Happy ‘Fucking’ Thursday my friends. May it be a good one.
Love, Sparkly Nee
This do in remembrance of Me
Last Sunday, I held the small piece of bread in my left hand, and the tiny plastic glass of ‘wine’ in my right. The pastor recited a prayer, and with my eyes closed, I recalled the last time I’d taken communion. It was at Linda’s funeral, in a Catholic church. No, I’m not Catholic, but I am a rebel. Therefore I’ll be damned if anyone will tell me whether or not I can partake of the body and blood of my Lord Jesus Christ. I grinned at the memory while I chewed and drank. I had to stay seated during communion because my newly mended right ankle was achy and stiff.
The pastor spoke of finding joy in our nearness to God. That happiness is fleeting, but joy is everlasting. As the lesson continued, I began to do my daily ankle exercises. I pointed my right toes as far forward as I could and held them there for ten seconds. I released the stretch and pulled my toes up toward the sky as far as I could. I held the stretch for another ten seconds, repeating each stretch 15 times. Then came the side to side stretches. The sermon progressed and I placed my right foot back on the floor. It didn’t ache nearly as much as it did before I stretched the Achilles tendon six ways from Sunday.
A particular bible verse struck a raw emotional nerve and I began to cry. Don’t ask me what it was about, because I can’t recall it. All I know is it had something to do with paying for indiscretions and mistakes. That once we are forgiven by God, we must learn to forgive ourselves. As I wiped my eyes, Laura asked if I was all right, and I assured her I was. That I was better than all right. That I was forgiven.
After the sermon ended, we made our way to the back of the church. My ankle was stiff as I began to walk, but I noticed that I no longer had any pain. The familiar ache had disappeared! A smile spread across my face and was lit by the morning sun. I walked with almost an entirely normal gait. I felt free for the first time since March 11, 2014. I. Was. Free!
It’s Wednesday night and the pain has not returned. I’ve had a few twinges here and there, but that’s because I had a very intense physical therapy session on Tuesday afternoon. On March 12, 2014 after 5.5 hours or reconstructive surgery on my right ankle, my life changed. I know it will never be the same, but I am assured with God’s grace and love I have recovered.
The Velcro bites into the fabric of the ace bandage that holds the Fiberglas square in place. After a few fierce tugs, the teeth yield to my whims and I’m able to remove the binding. I put it aside, pop out the square and set that next to the bandage. My fingers unfold the cotton and lightly stroke the tender skin that lies beneath. I grin from ear to ear, excited by the sensations that I feel. Heat, heartbeat, pain, and nerve twitches. I tickle the tender skin on the arch of my foot. I feel electricity in my fingertips, as they bring the pale skin back to life. Often, I experience little bee stings around the surgical sites. I welcome the feeling though, it means the nerves are reconnecting.
My tattoo of Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas is hidden by the half cast on my right leg. The cast serves as an anchor, holding my injured leg and ankle in a neutral position. I miss being greeted by her melancholy face when I stretch my shapely legs, as I awaken each morning. My hand slides into the cast, and I caress her face. The skin is flaking, from Fiberglas and cotton that wicks all the moisture from my skin. There’s atrophy in the muscles, already. I try not to focus on it though. Eight more weeks my leg will be encased either in plastic or Fiberglas.
I peer back into the window and scoot the cotton around to find one of the three incisions. It’s still pink, but completely heeled. Excitement runs through me as I realize that the numbness at the site is gone. Replaced with warmth and a pulse. I pinch the skin, just to be sure and realize all of the feeling has returned. Joyously, I grab my ultrasound bone healing system and begin the 20 minute process of stimulating bone growth.
With the ultrasound fastened on the opening in my cast, I depress the on/off switch. The machine comes to life and sound waves seep into my skin. 20 minutes, twice a day and lots of prayers are what help the broken Talus bone stay alive. If it stays alive, it will regrow stronger than before. I may never dance or run again. But the use of the ultrasound may give me a better chance at walking without pain. That’s my main focus right now, putting weight on the right foot and taking a step. Finally, the machine shuts off and I wipe the conduction gel from my skin.
I need to close up the window, but my curiosity gets the best of me. I want to keep touching my skin. Touch is a balm for me, calming my anxiety about the future. Putting the Fiberglas square back in place, I begin to wrap the ace bandage around it. The end of it is fastened back in place with hooks of Velcro into material. I lie back on the couch and continue drinking strong, hot coffee laced with cream and Sweet and Low.
