Monday, December 24, 2007
i done been scrooged...
First off, here’s wishing everyone a very happy holiday season!
That aside, those who know me are aware of my deep, abiding dislike of this time of year. I refer to Christmas as Exchanging-Debt-With-Family. I am not particularly religious, so the story of little baby Jesus just doesn’t do much for me. And what’s this thing about a virgin mother? Get real. This is why December 25th represents (to me) capitalism at its ‘most wonderful’, my friend Danno’s birthday and two days off work.
This year, however, is a time of reflection. Ten days ago on my way in to work, BOOM! I went down on some ice about four blocks from work. At first, as I lay there writhing on that frikkin’ slick patch of winter shit, I thought “Wow, I’m going to have huge bruise on my elbow.” Walking those last four blocks, with tears flash-freezing on my eyelashes, I started to think that perhaps my elbow had dislocated itself. Upon reaching my office, carefully removing my parka and rolling up my sleeve, it became apparent that a trip to the hospital was on that Friday’s agenda.
As Professor X was leaving the emergency room, I optimistically told him I’d be back to work later but it would probably be after lunch. Then I sat for half an hour in the waiting room trying not to cry like a baby. (I failed in this endeavor.) It was 8:30 in the morning. Things didn’t get better until about two hours later after x-rays showed that YES a shot of Demerol in my ass would be a most welcome relief. Then I was taken to a private room and immediately hooked up to a morphine drip. And believe me when I say that magic button was pushed more times in the 24 hours I spent at Mercy Hospital than the “I know the answer!” buzzer in all 75 games Ken Jennings appeared on Jeopardy.
Roughly 11 hours after my teary arrival at the emergency reception desk, as I was being wheeled out of the OR and mumbling all sorts of crazy anesthesia-produced mumbo jumbo, it dawned on me in my drug-addled haze that I wasn’t going anywhere that night, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to make it back to work anytime soon. What hadn’t quite seeped in was that I wasn’t going to make it back to my house, either. You see, they had to literally piece my elbow back together. The ulna had snapped right below the humerus (sp?) and bits of it had splintered off in their own little bony sects. I’m now sporting two pins and a bunch of wire in what one might call a Humpty Dumpty surgery, all wrapped up in a jaunty 90 degree-angled cast that runs from my armpit to my fingers... and weighs, like ohmigod, 500 pounds.
So here it is 10 days later. I’m living at my mother and stepfather’s house. While they’ve been absolutely wonderful taking care of my ‘special needs’ and those of das poog, I really really miss my independence. I can’t wash my own hair… and in fact had it all lopped off last week since I can’t even brush it… I can’t drive… I can’t even open the bottle of vicodin. It has been a time of looking within, seeing without.
Lest you fear I’m traveling down the path of self-pity, let me interject a big HELL NO I AIN’T. Truthfully, this is the lap of luxury… good coffee, good food, good company. Sure, Mom and I bicker quite a bit, but it really boils down to the fact that I’m in the best of hands. If left to my own devices, I’d be eating Stouffer’s frozen lasagna for every meal and, though short, my hair would be tangled mess of greasy curls. Das poog would not be spoiled rotten (he eats better here – two meals a day – than even I would normally eat). It’s going to be a shock to him that steak, chicken and pork chops will not be on the menu when we return, triumphantly, to Kimball Road.
The gist of all this is: I’m so lucky in so many ways. My parents are being absolutely incredibly wonderful to both me AND Gus. My friends are taking care of my house, the sidewalks and driveway (we’ve been getting the lion’s share of snow and ice), and my poor, lonely kitty who is stuck on his own. It’s impossible to thank them enough and I truly hope they know how much I appreciate and love them. My sister treated me to the best haircut I’ve had in two years, not to mention new wardrobe items that she realized were necessary to fit over this gargantuan cast. My boss and the entire department have been supportive and patient. My coworkers at the bar are taking care of my Saturday shifts. And the multitude of other friends who have offered to help, come visit, etc. cannot go unrecognized. Yeah, in short, this is probably the best Christmas I could ever have wished for, believe it or not.
So at the risk of sounding sappy and sentimental, it’s important for me to say to all these people: thank you from the very bottom of my heart. I couldn’t be broken without you. Merry, merry Christmas, one and all.
