Just a Little Stressed

Friday was the kind of day that just sucks your soul dry and crushes your spirit.

I was anxious all morning about my 1 PM doctor’s appointment. I just had this nagging feeling that my ankle still wasn’t right. Of course anxiety can cause slips of reason and judgment – I had a few close calls with electrical appliances and the stairs until I decided to just be still til 1.

I have to mention here that people who are NOT handicapped but take up all the handicapped parking spots should have their knee caps beaten with a baseball bat. I volunteer to do it. I had to park in the part of the lot that is on a slope and then I had to walk quite a bit out of my way to get around the steep curb. Only ONE of the five cars parked in the handicapped spots had a proper sticker. As I was leaning against the entrance to recover from the shooting pain in my leg two men in their 30s came waltzing out, at quite a healthy clip and proceeded to heave their fat asses into the Escalade parked right where I was standing. As far as I could see their only handicap was being fat lazy fucks with overly active entitlement glands. Our township has one of the lowest crime rates in the county and yet services are being cut due to budget concerns. Imagine the revenue that could be generated if these people would be ticketed. Most of our patrol cars just sit around or float about doing absolutely nothing all day.

The doctor was running late from surgery so I was left in the waiting room with a nice gentleman in his 60s. We talked about how warm it was for October and other small talk. The radio was on and a clip from Bush’s morning statement about the economy was played. My co-waiter chuckled and mumbled “moron” and I laughed and nodded in agreement. I really wanted to leave it there but …

Him: He (Bush) is useless in this crisis.

Me: Seems every time he speaks the market plunges even more.

Him: My 401K lost over 30%

And we went on for a bit about our savings, our jobs and our torn tendons. At some point in the conversation I noticed his cap said McCain/Palin. It didn’t alter my enjoyment of our conversation, it just made me wonder about his very strong criticism of Bush but I was in pain and tired and had no desire to go there.

Him: Things will change in January.

I said nothing.

Him: McCain knows how to put this country back into the hands it belongs in

Me: I thought you were critical of the Republicans?

Him: No – just Bush.

Me: But McCain is Bush to me, he has voted with Bush 95% of the time. I think McCain is smarter than W and certainly braver given his military service but that’s where the differences stop.

Him: I see you listen to the Clinton News Network

Yet another point where I really wanted the conversation to end. CNN hasn’t been called that in so long. I have gone from thinking this man is worth having an intelligent discussion with to wanting to scream.

I say nothing.

Him: I assume you’re voting for Obama.

Me: I am.

Him: And you like Biden?

Me: He wasn’t my first choice but yes, I have a great deal of respect for him.

Him: That’s good; Obama will be whacked within 3 months if he gets the White House.

First of all –whacked!? Really? Old nerdy looking men wearing socks with their Bermuda shorts really shouldn’t think they’re part of the Sopranos cast.

And it was enough. My stomach turned at his smirk and his look of contempt.

I have said a lot of negative things about McCain and Palin BUT I would NEVER relish their death. Actually there are many times when I have a moment’s sadness at how far from dignified McCain has gone. And I had a momentary human feeling for Palin when she asked Biden “can I call you Joe?” – of course I then felt silly when I saw how she used his name.

I just got (struggled) up and walked to the other side of the room.

Here is where I was going to include some video and links to the political and human insanity of the past few days but this is getting long and I’m getting upset and tired again.

My cast came off only to be replaced by a heavier, stronger, tighter cast. It appears that my knee and ankle are engaged in a game of “counter rotation” and so the more I move about the more the knee causes the ankle to re-injure and re-injure. At least I’m consistent.

I will need to see a knee guy
We’ll need to talk about surgery
I will probably need some form of ankle brace for a long time to come

Blah-Blah-Blah

Enough for now.

I am struggling to be upbeat. I had job interviews scheduled to help offset the fact that every single project I had on the books has been put on hold since the last 700 point dip.

The $475,000 AIG execs spent at the spa could fix most of my troubles. And I’d even use a good part of it to help other people.

Enough for now.

My Saturday did get off to a fantastic start!! My phone rang at 2:37 this morning (they knew I was awake since I had just commented on their “drunken whore” photos) and I was greeted with giggles and outrageous fabulosity from the traveling wonder show that is TT, ETK and CHEEKYMONKEY. Cheeky doesn’t even know me but that in no way deterred her from taking part in our full blown cussing, sharing, how inappropriate can we be conference call.

