splodgenoodles: (Default)
But I'll start by reassuring you that I'm fine.


Saturday night, I stood up from the couch to go to bed, and my left leg (the good one, since back when I broke my bloody leg, and then the other one too as a side effect of bisphosphanate medication (Fosomax) which I had been on for osteoporosis.)

I limped off to bed and felt sorry for myself, but yesterday morning it was just as bad. In fact, even limping was complicated. Once I realised I was thinking about getting friends to haul my wheelchair out of the shed and indoors for me just so I could move around in the kitchen, it occurred to me that I should probably get this checked out as it was clearly not a normal thing to have happen. The fact that I have a wheelchair in the shed does not mean I should not get sudden, acute pain checked out.

So we called an ambulance. First concern was a fracture, second concern was that the intrafemoral nail in that leg had done something weird. On the way, the ambo sitting with me said hopefully it would just be sciatica, although she qualified the "just" as referring only to whether surgery would be needed. But she also did chide me for not calling the night before, when it actually happened, as if it was a fracture, leaving it unattended would only make matters worse.


I'm happy to say it's better than that (no, not being sarcastic): I've pulled or torn a muscle. Explained as a strap muscle in the leg. In other words: ouch, but no permanent damage and/or long term implications.

Still, nasty enough that they gave me the really good painkillers, and kept me in until I could walk again.

But it does mean I'm now recently returned from about 24 hours in hospital. The lovely [personal profile] 17catherines kept me company yesterday, MyGC collected me today. I saw a physio today who was truly ace about the whole CFS thing and will see if she can't get a local Community Health Service physio who understands CFS who can take me as a home visit patient. (This was after a little chat about never having recovered properly on account of moving regions and having CFS and having recently attended a local private physio who really didn't get it).

She also felt it was a good idea to use crutches for a bit, as my bad leg is now my good leg, and is not very happy about it. I am to take things easy for a while.

It feels like a bit of a storm in a teacup now, and really not very exciting now that I've written it down. But while I was in that teacup, it was definitely stormy.
splodgenoodles: (Default)
Cor. It'd be nice to be able to walk properly. Ye olde right leg is being downright obstinate and I'd be damn worried if it wasn't quite thoroughly nailed together.

In better news, the Smashing Pumpkins CD from the opshop is in good condition, and the Nick Cave one is perfectly good so far.
splodgenoodles: (Default)
Yesterday I was panicky, it went up and down and up all afternoon and evening.

So I decided not to sit up and watch Il Giro d'Italia (The Tour of Italy). (For those who came in late, I'm a cycling fan, not a sports nut). I figured that my state of mind was such that the first rear puncture would have me clinging to the ceiling unable to come down for days.

This leaves me with the image of the lovely J, my homecarer, trying to get me down with a broom when she's here next Thursday, but I digress...

It turns out that not watching the cycling last night was a really good move. I just caught up with it, and there was a really nasty crash. Now, cycling is not a blood sport, bad things don't often happen. People fall, collarbones get broken, but that's generally it. But in this nasty crash, one guy (Vicioso) didn't get back up and was obviously Not Okay.

I just read that his femur is fractured in three places.

And my shoulders went up to my ears. They're still there. It seems I'm still not beyond being outrageously triggered and unsettled when it happens to someone else.


(For those who came in late, I fractured my right femur two and half years ago. It was the side effect of a medication I was taking for the side effect of another medication, but it was a thorough break and looked like a road accident. They then also had to operate on the good leg, because it turns out there was a stress fracture there, so although that repair was easy by comparison, technically I've had both legs broken. How's that for drama?).

The surgery is great - I could weight bear on my "good" leg within days, but I still walk with a limp and there are sometimes pain issues.

This guy will be walking within a couple of months, but his career is over and it isn't easy for retired pro-cyclists to find other work. They've usually given this job their all, they haven't usually got much education or other experience behind them, and apart from a few high-flyers, they don't actually make a lot of money. If he's from a relatively poor background (quite possible: cycling is to the European working class what boxing used to be like here - a way for a poor boy to make good) he might not have much to fall back on. And even if he's not, he's going to have to be pretty flexible about finding a new life.
splodgenoodles: (Penelope intro)
My right leg is misbehaving. It's not exactly sore, but feels puffy and like it's not moving right. I *know* that it's all nailed together, and the job was done by experts, but something's not right. It keeps feeling something like how it felt before it broke.

