It's been over three weeks since my surgery – time does fly when you're having...fun?
So far, I've been able to meet the challenges. I can't use the shower, as predicted. The answer to that was – bath wipes! You know, nothing beats the comfort of nice, warm soap and water, but bath “wipes” or “sheets” do get you nice and clean. (Take them camping, all ye who dwell among the trees, and you will never smell like dead bear.)
Washing the hair was next. At first we did the “sitting on the bath chair and leaning backwards over the tub” thing. Awkward. The answer: a pitcher of water and the kitchen sink. It's the old fashion way, and it still works. (How well I remember my youth, down in the basement, leaning over the slop basin while my mother scrubbed my hair with her work-harden fingers. I'm surprised any of us had scalps left.)
Sleeping with the “cage” without shredding the sheets? Answer – don't. I lie of top of the quilt, covered by another one. It's my only option. When Rufus comes back, I'll have to cover the cage with a pillow so I don't injure him in my sleep.
The super “fun” stuff still continues - like getting the sock on my right foot hooked to the fixative, just when I have to get up to pee. Hilarious. Then, there's hitting the slick kitchen floor so the roll-a-bout careens into the side of the fridge. Oh yeah! And let's not forget getting caught in the wheels of the office chair while transferring from the roll-a-bout. Whoopee!
The next mountain to climb... Rufus' home coming tomorrow. I miss him, but am nervous. Toys, papers, Rufus stuff everywhere. It's going to be a trip. Let's hope that's not literal.
Rufus did serve a higher purpose while he was with his groomer Debbie. Poor Deb had to put her own dog down last week, and she said it was a comfort for the family to come home to Rufus in lieu of an empty house. That's my boy.
Meanwhile, I've edited and submitted my article to BBI Media, and another to Circle Magazine. I've decided on formats for my fiction and non-fiction books, and will start on the non-fiction right after the holidays.
BTW: I managed to get dressed (try getting pants over an erector set), down the front steps and into the car for my visit with Doc Siegel. It went well. The nurses even took pictures.
(Avert your eyes, all ye of weak constitutions, for behold! Franken-foot lives!)
So, if you think your day has been a pain, think again. And – oh yeah – I also have a picc line in my arm for infusions of vancomycin.
It's all a part of being a member of the “Alumin”ati. (Get it? Aluminum cage...Illuminati, Alumin... oh, grow brain cells and evolve, the lot of ya!)