Thank you Ladies!! And I do mean Ladies – for being the fabulous funny fantastic femmes that you are.

Party On! And Keep Me in the Purse!

So far today I have dissolved into tears 7 times, I had a screaming match with my son over having to ask for every single little fucking thing and I have thrown a coffee mug across a room.

I’m just a tad stressed.

I’ll bounce back, always do.

Finola will be back. I just am not in the mood for her this week.

Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

Finola will be back next week with all her words.

The MRI and X-Rays came in and when the Dr. called and said come in NOW! I kinda had a feeling the news wouldn't be good. Actually the pain had been steadily increasing so I was prepared. Where there's pain there's fire.

Turns out the tendon damage is far more extensive than the Dr. assumed based on my mobility. I have "a tolerance for pain worthy of a linebacker". So says the Doc. Truth is something has hurt my entire life so well - it's all relative.

I have a cast on now. In purple!! Photos to follow once I figure out how to get downstairs. The Doc hopes that compression of the tendons will form enough scar tissue to fuse them together and get rid of the swiss cheese that is my ankle.

Since the cast is on my good leg, the leg that compensates for the scoliosis, getting around is a freakin' trip. I still have the outer boot to protect the cast and it allows me to drag my leg around. The problem is I'm leading with and depending on the side of my body that has more troubles than the Bush administration.

BUT ... I am nothing if not inventive. In less than 24 hours I have figured out how to get to a standing position by rocking back and forth and then propelling myself upward. I'll need to paint the house when this is all over but for now walls are my friend. If I lean against them and wiggle my ass while shuffling my foot I can create forward motion. Stairs are still impossible. I have mastered the one step down into the kitchen - coffee called to me - by hanging onto the door frame and doing a bungee jump maneuver.

Siren is happy to see the boot is still around but he doesn't know what to make of the hard purple shell hiding my leg. Mia is freaked out by the sight of me sliding and clumping, sliding and clumping. Since she's deaf I know it's not the sound of me. It is the sight of me.

Today I hope to come up with a better way of transporting objects. With a cane in one hand and the other arm flapping in the breeze for balance it's a bit difficult to carry much. Covered containers are helpful. It's also good to set things down on the floor and just push them along with the better foot.

I've always been an empathetic person so it's not a total revelation to me but I now KNOW rather than just know the challenges faced by people with physical limitations. When I left the Dr's. office I had to walk -uh - shuffle/clump/drag - about half a block out of my way so that I could go down a ramp instead of step/fall down the one step that was keeping me from my car.

Getting out of the car and up the 2 steps into my house required at least 250 expletives.

My laptop is my new best friend so I'll be visiting all your Wordzzles and I'm sure I'll have more stories to share as I shuffle my way through the days ahead.

For those of you trying to picture what my Friday was like ...

I Got Da Boot!

I debated between doing my second Sky Watch and sharing a bit of my charmed life.

I opted for sharing.

My slightly swollen, hurts a bit ankle turned out to be a tibial tendon tear. Posterior tibial for those who are all medical like.

Tibial Tendon Tear Toots!

I will admit to a bit of self-pity. The ankle twisted because my poor left side takes a beating when my back is out. Because of the scoliosis (spine curve) I have a screwed up center. If I was on ‘Dancing With the Stars’ they’d be talking about my core of gravity handicap.

I have scoliosis because I was raised by wolves. Neglectful parents who ignored all letters and calls from several doctors. It almost ended up in Family Court but this was the 50s and child neglect was usually swept back behind closed doors.

Scoliosis is 100% treatable in the first 10 years of your life. The success rate plunges from then on. By the time I was 20 and capable of attempting to do something on my own the success rate of the surgery was less than 5% and required 12 to 18 months of recovery and therapy and movement restrictions. I was alone with a 3 year old – not a risk I could afford to take – certainly not at those odds.

This always comes up and smacks me in the face each time I see a new Dr. Inevitably the question “why wasn’t this taken care of?” is asked. Then we go through all the things that are happening because a severe spine curvature kinda messes with your body. It makes me quiet for a spell, usually brings out some old anger issues and then makes me cry.

Need a cart for all that baggage?