Who dat snappin' back? |
That aside, those who know me are aware of my deep, abiding dislike of this time of year. I refer to Christmas as Exchanging-Debt-With-Family. I am not particularly religious, so the story of little baby Jesus just doesn’t do much for me. And what’s this thing about a virgin mother? Get real. This is why December 25th represents (to me) capitalism at its ‘most wonderful’, my friend Danno’s birthday and two days off work.
This year, however, is a time of reflection. Ten days ago on my way in to work, BOOM! I went down on some ice about four blocks from work. At first, as I lay there writhing on that frikkin’ slick patch of winter shit, I thought “Wow, I’m going to have huge bruise on my elbow.” Walking those last four blocks, with tears flash-freezing on my eyelashes, I started to think that perhaps my elbow had dislocated itself. Upon reaching my office, carefully removing my parka and rolling up my sleeve, it became apparent that a trip to the hospital was on that Friday’s agenda.
As Professor X was leaving the emergency room, I optimistically told him I’d be back to work later but it would probably be after lunch. Then I sat for half an hour in the waiting room trying not to cry like a baby. (I failed in this endeavor.) It was 8:30 in the morning. Things didn’t get better until about two hours later after x-rays showed that YES a shot of Demerol in my ass would be a most welcome relief. Then I was taken to a private room and immediately hooked up to a morphine drip. And believe me when I say that magic button was pushed more times in the 24 hours I spent at Mercy Hospital than the “I know the answer!” buzzer in all 75 games Ken Jennings appeared on Jeopardy.
Roughly 11 hours after my teary arrival at the emergency reception desk, as I was being wheeled out of the OR and mumbling all sorts of crazy anesthesia-produced mumbo jumbo, it dawned on me in my drug-addled haze that I wasn’t going anywhere that night, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to make it back to work anytime soon. What hadn’t quite seeped in was that I wasn’t going to make it back to my house, either. You see, they had to literally piece my elbow back together. The ulna had snapped right below the humerus (sp?) and bits of it had splintered off in their own little bony sects. I’m now sporting two pins and a bunch of wire in what one might call a Humpty Dumpty surgery, all wrapped up in a jaunty 90 degree-angled cast that runs from my armpit to my fingers... and weighs, like ohmigod, 500 pounds.
So here it is 10 days later. I’m living at my mother and stepfather’s house. While they’ve been absolutely wonderful taking care of my ‘special needs’ and those of das poog, I really really miss my independence. I can’t wash my own hair… and in fact had it all lopped off last week since I can’t even brush it… I can’t drive… I can’t even open the bottle of vicodin. It has been a time of looking within, seeing without.
Lest you fear I’m traveling down the path of self-pity, let me interject a big HELL NO I AIN’T. Truthfully, this is the lap of luxury… good coffee, good food, good company. Sure, Mom and I bicker quite a bit, but it really boils down to the fact that I’m in the best of hands. If left to my own devices, I’d be eating Stouffer’s frozen lasagna for every meal and, though short, my hair would be tangled mess of greasy curls. Das poog would not be spoiled rotten (he eats better here – two meals a day – than even I would normally eat). It’s going to be a shock to him that steak, chicken and pork chops will not be on the menu when we return, triumphantly, to Kimball Road.
The gist of all this is: I’m so lucky in so many ways. My parents are being absolutely incredibly wonderful to both me AND Gus. My friends are taking care of my house, the sidewalks and driveway (we’ve been getting the lion’s share of snow and ice), and my poor, lonely kitty who is stuck on his own. It’s impossible to thank them enough and I truly hope they know how much I appreciate and love them. My sister treated me to the best haircut I’ve had in two years, not to mention new wardrobe items that she realized were necessary to fit over this gargantuan cast. My boss and the entire department have been supportive and patient. My coworkers at the bar are taking care of my Saturday shifts. And the multitude of other friends who have offered to help, come visit, etc. cannot go unrecognized. Yeah, in short, this is probably the best Christmas I could ever have wished for, believe it or not.
So at the risk of sounding sappy and sentimental, it’s important for me to say to all these people: thank you from the very bottom of my heart. I couldn’t be broken without you. Merry, merry Christmas, one and all.
