5

Etc, etc until the entire round has been worked.
Then, work back the other way for the next row.

This time, pick up and knit 6 stitches
sl 1, p5, turn
sl 1, k4, ssk w/ next live stitch
Etc, etc until entire round has been worked.

Continue working rows of entrelac squares in this way.

I did six rounds of entrelac squares. I could have done seven, but wanted to make sure I’d have enough yarn left. I would imagine seven or eight rows for medium or small would work.

Ending Triangles
Pick up 5 stitches and purl across them, left to right. Purl one more stitch from first group of six on right needle, turn.

slip1, k1, turn,

slip1, p2, turn,

slip1, k3, turn,

slip1, p4, turn,

slip1, k5, turn,

slip1, p6, turn,

slip1, k7, K2TOG, turn,

slip1, p7, Sl1, P2, pass slipped stitch over.

(The main thing is if you do an even number of rows, you do your ending triangles starting with the wrong-side row and if it’s an odd number, you start with the right side. It makes sense when you actually do it. I had a few missteps and redos to figure that out. This is just one of those places where experience with entrelac will help-or not, if you're me. I have to rip and redo every time.)

Knit three rounds even. Now, when you've done your other-end triangles, you’ve done an eight-stitch triangle for each space, which SHOULD bring you back up to 72 (66, 60) stitches. If not, work KFB increases here and there over the next three knitted rounds.

Now, do a standard flap-and-gusset heel. Since the yarn is single ply, I highly recommend doing slip-stitch rib on the heel flap for strength. If you need standard heel instructions, I recommend Silver's excellent heel instructions.


Make the foot as long as you need and finish with the toe of your choice. I changed to four DPNs and did the K2TOG at the end of each needle every other round to get the spiral toe, which looks nice. I grafted the toe closed when I had four stitches remaining on each needle, a total of sixteen stitches.

If anyone actually does this, drop me a message, I’d love to see how they come out!

Here's some more pictures.

hooray!

I'm home!

Woo hoo!!!

I'm sure I'll have a long blog post sooner rather than later, but for now I have some serious kitty cuddling to do.

It's been a very long 3+ months.

In my reverie

I've had no internet since February 19th. Today I'm in the hospital with a suspected infection, so yay, wireless. Boo to being in the hospital, but hey, at least I can check my email. I wrote this up the other day, anyhow, and thought I'd go ahead and post it then go on and get some sleep.

How does a technophile like me make it through almost three weeks with no internet?

Lots of knitting.

I’ve been reading and listening to audio books sometimes, but to tell the truth, the vast majority of my time has been spent watching television and knitting. I’m making socks at record pace. I’ve been so disheartened at my lack of connectivity that I’ve scarcely plugged in the laptop. Why bother, it seems to say to me. You can’t read your email. You can’t check your blogs. You can’t read what Kate Harding has to say about the dude on TLC who claims that he can “MAKE YOU THIN” via the magic of cable television. Why bother? You can’t blog about your misery or your small triumphs. So why bother?

Today I decided to bother, partly because there’s nothing on television, partly because I’m afraid of forgetting everything I want to make a note of someday.

I’ve been moved to Forbes Road Nursing and Rehabilitation. It’s the current use for the old Pittsburgh Hospital building, where my mother and her siblings were born, and where I did a summer’s service as a teenaged candy striper. (Strangely enough, Columbia Hospital, less than two miles away, where I was born, is also a nursing facility now). The move happened suddenly and it was not a good transition. I was told in the early afternoon that Tuesday that a spot had opened up and that was it. By 9 that night I was moved. The bed was wrong. The room was hot. The circumstances were terrible. I was despairing when they left me here. I’m only a little better now.

