I must say that I have been feeling better. Not just with the physical pain of my leg, but the neurotic drama of self blame, new phobias, and woe is me.
Don't get me wrong. I still throw myself a pity party on occasions. One must not neglect ones self you know.
There has been some drama behind the scenes. One week after I was sent home, I attempted to call the bone doc to make an appointment for my post op. This appointment was to take place three weeks after surgery. But no. I am Phelan and I am determined to have the worst year yet. Got to beat the previous years.
I digress, I spoke with the receptionist. Turns out this was the same place I went when I broke my arm as a child. She updated my info and informed me that she would be unable to make my appointment, the nurse did that. I was transferred, left a message and waited. One week, no return call. I call back and repeat what I had done the previous week. It took four weeks to get the nurse to call me back. Then she informs me that I was to go to trauma for my post op not this doc. I call bs, and read my release papers verbatim. And then I proceeded to cry as she told me again to call trauma.
I had been without pain meds for three weeks at this point, and was two weeks late on getting my sutures removed. Husband called trauma and left a message. They returned the call the next morning and I had an appointment. As I sat talking with my new doc, she informed me that this isn't the first time there has been a problem like this, and she didn't think the other doc new it was happening.
So, now to the leg and my future.
No, I am really broken. So much so that every nurse or doc that walked past me in trauma, sucked air through their teeth. Several verbally reminded me that I was very broken. But up until this point, I didn't realize how bad it it. This is one of the worst things you could have done to your leg. Was what I was told, I assume its less than fully crushing it or cutting it off.
New doc pretty much ignored the break itself. Bones will heal (as I wrote that primus' "dog will hunt" popped into my head). It's the rest of my leg she was interested in.
The break down is this. After one month, nothing has changed. However I am now allowed to bend my knee 20 degrees. Yes, that seems like nothing. But after a month at zero, it makes me cry and scream obscenities in my sleep. I start my first 12 weeks of physical therapy, 3x a week. Just so I will be able to bend my knee 45 degrees. No pressure on my right leg for that 12 weeks. I will be reassessed at that time. They say that it will be a year before I will be able to walk unaided. Let the games begin.
On the country drama front. As I sat, playing "Rear Window" from my bedroom, a truck pulls up and honks. I sat, he sat. No one moving toward the gate. He waited a long time, then left. This happened again the next day. I asked Husband to put out a sign that said "manual gate, honking will not open".
Last night, as Husband trolled the fields he met up with the honker. He bought the place behind us, and wants to have us graze the cattle on it. That would be fine, but the chicken wrangling, attempted sheep abductors have a gate that leads between their fields. A new game is afoot!