Secret Message

Today, a little secret addition, a subliminal message, imbedded in each post for a bit, see if you can pick it and comment. Hang on there and all will be revealed. (No evil intent I assure you all)

As last week I promised an update on my latest fall and a surgery. Generally, when all I have to do Is put my left foot back, I will be guaranteed to fall. Without fail.

I had taken just a step out of my shower in my ensuite and noticing water snaking across the floor I twisted slightly to reach for the mop that resides there just for this purpose and I think I put a rib out while losing my balance, I started to fall. Like in slow-motion, straight down onto my Ass. I luckily manage not to flail my arms and legs about so that’s something. I did collect the shower stool on my way down on my left, in two places on my back. That didn’t tickle, even weeks later.

My carer came hearing the ruckus and asked two very important questions. 1) Was I alright? Yes, as I wriggled and made squelching noises on the floor of the shower having just missed the ridge of the shower base. That could have been very uncomfortable. And 2) did I want her to call an Ambulance? Hell NO! FYI, they do not get you up and set you on your feet then leave. They get you up and take you to hospital.

My left leg was caught on the edge of the shower screen, the bathroom heater had to be turned off as I would like, burn my left leg before I felt it. Wet! Naked! And trying to work out how I was going to get up. (Try not to imagine that.) It took half an hour for me to commit, the best way for me to get up is to make things worse before they get better. I had to grab my left arm and roll over onto my stomach. Then, up onto my right hand and knees. Bathmat under my knees because the tiles really hurt. I could not straighten my body and I called my carer who I had, had to direct to sit in the chair I had asked her to bring in to my already cosy ensuite. It ended up giving her something to do as the things she had suggested I grab hold of would have made things worse not better. Once more upright, I lifted my right foot to put it under me, my right elbow on the edge of the handbasin and I levered myself up. Ironically, by the time my carer was assisting to dry me, I was already dry.

I had two small patches on my beck, hip and near my scapula that required our family’s Gypsy cream. (To be explained later) Oh, bruised and sore, actually sorer than my bruises suggested I continued my morning as usual and my carer departed. I undid the appointments I had been scheduling at the start of my next shift just close to home. My next carer arrived and as I groaned and swore my way out of my apartment, down the lift, I got halfway to the front door to go out and do my shopping and my carer asked just the right number of times before it was crystal clear I should stay home and let her do my hunter/gathering.

Later that afternoon, I had my weekly chiro appointment, I did get out for and I couldn’t even lie down on the table. She was kind enough to bring the table up to me, before putting it back down. The powers I refer to as the rocket ship launcher she used a lot back in 2011 when I was awaiting disc bulge surgery.

So, I posted a comment about my fall to socials, you know like you do, I got a comment from a family member suggesting I get a bathmat. As in the rubber kind, I replied “have one. Didn’t fucking help!” Is it wrong I imagined family might call to check if I was OK? That did not happen.

On the upside, being sore and bruised meant I could stay home and avoid getting the plague. Elective surgeries get pushed to the back after all the crazy Covid restrictions, don’t need to get bumped by getting the Plague now.

Had the surgery at a Women’s hospital, so being that I’ll keep the details to a minimum. Not a question. Before the surgery, I was told it would hurt as much as surgery to my Virginia. Ladies, sorry if your eyes just watered. Any male readers? Deal with it! Um, meanwhile, thankfully I have not had that kinda surgery, so I wanted another example. She walked away. OK then.

So, a few more weeks I’ve been mostly housebound, happily catching up on TV and sleeping. There is never enough.

This was my second surgery I’ve had this year, but you will need to wait to hear about that one. It was far less torturous in compassion. To be continued…

Lastly, anyone asks what my surgery was about. I’ve been telling them these two words. “Boob Job! NOT GETTING A BOOB JOB!” But it leads to very amusing comments.