Let me explain about the bed. Due to my size and the fact that I perspire profusely naturally, my skin tends to suffer pressure sores more rapidly than most people’s. Because of that and because of my sciatica, a special bed with an air mattress was ordered for me. This bed is classified as a “bariatric” bed because the primary use is for obese patients who can’t move themselves around so well. Forbes claimed to have such a bed for me. They lied. The bed I was given could have fit three of me, was covered with plastic, and was as hard and unyielding as a gym mat. I spent two agonizing nights on that bed, crying in pain and getting very little sleep between the sweating and the sciatica. It was a bariatric bed all right, but only due to the size of the bed. I have no idea how actual hugely obese people slept on that bed, as it was excruciating for me and I’m more “just” obese rather than the bedbound nursing home obese that you see on television being exploited and shown eating take out food.

By the way, if those people on those shows get food anything like what I’ve been getting here, it’s no wonder they call out for take out at every opportunity. But this isn’t meant to be a critique of discovery network and their exploitation of fat people, it’s meant to be catching up to speed on what all has been going on with me since I had my internet amputated.

The food isn’t always horrible. I’ve had some decent things here. The pot roast is good. The chicken gumbo soup is excellent. And sometimes, we get sherbet. Sherbet is always a treat. But in general, it’s bland, old-people, nursing home food. I’m one of the minority of residents here who are actually aiming towards making a full recovery and going home. As such, I think my dietary needs differ from the geriatric cases that make up most of the beds here. No such consideration is taken, however, so Bob and my mother and Lena bring me fruit, yogurt, snacks both healthy and not, and basically keep me from losing weight at a more frighteningly rapid pace than is already happening. I’ve been here a little over two weeks and I’ve lost about 15 pounds. That should not be happening. Some weight loss is to be expected, but my fear is that I’m not getting adequate nutritional support for the amount of work that the Rehab is putting me through, and for healing as well. I’m sure the attitude is “hooray, the fat lady is losing weight” not “uh oh, the fat lady is weak from hunger because we’re not feeding her enough to recover from her injury and to work through rehab at the same time”. So I guess my family needs to keep bringing me food, because I’m usually ravenous, and not bored-ravenous, not ED-ravenous, but workout-ravenous, healing-ravenous, on the verge of ketosis-ravenous and those are not good things. I’m trying to learn to listen to what my body is telling me about food and eating and nourishing it in the way that it needs and I’m powerless here to do anything to improve my relationship with my hunger. I apologize and tell my body I’m sorry and I’ll get it what it needs as soon as I possibly can if it can just bear with me and keep healing and keep trying to get stronger in spite of inadequate nutrition and very, woefully inadequate sleep.

Back to the bed for more on that. The bed saga has been a vale of tears for the most part and it’s still not good. I’m on an air mattress that does not provide adequate support for my back and tends to make me slide from side to side. I am terrified of falling out of bed at night, as nobody in this facility knows how to keep a sheet on an air mattress. They wake me up several times a night for vitals, for pain pills, or just to say hello. Why me? Don’t they understand I’m here to recover from an injury, not because I’m old and too frail to take care of myself any more? Don’t they understand that healing can’t happen without sleep?

I’m fortunate that I have a private room here. When I checked in, it was out of necessity due to the nosocomial infections I picked up. Earlier this week, I was taken out of isolation but moved to a smaller private room. According to the tests, the nasty bugs are gone. I can’t imagine having a roommate here, though. I need a cold room, music, room to maneuver, and quiet. I don’t like people. I’m not easy to live with. I’d lose my mind with a roommate here. I was told when I checked in that if I opted to stay in a private room if they needed to move me to semi-private, I could stay for an additional fee of ten bucks a day. It hasn’t come up yet, but if it does, we’re going to do it, because my sanity is more important than the money, and I don’t think I’ll be here much longer anyway. I’m hoping for another three weeks to a month and then home. Home. I want to go home. I want my cat, and my stuff, and my email. I want to see my daffodils blooming even if I can’t weed them. I want my own bed, the one that has my husband in it.

Ah well. As aforementioned husband is wont to say, all in good time.

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.

Two forward, one back

Well, I'm still here in the hospital. And they're still telling me they're transferring me. At this point I'll believe it when I see it.