Had shopping today, so not a good day for it.

I think I'm on the couch until further notice. Got my walking stick right next to me, although I don't usually need it at home, got my mobile round my neck in case I need to call for help. :/

Unfortunately, that feeling of how it felt before it broke is a feeling that's hard not to get freaked out by - it's a sensation that brings up a traumatic memory. But common sense tells me it's probably nothing, and the steps I'm taking right now are sensible and adequate. So I'll just sit tight and wait for it to pass.
splodgenoodles: (Sisyphus)
My left leg is not quite right.

(Do your worst!)

This is a lousy time of year to be vaguely worried about things like this.

My left leg isn't the bad leg, it's the one that got done in order to prevent it going, so really it should be fine. (Links for those that came in late).

Gosh. Just reading old posts: my ex-husband was being a real pillock! Glad he's not in my life now, wish I'd been less kind and generous when he was in my life. But was I kind, or just backed into a corner? Hard to say.
splodgenoodles: (manamana)
is curious.

My leg was giving my gyp but the barometric pressure here in Melbourne is presently 1027 hectopascals and has been rising over the last 24 hours anyway, from 1025.2. Menstrual cramps got a whole lot worse all of a sudden too, so I guess this is not a weather prediction. Shame really, it could have been fun.

According to the BOM a large drop would be 7 hectopascals over 24 hours.

Maybe I should make my own barometer. Well, I already have, it's called a fractured femur - but if I made a non-biological one as well, I could calibrate the two without having to go online.
splodgenoodles: (Wonderwoman!)
Back from the eye doctor, feeling good. Everything looks good.

No really, the whole world is shiny.

While the experience after having the first eye done was really interesting, it was also rather badly timed, what with moving house and all, because one better eye didn't really give me a practical advantage. And the sheer novelty and mental adjustment to such a change turned out to be a bit of an energy drain.

But now both eyes match well enough that I've got binocular vision back (almost - my brain just has to catch up a little). And I don't need distance glasses at all. Hardly any pain this time either. And also: no cataract. There is colour and light.

This is bloody good. Am cheerfully staring off into the distance every few seconds, just because I can.

In fact I'm so chipper that not even the really old guy in the lift asking if my 54 year old carer and I were mother and daughter ME BEING THE MUM FML is enough to bring me down just yet. FWIW, I told him it was the other way round. He looked embarrassed enough that then I patted him on the shoulder and said "it's okay, son" (really, I did) to put him at ease and he laughed and said maybe he just needed another drink. Of course what I *should* have said was that we were father and son, I'll save that for the inevitable next time. But anyhoo, I'm feeling chipper and knowing that I must look about bloody 70 is on the backburner until 3AM when I'll start googling facelifts.


Oh and yesterday, while going through the preadmission form with a nurse, she told me that now I have to answer "yes" to the question about whether I have any prostheses. I thought that question referred to leg and arm prostheses, as in the detachable sort that can come off and get waved around at parties. But she said it means anything artificial in your body. So intra-ocular lenses and those femoral nails I got last year when I broke my bloody leg (and then the other one too) must now be noted whenever I'm having anything else done.

AS if I don't scare medical people enough as it is.

Now they'll run away faster than I on my metal pins can catch them.

Which I guess is fine because instead I can zap them with my laser eyes.

I am totally a cyborg.
splodgenoodles: (rickyswallow)
My mood is not great at the moment. I get upset about minor irritations, even while I am feeling the pain of the major problems. I thought getting upset about the little things was what you did when you weren't aware of the overarching reasons for your distress, seems a bit rough that this isn't true.

Right now my body is driving me crazy. Even while the healed/healing fracture doesn't cause a lot pain, my right leg stiff and sore and my entire body has to compensate for its weakness. Large parts of my right leg are numb. Granted this is better than pain but it still feels wrong, like it's not there, or that it belongs to someone else. My left leg - the good one - also has problems that would be significant if they weren't overshadowed by the problems with the right leg. I get swelling and tightness on both sides that's uncomfortable and unfixable.

I cannot roll around freely, bend easily or even flop on the couch without thinking, adjusting and creaking. I have very little sense of what I can and can't do. And when I want to pull into myself emotionally, I have trouble because my body does not feel like it should, and I feel like I am staying in a motel, not my own body.
splodgenoodles: (Penelope intro)
Physio came today.