I had to wait 3 hours for the Docs office to finally get my insurance company to certify the MRI. It had to be done right then since the world pretty much stops for Labor Day Weekend and the Imaging place takes days to give you an appointment.

So while I waited I entertained the troops. The office staff is wonderful. There was a lovely older lady getting therapy for her new hip and a young guy who messed himself up playing basketball.

We played – “How did Di get injured?”

My two most popular scenarios were:

While indoctrinating Vin Diesel into the Mile High Club I lost my footing on the bathroom wall. If you’d like to see why I was wasting my valuable air time on Vin check out what TAMMY posted.

and

I was on the back of George Clooney’s motorcycle being chased by the paparazzi through the streets of some Italian village. As is always the case when George is near me he lost control.

I thought you all might like a peek at the new fall shoe fashions:


I do have an onsite therapist. Here he is at work:



And here he is leaving since the insurance company limits therapy sessions. Look how I managed to color coordinate my big ass boot to Siren’s highlights.


Please feel free to make up your own “How Di got injured” scenario. It is far more entertaining than rifling through my baggage.

Everyday Kindness: Happy News and Unclaimed Baggage

Well – it’s Everyday Kindness Sunday on Monday. Work and storms and power outages took time away from me, not to mention losing an hour of sleep. But hell – “time is only linear for referees and engineers” says Craig Ferguson. If you want a great read get his book – “Between the Bridge and the River”.

So:

Mia is doing so much better. The meds are working; her sneezing turned to a little wheezing and now I can actually hear her purr, and her eyes are getting clearer every day. She met Siren twice, through a screen door, and it was mostly staring and being a big bully on his part and lots of hissing and growling on her part – whichever cat is hissing is the one who is feeling vulnerable so that’s going to need some work. And she is eating!! Woo-Hoo! Fatter and stronger = the better to deal with Siren.

Remember “walking woman” and “creepy guy walking his dogs”? She’s the lovely lady who is struggling to get healthier by walking around the neighborhood each evening and he’s the gentleman who really isn’t so creepy once you stop and talk to him/his dogs. He used to make “walking woman” nervous and she avoided him, then she decided to say Hi and befriend the dogs.

Well! – Last night I stopped at the diner on my way home from giant-ass retail store job and … as I waited for my tuna melt to go … what do I see? …

“Walking woman” and “creepy guy” at a booth, having coffee and pie, and laughing up a storm! I know! Budding romance perhaps? Certainly a lovely friendship. She looked positively radiant and he looked 10 years younger. I hid behind the cake display (fitting) – I really didn’t want to interrupt what looked like a delicious moment.

Bobbie turned me on to this interesting and worthwhile site. Please take a moment to check it out.
Every Human Has Rights

Originally this next saga was going to be Monday’s post. It was to be titled “I Think I Did it for Myself”. I would love to know what everyone/anyone thinks.

I started back to work at my sometimes second job – I’m a sales associate for a pretty good quality albeit snooty brand in a very large retail store. I originally took the job thinking I could work enough hours to make a bit of extra money and qualify for health insurance – my self-employed insurance premiums have reached $800 a month for not so good coverage. In November, on Black Friday (poetic ain’t it), I ended up in the ER being told stuff like “cat scratch fever”, “blood clot that goes to your heart and kills you” and my favorite – “didn’t this look dangerous to you!”

Siren had bitten me, as he has a million times before, a few days earlier. I cleaned the bite site and went about my merry way. How this turned into my leg becoming purple and swelling to elephant like proportions no one can explain to me. I think I may be allergic to the filthy, unnatural fibers of the store’s carpeting. I was treated for a severe systemic infection and took some medical leave from the store. The infection kept coming back, the leg kept swelling back up and I was catapulted into a miserable cycle of doctors and tests. To keep my wits sharp the insurance ass-hats (homage to REH and his union guy) put me through daily phone calls and tons of chain letters all designed to make me want to die as soon as I pay the next premium. It seems I don’t get it – I’m supposed to pay for health insurance but I am not supposed to use health insurance.

I have Scoliosis
– I almost wrote suffer from scoliosis but that’s a momentary feeling. All through my childhood and early teens I took the curve of my back, the one hip higher than the other and the frequent pain as just one more sign that I was different – freakishly different. Children can be incredibly cruel and I heard all the hunchback jokes their lovely little minds could invent.