And so begins each day of waiting. Waiting and healing.
I decided to become a comedian!
I should have known what I was in for when the nurse asked me to pee in a cup before she could prep me for surgery. I looked at her and said, “Seriously. I had a sterilization procedure over a year ago. I’m not pregnant.” She laughed and replied, “Honey, just give me three drops.” She left and I locked the door. I sat there for about five minutes willing myself to go. I gave her nothing, nada, zip and zilch.
I headed back to Amy with my empty cup. She just laughed at me. She said, “Let’s get you prepped and then try again. I told her, “I’ve got nothing left in me. I swear.” I proceeded to hold up my fingers in a Girl Scout salute. Our conversation went to hell from there. I took off my clothes and put on my gown. I could only reach the draw string around my neck, so that’s the only one I tied. Yes, my ass was hanging out, but I was going to be lying down so I didn’t care.
Amy brought blankets that had been warmed in an oven. I told her, “Bless you honey, cuz I’m freezing my ass off!” I put my hands underneath the blanket to warm my veins. I wanted them to be ready for the IV Amy was going to shove in my hand. As she’s doing her thing, Dr. P the anesthesiologist introduced himself. He was sweet and friendly. He harassed Amy in a loving way as she flitted around the room. I told him “Thank you, you’re very nice.” The nurse said “I’d like that comment in writing please.” I told Dr. P, “Come back and I’ll gladly write it down.” I gave him a bright smile. He said to Amy, “See, she has good taste.” Amy replied, “She’s being nice because you’re going to give her good drugs.” I laughed uproariously. The whole damn room could hear me.
There were more nurses to greet me, an intern working with Dr. K and the doctor herself. I love that woman. She’s about 5’1″. She’s energy, light and fire. I love her matter of factness. She’s a dream. She signs off on my surgery band and heads to her locker to take off her coat and hat.
Amy comes back and sticks my hand with a light dose of Lidocain, then inserts the IV. I told her not to go digging around in my vein or I might have to slap her. She giggled at me. I told her I was serious. As she was taping the IV down her nose started to run. I said, “Oh honey let it drip. It’s not the worst thing I’ve had on my hand.” She replied, “Just don’t go digging around, right?” I said, “Amy, if you start digging in your nose, I’ll throw up.” She told me, “Stop making me laugh so hard or my nose will start running all over your hand.” I answered back, “Ewwwwwww you’re gross!”
She hooked me up to the IV bag and let the fluids run fast. I still needed to pee. I grabbed my cup and asked Amy to tie up my gown. She called me a brazen hussy. I replied, “How did you know!?” She said she needed to get me an IV pole. I yelled across the room, “Be careful now I might have to dance around it.” The woman across from me laughed. I’m glad she did too, because two minutes before that she had the most distraught look on her face. She was talking to her daughter that was going to have surgery. I could see she was putting on a brave face, but she was nervous as hell.
I took my pole and cup with me to the bathroom. Finally peed, washed my hands and headed back to my bed. Sitting in the chair next my bed was my rock. My Roger Darling. Amy helped me with my IV and covered me back up. I looked at RD and said, “My nurse had the nerve to call me a brazen hussy because I told her I was going to dance on my IV pole.” He laughed and shook his head. Said, “Babe even before surgery, you can be a nut. He heard the other patients and care givers laughing at me and he gave me the warmest smile. He asked, “Are you okay?” I replied, “Yep, I’m ready for good drugs and good night.”
Dr. K stopped by and said she was ready. She chatted with Roger, he kissed my lips, and headed out to the waiting area. Dr. K said, “He’s so chill. So calm.” I told her, “Yes, he is my rock. My other half. My friend.” They wheeled me to OR 1. As we entered the room they said they would draw the shades. I told Dr. K, “Good. I don’t need everyone seeing my hoo hoo.” She laughed at me and said, “You’re a funny woman.” I replied, “Yep, now give me drugs.” They did and I was gone.
I woke up an hour later to the sweet sound of my nurse, Molly telling me it was time to wake up. I didn’t want to though. I was dreaming. Of what I don’t remember, but it was good. I think it was anyway. Now I’m home and resting. Taking care to write and read. Nothing more. Results will be in by the end of the week. Here’s hoping it’s not the big C. And if it is, it’s only a little c.