I have two hospital-caused infections. Neither represent a significant threat to my own health or that of visitors with normal immune systems. I had to laugh at the irony of today's "word of the day" being "Nosocomial". (nosocomial means hospital-caused, as in infections or illnesses)

Yesterday they took the external fixator off of my leg. That was my sixth trip to the OR. I now have a big black boot on my leg that gives me a false sense of security because I still can't put any weight on it, and now the pin sites hurt like a mad bastard.

I'm so freaking tired of this.

I'm still working on the pomatomus socks, one is finished and the other is 1/3 of the way down the calf. That's about it for knitting. I blame the meds. It's hard to concentrate on knitting when you're in this much pain or groggy from the oxycodone. I've learned to do sudoku, though, so it's not all a wash.

More later. Too tired now.

10G and beyond

It was some time between two and three AM when I finally arrived on the 10th floor. I remember several people telling me "welcome to 10G!" in cheerful voices, and I think I commented on how friendly everyone was. I was taken down the hall to an empty room and transferred, somewhat painfully, into a bed. Blood was taken, sheets were adjusted, pain meds were given, a bedpan was brought and finally, gratefully used. Since I was scheduled for the first available slot for surgery, I couldn't have anything to drink but more trusty ice chips were brought. Since I've been here, I've learned to appreciate chipped ice more than I thought possible. There's nothing like it when you're in the recovery room, slowly regaining thought and feeling and realizing that a sirocco has blown through your mouth, leaving nothing but a faint residue of camel dung. Ice chips are nothing short of miraculous.

My elder daughter Lena arrived around 3:30 in the morning and sat with me while I faded in and out of consciousness. My leg was bound tight in the temporary cast and all I could feel was a deep, dull, endless ache that was beyond anything I'd ever felt or could even begin to describe. I think they were giving me dilaudid, or maybe morphine, but whatever it was, it only took the slightest razor's edge off the pain. Lena got her little stickers out of her purse and put one on my hand, and one on my injured toe. We talked and she stayed a couple of hours. Then it was time to go to surgery. I called my husband and my mother to let them know I was going in.

In the pre-operating room, I signed forms giving permission for everything from blood transfusions to anesthesia. My surgeon came in to talk to me. His name is Dr. Tarkin, and he's quite the character. He oozes self-confidence, but he was very pragmatic with me at that time. He discussed some of the consequences of the surgery, early arthritis, knee replacement, mobility difficulties younger than usual. He described what he'd be doing, and told me not to worry, that it would all be okay and that I'd be almost as good as new when he was done. We were off to the OR, where they have the most beautiful bright green tiles all over the walls. Being wheeled into that room was like diving headfirst into a vat of seafoam gelatin salad. And that was mostly all I knew for a while.

When I woke up in recovery, I had no idea what had happened, and it took me several hours to find out the full extent. There had been complications, compartment syndrome, and the planned rebuild on my bone could not be done. What had been done was two emergency fasciotomies, deep incisions into the meat of my calf with suction and drainage put in to relieve the pressure. I had no idea that I was within hours of losing my leg, or even my life. I found that out later. I was also the proud recipient of an external fixator or x-fix, a device that kept my leg still and straight so there could be no further damage to the crumbled bone within. Two pins are fixed into my shin bone, and two into my thigh bone. The pins are connected to an apparatus that looks like a capital A. The whole thing is ungainly and awkward, and somewhat hard to look at.

In the following week, I went on to have three more surgeries, the final one on my birthday, nine days after the accident. But I've gone on enough today about pain, and sadness, and worry. 10G became my home, and the staff like my family, with all the quirks and dysfunctions and foibles of any family. The people on 10G, the orthopedic trauma ward, are a unique bunch. They deal with high patient turnover. People aren't usually here as long as they're on medical wards. They deal with severe pain, disfigurement, external fixators, and difficult families. They have, for the most part, great senses of humor and a great deal of compassion for their patients. I've been the recipient of more kindness here than I can describe.

The day after the inital surgery, Bob and my younger daughter Anna were visiting. The burly young folks from Physical Therapy had come by to get me out of bed and into a wheelchair. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Someone brought me lunch, and I tried to eat a little bit of my salad. I was sick to my stomach, and I was fading in and out of consciousness sitting propped up in the wheelchair. I looked over at Anna and she was crying. I asked her why she was crying and she said she wasn't. I began to figure out at that point that things had been more serious than I'd known.

