Thursday, March 18, 2010

Life With Jack

As if I, the hell, needed any more medical events in my life, several days ago, after imbibing a few too many of my favorite Jack Daniel's libations, I turned my ankle on the edge of the driveway while in the process of being a good little green hausfrau and taking out the recyclables. My substantially overweight ass, along with the rest of me, hit the deck and slid along the concrete for a foot or two, removing a considerable amount of skin from elbow and knee and forcing my shoulder to, literally, "shoulder" the brunt of far too much weight landing on top of it. After a monumental struggle to upright myself, I spent the next ten minutes sitting on the driveway, leaning against one of the cars, breathing heavily, bleeding profusely, cursing mightily and arguing with my beloved as to whether or not I needed an ambulance. Years of experience as an ER nurse told me I didn't, but convincing someone who was about to puke from the sight of blood, expended way too much energy I didn't need to use. No broken bones, dislocated joints or ripped ligaments - just lots of blood, mucho pain and not a small portion of embarrassment. After dragging my sorry butt inside, I spent the better part of an hour patching myself up. Thanks to Diana's large supply of dressings for her esophageal feeding tube, there was plenty of first aid stuff on hand, and I fashioned two large and very impressive bindings for my wounds, only to have to change them an hour later after they bled through. No problem - as I said - plenty of supplies on hand! Pain was another issue - it was intense, searing and omnipresent and, even though I think of myself as having a very high tolerance for pain, I was reaching my limit. But, no way was I going to take any pain meds following the Jack Daniel's, so the only solution available to me was More Jack. Fortunately, dinner had been in simmer mode for quite some time, so I just dished it up, plopped it on the coffee table, put the ice bucket and bottles of Jack and Coke on the bookcase next to the sofa, Martin started up another NCIS rerun, and the next few hours passed relatively uneventfully. NCIS was it's usual riveting self (Mark Harmon makes me feel better even when I'm already feeling wonderful), the tacos were among the best I've ever made, and the Jack continued to go down smoothly. Bedtime came and went, totally obliviated from memory.

Yesterday was lost in a wash of pain, a monumental hangover, floating in a La-La Land of pain meds, fitful sleep with breaks for feeding cats, trying to figure out how to do those important little "life tasks" with my left hand, and drinking buckets of water to assuage the worst case of booze-mouth in memory.

Today, new stuff is starting to surface - stiff knees, sore hips, neck pain. I saw my chiropractor, who adjusted me to within an inch of my life. At the moment, I'm feeling surprisingly decent, all things considered, and can even raise my right arm high enough to feed myself. Every few hours I ice a different joint, and ultimately it all helps... I'm just glad the weather is warming up! I changed my dressings a while ago and they were a totally nauseating mess, but I'm seeing signs of drying out around the edges of the excoriations, so that's a good sign that the beginnings of healing are relatively close at hand.

Jack and I had a serious discussion this evening, and we've decided to separate for a while... he never was much good for me anyway, so it's probably for the best. He's a pretty persuasive guy, though, so I hope I can keep up my resolve...

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