No sex for 6 weeks!

Not that I was expecting any, but it's nice to have the option.

And then I'll probably get a pamphlet that explains the movement restrictions, which I suppose I can hand to any prospective Mr. Lucky I meet just after I've explained about brittle bones so he knows double check when I start moaning in case he needs to call an ambulance because I have snapped like a twig.

That totally wouldn't give a bloke a complex.

I don't think the above goes on my OKCupid profile.

The 6 week thing is really just because that's when I'm next reviewed by the orthos and we can see what them bones are actually doing. No one expects the orthos to have any knowledge or opinions on that. However,

I can haz sectional intocuss now pls?

will definitely be on the list of questions to ask.


In other news about the leg thing, I need to be a little bit more cautious than I am. As we agreed today, my condition is a bit of a problem because weight bearing stimulates bone turnover which is good, but alendronate-induced brittle bones appear to need to not weight-bear. I am risking further stress fractures if I proceed too quickly. I really need to remember this next time I decide to try one crutch because two is too complicated.

Good News.

Dec. 5th, 2011 03:34 pm
splodgenoodles: (manamana)
Went to my Ortho appointment this morning and not only were we home by 11:30 (there are people around who've had morning appointments and not gotten home until 4 or 5), but also I can now 'weight bear as tolerated' on the right leg.

This is good news. It was a bit of an anti-climax when I got home of course, because it doesn't mean anything immediate - it's just the go ahead for the next stage of slow rehabilitation. (Oh, and this decision was based on the x-rays done two weeks ago, which means if they'd been reviewed while I was an inpatient, like I tried to get them to do, I'd have had an easier time of it all since getting home...but nevermind...).

So I got home feeling chirpy and then felt at a bit of a loss. But I'm okay again now. Mmm. Coffee!

I'll probably be getting a bit more pain as I increase activity, although this had already started happenning over the last few days because I was getting more and more toey about not doing stuff and therefore more inclined to be adventurous and take risks.


One's perspective on adventure changes of course. "Adventurous" meant walking to the clothesline over grass. I don't know if I mentioned that they had an obstacle course in rehab, and the day I found out I was likely to be around for another week I went to physio and asked to have a go on it because I was feeling all grumpy and needed some fun.

It's actually designed for amputees, they have to complete it before going home and it even includes a set of tram steps of the old, steep style, leading up to a tram seat. (Very cute actually).

Apart from the curious little play tram with its steps, you wouldn't notice it was an obstacle course unless you were an amputee or someone like me. It doesn't help that it's called a "mobility garden". It's a series of different path surfaces with a practice drain to negotiate, a bit of train/tram track, and wooden decking. But seriously, when you're in that state it's an OBSTACLE COURSE, no more no less and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Mobility garden my arse.


I just digressed, lost in a reverie of how much fun I had that afternoon on the obstacle course and thinking it might be fun to navigate my way to the clothes line again, or possibly behind the armchair next to me to the stationery shelf...I could take sandwiches....

But now I'm back and I've just had a look at a CD of x-rays, including the one of the fracture before traction and I no longer feel bad about screaming:cut for the squeamish ) Also, not only can you see my knickers, you can see am impressive amount of further detail beyond my knickers to the point that I'm not going to be waving them around.

Not knickers, not x-ray.


Today's reviewing orthopaedic surgeon was the worst one yet in terms of bedside manner, I can only assume he'd had a really shit morning. Plus a personality bypass and humourectomy.

I have come to the conclusion that orthos only come alive in emergency when you're screaming your head off. Then they look right in your eyes and tell you what's happening and what needs to happen and they ask for your trust and you hand it over willingly. They'll use your first name like they've known you all your life. They also pat you a lot in a manner that I, for one, found very reassuring, although it's since been pointed out to me that that's how they check the rest of your bones for breaks as well.

And once it's all over, they're gone. You will see them, they'll turn up to check on your progress, but they'll never look you deep in the eyes again, never run their hands over you with reassuring confidence like they did on that night that was like no other. And now you're Patient Noodles with #rfemur and elastoplast allergy, not Splozza whose jokes are hilarious and religious views are entirely profound.

Strange creatures indeed.
splodgenoodles: (Default)
Am trying to suss out the logistics of getting out on Bazza The Mobility Scooter. Actually, the issue is more about getting back in - I need to get him close enough to the front door and probably sideways in order to reach the lock with my key.