Intermission

So here I am in the hospital, still. Tomorrow will be three weeks since the accident. I'm supposed to get transferred to a skilled nursing facility today and I'm not sure if I'll have internet access there. I plan to continue this saga either way, but I might not be able to post subsequent chapters in a timely fashion.

Believe it or not, I'm still knitting. I finished the neon circus monkeys and the first hundertwalker, cast on for the second hundertwalker, and am about 2/3 of the way through the first of a pair of Pomatomus (from Knitty). Only I couldn't figure out chart B and instead of muddling through and making it work for me, I just gave up and decided to do the foot in stockinette. It's all good. Needless to say, I don't have pictures and am not sure when I'll be able to take or post any.

I've also been trying to do some reading. It's unexpectedly hard to read in the hospital. It may be the pain medication, but I just can't seem to concentrate as well as I'd like. I'm reading Paul Campos' "The Obesity Myth" and it's fascinating. Best of all, my mom was looking at it the other day and she wants to read it when I'm done. I also started Terry Pratchett's "only you can save mankind". It's very good. My mom got me the updated edition of "double yoi", Myron Cope's autobiography, and I've been enjoying that a few essays at a time.

People call and visit. I get cards and emails. I cry sometimes, from pain and depression and from dreaming that I can walk. Or dance. Or that I'm at home. It all seems so impossible sometimes. I'm worried about the pain meds too. Oxycodone is addictive. I try to make sure that I'm actually in pain before I take it but the problem is that if I do that and wait beyond the four hour time point, the pain gets ahead of me and it's hard to get it back under control. This morning's doctor told me that it's okay to just keep taking it, that it's more important to control the pain. My nurse last night (Kurt, who is awesome) actually came in and asked me if I was ready for them, because he saw how distressed I was from waiting on the earlier dosage. I guess there's a whole science of pain management now. I have the feeling I'm going to learn a lot about that.

So I suppose I'm off into the unknown and I'll find out more when I get there. I'll update again as soon as I can.

ER is nothing like you see on television.

Pulling up to the emergency room of the largest and supposedly best hospital in the area should engender a sense of comfort and hope in most sick or broken people. Unfortunately, that was not the case for me. The ride from Forbes to UPMC was mostly uneventful except for my feet dangling off the stretcher. Once the guys got me there, though, it was a slightly different story. Apparently some of the stretchers don't go with some of the vans, and the wheels on the stretcher got hung up on the bumper of the van, nearly dumping me out into the road. One attendant literally screamed for help from anyone passing by and a security guard came over to lend a hand, but I was terrified out of my wits and considering what came later, it's a damn good thing they didn't dump me.

They got me inside without further ado and left me in the hands of UPMC's emergency room. First I was wheeled to a room with four other beds in it. It smelled very strongly of poo. They moved me almost immediately to a non-poo smelling room where NFL network was showing on a television in the corner. I notified the nurse, without much hope, that I needed to use a toilet. She helpfully offered a bedpan but I declined, citing the need to attend to my feminine hygiene product. I bravely waited, hoping that before long I'd be able to avail myself of a normal, porcelain flush toilet. (Little did I know that almost three weeks later, such a luxury would still be unknown to me.) All my statistics and contact info were again taken and then, a flurry of activity led to my being moved to the hall near the poo room. There were a great number of alarms and beeping noises and loudspeaker announcements calling for immediate help and weeping relatives being led away by concerned looking staff. I think someone actually died in the poo room during that time frame. I still hadn't been given anything for pain and it was starting to get ahead of me.