When I was 17 I discovered that my problem could have easily been corrected had my parents been parents and not the insane wolves I had come to accept. At 17 the surgery would be daunting and most likely not successful. I found a physical therapist who taught me exercises that helped strengthen and lengthen and I coped. Coping has always been my thing. I cope real good until I don’t. Then I am a spectacular pile of old issues, unclaimed baggage – fueled by rage and grief and trauma. Yes – I have a therapist.

Fast forward to last Monday at the big-ass retail store. I’m cleaning up the clearance shoe aisle when I hear – “Oh and that one is back, what was wrong with her?” – I recognize the voice as the troll who works the register at the adjoining department. I can’t see her, she can’t see me and I have no idea who she’s talking to. I tell myself not to be paranoid. “… and she’s working limited shifts, nice!” – “wish I could get special treatment” – “have you seen that hump on her back, and the way she walks” – “by the end of the day she looks like hell” – “if you’re that disabled don’t get a job like this” – “just expects special treatment” – and on and on and on.

I stopped hearing at some point. My face became hot (and it wasn’t a hot flash), my head was spinning and all I could hear was static noise. Thankfully a customer spoke to me and I re-entered current space and time. Hearing my voice made the troll shut up.

I spent the rest of that day going back and forth – capable, calm adult to heartbroken, confused child. The most disconcerting emotion was the rage just waiting to boil over. Vivid images of picking up the troll (she’s about 4’9”) and launching her ugly gray haired head through the plate glass door danced in my mind.

In the break room I apparently looked so miserable that a co-worker asked what had happened. I told her and was immediately sorry I had. “We’re going to HR right now” – “OK, then we’ll tell ** (my manager)” – “she’s a horrible person and someone needs to get rid of her”.

And there it was – I was the top item on someone else’s agenda. Again. Still. It was never about me, it was always how I could fix it for someone else. The eldest child who spent her entire childhood trying to be worthy and to care for her brothers and sister came back. She collided full on with the angry teen who almost killed the abusive father and I could barely breathe.

Isn’t therapy designed to get rid of this crap? Yes – I know - there is work to be done.

This insanity spilled into the next shift. Co-worker one, in her all about her concern, told two people and they told two people … When I arrived at my department the troll looked like she wanted to disappear into the carpet. “Hostile workplace” – “harassment” – “fair treatment of the disabled” intermingled with “we’ll finally get that bitch” – “my daughter wants her job” – “I’ve always hated her”.

HR gets wind of the hoopla. Funny – when you actually go to HR and openly, clearly ask for something they never react. Apparently the pathetic rumor mill is the way to get things done. They ask me what happened. They tell me they’re there for me. I sit in the office and overhear “corporate will love this” – “…hire someone at half the rate” – “one less senior”.

Look at how important I am in the larger scheme of things! Oh My – the power I posses.

I tap on the door and ask them why I’m still here. Nothing happened, I don’t know what the hell is going on and I have no issues – no agenda – put the forms away, set the hot line phone down. The confused, disappointed looks on their faces gave me my first good laugh in days.

The troll was in my direct line of vision all the long walk back to my department. As I got closer the fear on her face was so clear it was sad. All the wind out of her sails, all the concern about losing the job she’s had for 20 years was etched there and almost made the cruel bitch human. My intention was to just pass her by. The store’s collective attention span is that of a gnat and this would all soon be replaced by which department manager is screwing which girl in receiving.

“I guess you feel good now that I’m getting fired”.

Calm, kind adult and rage crazed teen join hands. “No, you’re not getting fired. I didn’t say a god damned thing to them, they care less about me than you do”. “But …, What …, Oh …” sputters the troll. “Wow you’re finally speechless” says combination me. “Maybe you’ll think twice next time, you’re a very hurtful person, you’re a fucking bitch”. “I didn’t mean anything, I just get to talking and …” - “I suppose you’ll use this against me forever now” – the troll looked so small and old.

“No”, says calm kind adult “it’s done, you have your own shit to live with”.

Rage filled teen did need the last word and this I’ll have to work on. “Fuck with me again and I’ll break you in two and stuff you in the compactor” says rage filled teen, in all her spectacular inability to heal.

A friend who really knows me thinks I did the right thing. My co-workers think I’m nuts.

I think they’re all right.

Be Kind Out There.