Or possibly I can get the walking frame out there, and transfer into Bazza, but if the walking frame is out there, how can I get back in here where Bazza is waiting for me if I want the walking frame to stay out there which I probably do so that when I get home I can transfer to walking frame, get to door and open it, then get back to Bazza to drive in ans somehow bringing the frame with me?

The frame is way too big and unwieldy to attach to Bazza in any way. Although I could steer Bazza with one hand and pull the walker with the other. (Bazza is facing in, he has to be reversed out). If I could attach the walker to the front of the scooter, front of the walker down because that's where it's wheels are, I'd still need to get down the ramp onto the concrete path. Not enough room on the verandah to transfer. That means a lot of scuttling round - up and down a ramp - with the walker.

Another option is to wait for another two weeks or so (I'm guessing) until I'm on crutches, but that seems awfully boring and "two weeks away" is not the same as "now'.

Leaving the front door propped open would work better - I can open the screen door with Snappy Fred - but I don't fancy my luck in terms of personal and household security at the moment. Well. Actually I do, luck is the same no matter how things are going, it's just that because there's always a bit of risk when you do this sort of thing and if this is the occasion when luck runs out, the fact of me taking risks while I've got the whole broken leg thing happenning could lead to all sorts of problems re-peoples' opinions about my capacity to look after myself.

Solution found! Accept visitor request for knitting session conditional on wheelchair ride! Yay!

The father of a friend of mine recently fractured his hip. He's in his 70's, but the bastard fractured it while downhill skiing so I have zero sympathy. A profound sense of envy, but that's all I'll admit to.
splodgenoodles: (gruntled bears)
Ooh. Chocolate creme bikkies in bed!

But it's okay, I ate the healthy, healthy cheese first. Cheese all gone.

Must inveigle someone into bringing me more cheeese.

I wonder what the staff will think if I do start squeaking into to the patient's lounge at this time of night. That's where the patient's fridge is kept. As well as the other half of my vanilla slice, there's some nice looking camembert in there too, and a few other cheeses in a tupperware container. Unfortunately it's not mine and I'd never be so rude as to steal it.

Awfully tempting though.

I could find out whose it is (which I can because everyone's stuff is labelled) and go wake them to ask. And I could offer them rice crackers and salada to go with the cheese, as payment. And maybe a go with Snappy Fred, my grabstick. If you hold him the right way he looks like Daffy Duck, I'm sure that's bound to impress. But this involves going past the nurse's station twice and this would be done in a wheelchair. On the plus side, I'm down lower when in a wheelchair, so they'll only see the top of my head if they look out the window, on the minus side the wheels do squeak on these floors and they can still see the top of my head anyway. And it's not like they'll think "oh that's only the top of a head, we only need to act when we see a whole one". You might think people might think that way, but no. Turns out that's just me and is the real reason i can't work for a living.

I could try doing it with the walking frame but the sound of me puffing and clattering and swearing would give me away even faster. Mind you, if it did, I would not be chastised because they'd have no idea that I was up to anything because I'd be barely out of the door to my room before they'd hear those distressing noises and swear words and come to my aid with their stupid kindness and professionalism, thinking maybe I'd just fallen out of bed because frankly that would be what it looked like. They would help me gather myself and get back into bed, and probably switch out the light too at my request, the bastards.

Of course if I could go straight to the cheeese owner and open negotiations then it might be easier. They If nothign else, when I'm caught I can say "Bazza said I could have some cheeese, blame him." Bazza might even like to come along for a little feast with my biscuits which would be even handier because then my culprit would be close at hand and I could make my escape while kind hands bundled him back into the safety of his bed before writing something in his file about nocturnal behaviours that will ruin what is left of his life.

I don't know why, but I am assuming that the cheeese owner is male. Can't explain that one at all. Meh. (Getting increasingly unused to women liking food. Our society is going down the plughole people, remind me not to tell you about the conversation about cakes at the coffee shop because it's pertinent but dull and really depressing.)

Damn. Now I have to brush my teeth.

Of course, it now occurs to me that although stealing is rude, Bazza might not like being woken in the night by a stranger and dragged off on a secret mission to eat his own cheese which gets him netted by nurses and libelled for life, even if she does let him pick up his false teeth with her grabstick, so this is suggesting to me that once I'm at the fridge, it would be better to just take the cheeese and leave a note.