2013 is going to start out with surgery. On my uterus for the love of Bob! I was so hoping that 2013 would be a little less stressful. At least the beginning of it. I was at my pre-op appointment today. I was shaking; scared. My blood pressure was a little high. I was panicky. I hate that I didn’t have much control of myself. The doctor reassured me that what she was going to do was, routine.
“That’s awesome”, I said. “But for me, it isn’t.” She put her hand on my arm and replied, “Let’s do the procedure, check the pathology and move on from there. Okay?” I sighed and shook my head up and down.
She explained the procedure. A D and C. I’m not describing it here. Google it if you need to know more. To let you know, it is because I have pre-cancerous cell growth in my uterus. Yes, I’m worried. But I will do my very best to keep a smile on my face and enjoy the pain meds.
I did have a tiny bit of comic relief as I tried to walk out the door of the doctor’s office. I thought the door was automatic and I smacked right into the damn thing. Of course the receptionists saw me. They laughed and so did I. I turned to them and said, “Happy New Year!” Then cackled like an idiot as I pushed the door open and exited. I laughed so hard, I cried.
2012 has not been my best year. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been good. Some days have been, anyway. The wedding for my daughter and son in law was Heavenly. But my marriage has been turbulent. My body has been rebellious. Though I’ve lost a considerable amount of weight, I have dealt with chronic pain and other health issues. Some friendships have endured. Others have disappeared. I have been lucky enough to forge many new heart connections though. It’s what I thrive on. Connection. And Roger Darling and I are doing well.
I have found a new passion. A new love. It is writing. It is everything to me. I have found a home. A place where I can be myself. I’m not normal. Nor do I want to be. I like being ridiculous. Fun. Silly. Morose. High. Low. Backwards and frontwards too.
Okay, enough of the sad shit. Let’s talk about resolutions. Yeah, I know. Most of us don’t keep them for more than a week or two. But here’s hoping I create a couple of good habits out of the ever expanding list of shit I need to fix.
Use an inside voice (YES I TEND TO SPEAK VERY LOUDLY. ESPECIALLY WHEN I’M EXCITED. Which is most of the time.)
Be less impulsive (Yeah, right. I’m not even going to be able to do this for one day!)
Be less sarcastic (See my comment above. It ain’t gonna happen, but a girl can hope.)
Have more fun.
Grow out my hair. (What the fuck was I thinking when I cut it? I wasn’t. I was being IMPULSIVE!)
Fix my shitty singing voice. (I used to have the voice of angel. Now I sound like a rusty door hinge.)
Smile more. (I like smiling. Smiling is my favorite.-Buddy the Elf)
Cry less. (I cry every day. And if I write a sad love story, I bawl when I do a read through. It’s a wonder I don’t short out my keyboard!)
Write. (Write, write, write, and then write some more!)
Be proud of myself.
Feel less shame.
Love myself more.
Wear my tiaras more often. (I’m not a princess. I’m a queen and I’ve got this shit handled!)
Run (And get Roger Darling to run with me. (Some women weren’t meant to be tamed. Blah, blah, blah. It’s a quote from Sex and the City. Look it up.)
Behave myself and show less boob. (I know this will NOT change. I added this to the list for RD. I’m a crazy woman. It’s what I do.)
Stop saying fuck so much. (Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck am I thinking???? I think I can do this. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.)
Take a creative writing class or four. (This is a must. I’m writing a book. Yeah, I know. But really, I am!!!)
Stop doubting myself. (I seem so confident. It’s bullshit. I’m working on it though.)
So that’s it, and may 2013 be your best year yet. I hope it’s everything you want it to be. Here’s hoping mine is better after I have surgery on January 7. I hope they find nothing wrong and I can move the hell forward. When the clock strikes midnight and you hear the strains of Auld Lange Syne in the air, you’ll also feel my kiss. And you’ll hear my silly horse laugh. I thank you for following me. For cheering me on. And tearing me down when I needed it.
Love and kisses, Sparkly Girl
Established in May 2011 by Marie Elena Good and Walter J Wojtanik, to help nurture and inspire the poetic spirit.
Thoughts and Perspectives From the Mind of a Common Girl
Overanalysing Pop Culture Since 2014
Driveling twaddle by an old flapdoodle.
A place where words come alive
addiction, borderline personality disorder, bpd, borderline, dbt, recovery, mentil illness,
Decided to dance a little deeper in life, and wow can spirit dance!
BY GRACE THROUGH FAITH
Being my own hero one line at a time