I was sent for x-rays. In the x-ray room, I was contorted 100 different ways to get every possible angle on my legs, hips, back, and so on. They wanted to make sure nothing else was broken, I imagine. It hurt more and more every minute, and hurt more and more each time they made me move or turn or twist. I nearly vomited from the pain but imagining the pain of vomiting added to the fact that I already had to pee proved a very effective deterrent. I was taken back to the poo room, now ominously missing one occupant, but mercifully also missing the smell of poo. Directly across from me was a despondent looking young man with a basin and an expression of angst unseen since the late 90s. He periodically threw up into the basin, moaning. Next to me, thankfully beyond a curtain, was what sounded like an older woman begging someone named Tommy to "make it stop, I want to go home, please make the hurting stop" over and over again.

Around that time, Bob arrived. I was glad to see him but he looked worse than me. One of the greatest things about our relationship is how much we are attuned to each other, but it made it difficult for either of us to comfort the other much. We were both very worried, and with reason. I was sent for a CAT scan next, just of the left leg, the one with the fracture. I was getting really tired of moving from the ER bed to various apparatus. Back to the poo room and a nurse kindly gave me a cup of ice chips to suck on. The vomiting young man was still there, but seemed to be doing less vomiting. The Tommy calling lady was gone. An unreasonably young doctor came in to talk to me. The more he talked, the more worried I became. My fracture was bad, very bad. Plates and pins bad. I would be down for the count for some time, three months at a minimum. My need for a bathroom was still there but I was beginning to understand that I wasn't going to see one for a while, there would be no chance of any weight put on the bad leg. I was being admitted to the hospital and would likely be operated on first thing in the morning. Until then, they'd put my leg in a temporary cast. Another improbably young doctor joined the first and in a haze of pain and plaster and heat, my leg was immobilized. And finally, finally I was given pain medication.

It was a wait for a room, so I told Bob to go home and take care of the dogs and I'd let him know what was going on as soon as I knew. Surgery at first opportunity in the morning was all that was known for sure. Some hours went by, in a dilaudid-induced fog, in great pain, and in unknown and unrealized swelling in my damaged leg. Finally, around 2AM, a room became available and I was taken to 10G.

The story of what happened

So here's the story, or at least the beginning.

Thursday night is my regular bowling league night. I'm a pretty crappy bowler with an average in the high double digits, as sad as that is, but I don't mind. I was in the league to have fun and get out of the house and get around people, and a ladies' bowling league seemed like a fairly non-dangerous way to accomplish that.

On the 17th, I had started off pretty well. I felt like I was bowling well, like I was lined up right and throwing the ball right and that I had a good chance of beating my average by a good amount. The second frame, I bowled and left three pins. I did the usual aiming and calculating to pick up a simple three pin spare and went in for the shot. After I let go of the ball, I lost my footing. I don't know how I lost it, but I was struggling to keep from going over the foul line, and I lost the struggle. In regulation bowling alleys, the lane beyond the foul line is oiled to facilitate the ball's slide. My foot came down in the oiled part of the alley. I struggled to remain upright, but lost that struggle too. As I started to fall, everything slowed down. I heard crunching, popping, felt strange sensations like rubber bands snapping in my leg, and I hit the ground. I made a slight attempt to move, to get up, and started screaming.

I have never felt anything like that in my life. I was almost okay as long as I was still, but any movement was excruciating. Then, even being still wasn't okay. I could feel my leg swelling. I wasn't sure if things were broken, pulled, sprained, strained, or just bruised, but I knew my life was going to be different from then on.

The alley manager called the paramedics and someone brought me something for my head. I managed to call my husband on my cell phone and he assured me he'd be there. So many things were going through my head. The members of my team were sitting with me, trying to comfort me.

The paramedics arrived within ten minutes or so, as did my husband Bob. The paramedics prepared to get me on a backboard while Bob gathered my things and got my coat and bowling bag and my car keys. I was panicked, completely, and could not get hold of my emotions or fear. One of the paramedics came to my side and spoke to me gently, and I felt reassured immediately. I can't explain what was so wonderful about this particular medic, but he had a natural way of calming me and making me believe that everything would be okay. His face was like an angel's face, with skin as smooth and beautiful as a baby's. He helped me stay calm.