And possibly I should leave an equivalent amount of vanilla slice as payment, I'm not the sort to leave others out=of-pocket. I could spoon vanilla slice goo into the spaces within the block of camembert that were formerly occupied by camembert. As well as being thoughtful and a surprise yummy treat for Bazza, it would also hide my teeth marks which means I wouldn't need to leave a note, actually. I could just casually mention it tomorrow, if anyone actually asks.

Which they won't if I can work out a way to get to the fridge without being seen.

I'm going to go to the toilet, brush my teeth, lie down again and think about it.
splodgenoodles: (Penelope intro)
The other reason for going to sleep early when you're in hospital is the absence of convenient late night snackage.

Except for that last wedge of Laughing Cow that I can just reach with Snappy Fred (my grabstick who is getting eyes put on as soon as I get some). But then I'll have to get up and brush my teeth again, which is kind of an effort, curse this silly broken leg. There's also some vanilla slice with my name on it in the patient fridge in the dayroom, but again with the broken leg. Late night snackage in hospital would be much easier without the broken leg problem.

And gosh. I'm having one of those late night moments where you get quite surprised by things that by now should be perfectly normalised. I broke my bloody leg! Fuck!

Yo, World!

Nov. 9th, 2011 10:07 pm
splodgenoodles: (Penelope intro)
Yesterday I managed to get my wheelchair stuck between the toilet doorway edge and the bed. Lots of angles, you see, and not quite enough room for an elegant three-point turn. I have *no idea* how I did it, except that I went backwards and forwards a lot, each time thinking that surely this time or maybe the next I'd be free.

Eventually one of the nurses wandered past and asked me what I was doing and would I like some help. I said yes and she set to sorting out the challenge of a chair locked between a bed and a doorway with too many angles for comfort. She then wanted to know what on earth I had actually done, because she was also having trouble.

She got me out eventually but in my defence, I'd just like to say that wheelchairs are a strange shape, and not at all shaped like wheels. Or chairs.


My isolation period ends tomorrow night.


On the plus side, maybe then they'll clean the bathroom.

Oh and it turns out the colour of RADIOACTIVE PATIENT garb is lavender, not purple.


I think my amiable but shy neighbour(next room with bathroom in between) has warmed to me a bit now - we bonded over our shared love of big drenching thunderstorms while one swept over Melbourne just after dinner. And he totally understood that I had to go out to the Breezeway (main corridor) when they called a code for flooding there, just to have a look, because that's where he'd just been.


And today, for the first time ever, my friend Ricky and I met up in a place that is not her home! She came to see me here, it was an awesome thing. :-D


Have I mentioned I'm not eligible for a box of tissues from the ward? I am considered to have enough family that they can provide tissues for me. It appears to have been quite a deliberately spelled out policy, done as a cost cutting measure. They must save several cents! Dozens maybe! Which is good, because no one thinks twice about the airconditioner running in here with the door wide open, so they'll need those cents for the electricity bill.


Officially exhausted, now to sleep. Tomorrow = big day. Friday = big day. Then I shall crash all weekend and get up and go home on Monday. Monday = big day.


Nov. 3rd, 2011 10:03 pm
splodgenoodles: (Default)
I've had a bit of an upset stomach.

Loud J has been moved. This is after worsening behaviour. Today she simply took to hurling abuse, threatening violence and screaming. Seriously cranky. She's now up the other end of the ward in a single room with a dedicated psych. nurse on hand. Apparently the worsening crankiness might be because she's due for an injection of depo - she's hormomal! And she also got an injection fo something else that she gets once a fortnight that might settle her down soonish. (I get this information from nurses when they're helping me in the bathroom, in case you're wondering).

So this end of the ward has been happy cloud land this afternoon. Everyone's just chilling out and smiling at each other. And the nurses have stopped hiding elsewhere.


But I'm probably being shifted back to the horrible ward tomorrow! Am peeved. Loud J was a bloody nuisance, but that's no problem now and everything else is nice here. Including my new roommate, who's also not happy about me going. Bugger. Have expressed my dismay and am hoping my registrar will change his plans.


Was a little troubled by my reaction to one of the male nurses here...confident, caring touch rather makes my head spin when it's being administered by a rather cute man with a nice sense of humour. (Yes, that means he laughs at my jokes. And makes some of his own.)

