It’s not like me to be assailed by the miseries. The cat woke me up at six, after I’d let her out I retreated to bed with a cup of tea and sat leaky eyed for an hour and then made another cup of tea and did it again.
This is not like me. I saw the surgeon yesterday for the six week post surgery visit. The took ages in X-ray and then wouldn’t show me the results, so naturally, I’m thinking the bone hasn’t healed properly. The surgeon showed me the X-rays from before the surgery and then showed me the two week X-Rays and said that was what it was like now. Why didn’t he show me the new ones? What is wrong and why can’t I still lift my arm further than a couple of inches?
I hope you’re not in the middle of breakfast, here’s the before shot
well that explains why it hurt so much. I was wrong about the screws, there are five screws and one rod. The other screw goes down through the top of all the bones into the rod.
Am I miserable because I have seen the full extent of the damage and the surgeon says it’ll take six months? He didn’t say what would take six months. Am I miserable because I’ve been in pain since July 8th?
Am I miserable because I ought to be getting ready for Miniatura and I won’t even be well enough to go as a visitor?
Am I miserable because I can use the computer mouse with my right hand but only if I lift it into place with my left hand and it hurts?
Am I just a big fat misery?
I should be glad to be alive. A hundred years ago I wouldn’t have survived this. Two hundred years ago I’d have been a beggar in rags with no teeth, grey straggly hair, a rampant moustache (also grey), a broken arm and endless pain and then dead in a puddle. Four hundred years ago I’d probably have all of that and then burned at the stake for being a witch when I got up to let the cat out. In many places in the world today I would now be looking at a massive hike in my medical insurance.
Why am I not grateful and happy and cheerful?
And we’ve got wasps in the loft. I bet you thought this summer was such rubbish there were no wasps.
There are. They’re in our loft. I’ll have to get pest people in. If the OH deals with it and gets stung I can’t drive him to hospital while he swells. I can’t drive anywhere. Instead the OH is having a lovely time dashing round in my car doing shopping that I have to think of in a moment before his patience runs out. We have vast stocks of canned beer and salted peanuts but no actual food.
I’m malnourished and fat.
I know. I’ll count my blessings.
Finished. (It was long fingernails on one hand, did you guess?)
Oh I am fed up.