They took me to the nearest hospital, Forbes Regional, which was of course not in my HMO's plan. X-rays were done and it was obvious I had a pretty bad fracture. A different ambulance company was called to transport me to UPMC Presbyterian for orthopedic trauma. This ambulance ride was a whole different ball game. More of a van, the stretcher was far too small for me and my legs dangled off the end. Once they got me to the hospital, they nearly dropped me out of the back of the ambulance getting me out. Not a fun experience.

Then, the real fun began, the urban hospital's emergency room.

alive, not kicking

quick version, i had a fall at bowling on the the 17th. my left tibia has a plateau fracture that was repaired on the 24th, after an emergency surgery and a followup to save my leg from compartment syndrome. i'm still in the hospital and in a lot of pain and on a lot of meds. no weight on this leg for three months minimum.

will update again when i can type better. just wanted to post a sort of granny weatherwax "i aten't dead" sort of thing. I'm in UPMC Presbyterian Hospital room g1022 for now.

a friend loaned me his laptop today but it's my first laptop experience. not as easy as it looks.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart

Today is Melissa's birthday. She would have been 44 years old.

I miss her every day. I think about her every day. I try not to spend time regretting the wasted years, regretting that we didn't make better use of the time we had... we did the best we could, just like everyone does.

But I miss her so much. Sometimes it just fills my heart up and there's no room for anything but the hurt.

Anyway, she loved this song. She liked when I played it on the flute, or sang it for her. This is about all I can manage today.

Hotels are superstitious places.

I'm doing computer stuff while listening to "The Shining" audiobook. It's hard to concentrate on the book and what I'm doing at the same time but it's a new thing, I'm just trying it out.

Went to the doctor's office today. No prognosis yet. She ordered tests. But the good news is that the doctor, a new one in the practice, is amazing. I started off by declining to be weighed. The nurse did not give me any problems with it. But when she took my blood pressure it was really high. The doctor was super nice. She listened to me. She agreed with me about my metabolism being screwed. She did not ONCE say or imply that I should lose weight. No patronizing. No talking down. She’s read Heath at Every Size and size acceptance stuff and is very much OK with it. She said she’s watched her family struggle with weight her whole life. I told her I have accepted that I’m famine-proof and she laughed. We discussed my old back injury, my vertigo, my costochondritis. She re-took my blood pressure and it was much lower. She was in the examining room with me for almost half an hour, which is pretty much unprecedented in doctoring these days. She said we'll move forward after the test results come back. She took a lot of notes, and right where I could see them, not surreptitiously at all.

I hope she never changes.

So, tonight is therapy. We'll see how that goes.

Some knitting progress. The Lovlund sweater is moving along nicely. I'm into the sleeves on the back.


It's hard to get a sense of it but I think it's going to be pretty nice.



I'm doing a pair of simple cabled mittens.


Mostly because I can't find my gloves. Now I can't find my lens cap, either. Life is a challenge sometimes.

The yarn may look familiar, because it's from the Pinwheel Sweater of doomy doom, which is now happily ripped out and converted into wonderful usable yarn. I just could not make it work for me, and I'm not sorry about it. I'm also going to make a long pointy stocking cap that matches the gloves.

Started a pair of socks on new year's day. Monkey, from Knitty. Ingenious design, easy to knit.






Pretty stuff. I got the yarn from a swap on Ravelry. It's Spunky Eclectic Super Sock. Another one of those luxury sock yarns that I'd never buy on my own.

It's hard to tell, but there's progress on the Hundertwalkers.

Once I finish these, it's going to be a while before I do socks on size zeros again. Too long.

I also took some photos of some of my favorite christmas presents. I didn't get to photograph my Hines Ward steeler jersey, it's in the wash.

Here's a vase my mom got us.


And a cat she got me.


Lena got me a peruvian quena flute.



You blow like a flute, but through the end, and you have to close off the end with your chin before you blow. It's different, but it sounds very nice.


The kids also got me these drums, more decorative than anything. They look nice against the new wall.


Here's the wall.


It needs something to hang, but what? No idea. The pictures are getting moved around and rearranged and reevaluated.


That's our "wedding wall". It's now in the dining room.

Not much else. I'm in a state of transition and who knows where I'll end up.