Umm. I had to bite down an urge to reciprocate.

But that was last night. Today in one of her cheerier moments Loud Jan yelled some things at the very same chap that were a bit forward and a bit too close to what I'd been thinking, curse her. The magic is now lost.

*le sigh*


Today I blathered to the pastoral care worker about some deeply personal stuff. First good cry I've had in ages.


So. I'll be back when I next have the spoons. Probably the weekend I guess.
splodgenoodles: (Default)
It's a madhouse in here. And not in a good way. I'm not going to describe it because I'd like to pretend I'm not a part of this, and being able to tell you all about the co-tenants would be a bad sign.

Am really hoping for visitors who will bring coffee, very soon. I don't know if this will happen - I hope for real coffee every day from about 12 noon to 3 PM but am usually disappointed and have to make do with a second daily phsyiotherapy session instead. Really not the same.

(No I don't drink coffee from the trolley, that instant stuff goes through my innards like sandpaper and tastes awful).


I'm happy to say my roommate continues sane and amiable. It's the two rooms next door. Loud J is intellectually disabled and LOUD. All the time. Loud, opinionated and demanding of the staff. Worse, she really liked her last neighbour - told her she loved her several times an hour and even made her a bracelet out of coloured string - who was replaced the day before yesterday, and she has taken a loud and obnoxious dislike to her new neighbour. She was making loud compliants about her new neighbour's radio noise (non existent) and strewing of stuff in her way (not true). And then her new neighbour snapped and told her to be quiet. Then to shut up. Then apparently poked at her with her walking stick.


I had thought much of it might have been bullshit although I wouldn't blame any neighbour for telling Loud J to shut up. But in a beautiful example of passive-aggression, the new neighbour did tap on Loud J's window this afternoon, eliciting a howl of outrage. I heard the tap, heard the exclamation of the nurse who saw it.

But to be honest, I think it might just be that the new neighbour really is breaking. Of their many loud discussions with Loud J about the many things that have to be talked about, there's been no mention about being more polite to her neighbour - or less noisy.

I cope because I'm further away and I just keep telling myself that Loud J is a 5 year old and that's that.

Anyhoo. Loud J has now threatened to call the police and has muttered (read: yelled) about how Neighbour is going to be arrested and charged. Or possibly moved to a private room. I guess in Loud J's world, that's a punishment.

I'm not impressed by the staff on this one. I rather think Loud J needs to be accomodated in a single room.

But it really bothers me that I would be really amused if the police did pop in. Entertainment, no?


There's another loud woman called Maria, who has dementia. She's okay mostly, but but sometimes she gets agitated and starts to ask how we all got into her house, or doesn't know where she is and tries to leave. The staff try to explain that she's wrong, and she's in hospital, or remind her she's had an operation and will go home soon but not today. I keep wondering if they'd calm her down better if they simply agreed we were all in her home and thanked her for having us. I was always inclined _not_ to contradict demented patients, but then I wasn't having to try and coax them back into bed or prevent them from running away.

Loud Jan has surprisingly little patience when Maria goes off, and Maria gets more agitated when Loud Jan gets more noisy and angry about things. Occasionally they hurl insults at each other.

And pretty much everyone else does their best to ignore it all. Eyes to the window or the telly, play deaf.

Yeah. Okay I just did what I said I wouldn't do. Life here. That's it.

But hey. I read, I knit, I scribble on paper.
splodgenoodles: (Penelope intro)
I have a head full of thoughts but I'm not going through an eloquent phase. Instead, when I'm active, I'm doodling in my little sketchpad or reading, or chatting to visitors. Occasionally knitting. Not watching telly much, nor surfing web - both too strenuous. Probably sending Davetoo home soon for safe keeping, as I really don't feel the need for him so often that it justifies the risk of losing him to a lightfingered co-tenant, employee or visitor. It's fortunate that the other tools I use to keep sane aren't so valuable: books, pencils, paper, yarn and knitting needles.

Blathery blather. )
splodgenoodles: (Penelope intro)
This afternoon I lay comfortably and safely on my left side. It felt fantastic. I've been sleeping reasonably well but only able to lie on my back or at best prop myself on pillows at an angle.

Tomorrow we're having a go at using the gutter frame to actually walk/shuffle, rather than just transfer to chair or commode.

Eventually kicked up a stink about food: I'd had one too many completely random food selections, nothing of what I've ordered. The person who delivers would look at the slip of paper with my name and my tray contents on it, and confirm that ths was me, then say, well what's written there is what you ordered. Um no. This happenned a couple of times until she then explained that she just delivers and what did I want her to do about it? Being clear about how I did not hold her responsible I said I believed there was a problem...gee maybe with the computer system or something...? and was there anyway to let someone know.

She said I should speak to my nurse who could contact the kitchen. The nurse explained that this part of the hospital is serviced last by the kitchen so we get the meal substitutions. I mentioned Crohn's Disease and by way of example explained that I kept getting brown bread rather than white bread(I sincerely doubt the kitchen run out of bread of any kind myself, I think they're just indifferent), and that I could not eat the weet-bix for breakfast either. She told me that breakfast is in fact prepared on the ward by the PCA, who I think was the same one who had denied all responsibility earlier.

On mention of Crohn's Disease she was more than happy to refer me to the dietician as the dietician does have some clout with the kitchen and might at least be able to ensure that they'll stop ignoring/substituting things randomly.

The dietician arrived yesterday and briefly explained the ongoign problem they have with the kitchen, which is that the kitchen always passes quality audits because the audits are known about in advance. Then it's business as usual.

But today she came back and did a proper assessment. Basically I'll be flagged as having special dietary needs that I can manage myself so long as the kitchen does actually send me what I request from their menu. I will also receive one yoghurt at dinner and one banana at lunch. (Both items are available, but apparently only on the say so of a dietician.)
splodgenoodles: (Queen.)
I got shifted today, now in a different ward.

In a two-bed room, and I've even got a bit of a view of an area that has regular foot traffic. Also, I'm not in the path to the toilet. The current roommate leaves tomorrow, which is actually rather a shame as she seems cool. Likes reading, is on internet a lot. I am right next to the window.

Having things go well was all a bit surreal actually. I'd had a really bad night of insomnia, anxiety and a (quite justifiable) case of the miseries, and I did not start the day feeling optimistic.

So. For the duration, my day consists of two physio sessions. One at 11 and one at 2:30. AFAIK, the rest of the time is my own and I suspect a lot of it will be spent asleep. But at least now I feel a lot less like I'm just floating. I feel like I might just be able to get some sort of routine reestablished.

Oh and the Queen's in town soon, hence the celebratory icon.
splodgenoodles: (Default)
The room now consists of hip fractures. Including me - it turns out the fracture was high up enough in the thigh that it's a hip fracture, not the regular osteoporosis hip fracture but a more stylish and special steroid-induced osteoporosis hip fracture.

I am now the youngest in the room, by far.


When I am feeling useless I need to remind myself that like most people, I find comfort and meaning in helping others. Which means it can't possibly be a bad thing to be in need of help from others.

If you only feel okay when you're the one doing the helping, then you can't possibly have a good opinion of the people you help. In fact, your ulterior motives must be less than charitable.


But seriously. I'm feeling an absence of meaning at the moment.

I suppose I could be delighted - a back to basics time when one does really appreciate the supposedely little things, like how fabulous it is to be able to wipe your own bum and lie on your side. (Both of which I'm working towards.) And the big things. Modern medicine (and the think of the drive behind it- the urge to make these situations as rare and as uncomplicated as possible, how great is that), compassionate nursing care, which is as old as the hills.

Friends and family visiting, looking out for me.

At least once a day the helicopter flies to or from this place on a mission to save people. Okay, now I'm getting melodramatic but that is pretty brilliant. Sometimes it makes me cringe because I know that means something traumatic has happenned somewhere - and right now I'm feeling particularly sensitised to anything involving nasty bodily trauma - but given it does happen, how great that this is the response.

Hey actually, this is pretty awesome. And I haven't even had my oxycontin yet.


It makes you feel small. You are reminded again of the fragility of your situation (and I was aware enough already thanks) and you vascillate between amazement at your good luck in time, place technology and people, and a sense of passivity in the face of those same greater powers. Because you are here because of all the good and the bad that has gone before.


I really must stop purving be more discreet when I'm purving at passing males. Leaning forward to eyeball Anna's sons who are juuuust out of sight but seem to be only a bit younger than me would be really lame. I'd like to though.



splodgenoodles: (Default)

September 2017



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