Click-Click
Today, I would like to acknowledge a birthday and a recovery milestone, of sorts. Both mean a lot to me.
This week, was my Capricorn caregiver's birthday. At last, we can both officially put 2006 behind us. In keeping with a quasi-healthy theme, the event was modestly capped off with dinner for two at a local fish establishment. Their minimal interior nautical theme is warm yet informal, the entres extensive and inexpensive. Some- how, it didn't seem the proper time yet, to scuff the numbers off any titanium credit cards. Best of all, we must have both quietly trailed home fishy qualities on us, that sent our two tabbies into undescribed ecstasies at our feet. Talk about cheap tricks from below. It truly became an unexpected family affair at the front door, in spite of an unnamed utterly shameless duo.
The contents of my 'Bobby-Box' are also thankfully shrinking. Earlier in the day, I went to refill only three prescriptions -- some short term, others lifelong, apparently -- and leave with a short get-out-of-the-country note from my family doc. It was nothing more than a short scribble on his Rx pad, for a surprising and almost tawdry on-the-spot user fee of 15 bucks. I haven't seen this kind of simple few lines scratched down on my behalf, since earlier parental-awaited grade school report card days: "Yes, little Anthony has been a good boy. Yes, he's been quite stable since October 10, 2006..."
YES, it's now been three months since The-Day! With a favourable nod from the out-of-country health insurance gods, we might soon be able to assemble some much needed holiday plans. Here's just another good reason, why we should all grab winter firmly by the scruff of the neck, and once and for all, wrid it farewell.
This week, my Rehab program is being ramped up to Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons. My target heart beat area has also been increased to 119 to 130. I can now peddle faster and longer under the tuteladge of our trusty Rehab team. Let's see.
So, how's the report card after three months, you might ask?
On the physical side, I'd have to give myself an "A" with much thanks to Patty -- always nearby like a lioness might be to her cub, along with the assurance of a close-by medical infrastructure. There will always be the scars. That said, my cracked open chest and filleted arm and leg, now seem to be healing well (I have an understandable kinship these days to the plight of all lobsters and walnuts.) On other fronts though, I'm starting to be more aware of some of life's unplanned speed bumps and small challenges, required to keep one's emotions intact. There's many bright days of course, but overall on the emotional front, I'd only give myself a charitable "B" at year end. No more.
I can still vividly remember prior to hospital discharge, one of the nurses admonishing me in a friendly manner, "Be careful Tony, to always protect your chest area. You don't ever want to have it separated again, due to any clumsy accident." Just to underscore the matter, she concluded with a faux-finger pointing into my chest incision area, "You'll feel the pain, right there, and hear a click-click like sound, when this happens. And for godsake, don't pop open your arm and leg stitches!" We were in a seriously kidding around mode, before that Sunday afternoon departure. I'm sure, she was just likely trying to make one last sisterly tough-love point to me. If this was the case, then it worked.
These memories still continue to consume me past Christmas.
I went into Mall crowds on several occasions, much like a boxer might circle his adversary. You go into automatic flinch mode on a moment's notice when needed, tuck your elbows tightly into your torso and raise your arms to protect your chest area. In a past lifetime, this reaction would have instinctively been followed through with a bone jarring left jab. As a past Light Welterweight boxer (in English, that's some 50 pounds ago), you're now vigilant once more in ways never quite earlier trained for -- always seeking ice-free clear walking lanes and anticipating two moves out, the unexpected actions of oncoming pre-occupied shoppers with many extended elbows and parcels. Overall, I fared much better than anticipated, with no punches thrown.
We went to see old friends, on the Friday evening prior to Christ- mas. I made the fatal mistake of squatting down on a corner bar stool and holding court in busy kitchen area traffic lanes. Without any notice, their excited dog crashed the party from outside, complete with wagging tail, long legs and longer claws. Santa's-Little-Helper just wanted to be my new pal, as he sought attention from the obliging crowd. Why me? What our uninvited 'guest' and busy hostess didn't know at the time, was that he was repeatedly raking all of my leg stitches with his right paw. Nice doggie, have a celery stick. Do you freak out, or stay cool in a crowd?
A few days later we trekked to Blockbuster's, to rent a few videos. This was an innocent enough evening outing, until having to wait in their long conga-like checkout line. And wait. It was just our luck that we were parked in front of a tired single mom, complete with a couple of her restless tykes still in free fall from a Christmas sugar high. In short order, one of the little dynamos was hanging onto Patty's leg. The other was on the grimy floor banging a video against my bad ankle and shin area. Is it time to confront the indifferent parent, or let Patty diplomatically step inbetween us?
And then there was that memorable crowd event earlier at the local Rec Centre. I'm used to taking charge of events, particularly my own. Now I'm having to confront the reality, that marshalling one's strengths and confidences, is becoming a longer route march, than previously anticipated. Perhaps in a lighter vein, something akin to pushing yarns of string or herding cats.
Why can't they all be as manageable as Poppy? She's the older of our two resident tabbies. One of her favourite past times, is to give a good affectionate head bunt against my leg stitches, then turn around and repeat the whole exercise, all the while never hitting my good leg. Don't ask, it's a cat thing. All she really wants is a scritch behind her ears. If there ever was an official cat yearbook, she'd likely have a banner size notation under her picture, com- plete with neon flashing pointed arrows that would read -- Most Likely To Get Knocked Up! -- even though Vet, Dr. Bonnie assures us, that happy occurance is just never gonna happen. But we love her sweet side, anyway. Between feedings, there's often a pain-like puzzled Homer Simpson look on her face; likely best translated in feline terms as, "Something was said! Something was said!" I'd like to think, she's simply planning her next venture. As dim as she sometimes appears to be between the ears, she'll always be our lovable 40 watt bulb. I can handle affectionate slow.
It's a new year. This phase will no doubt also slowly pass.
This week, was my Capricorn caregiver's birthday. At last, we can both officially put 2006 behind us. In keeping with a quasi-healthy theme, the event was modestly capped off with dinner for two at a local fish establishment. Their minimal interior nautical theme is warm yet informal, the entres extensive and inexpensive. Some- how, it didn't seem the proper time yet, to scuff the numbers off any titanium credit cards. Best of all, we must have both quietly trailed home fishy qualities on us, that sent our two tabbies into undescribed ecstasies at our feet. Talk about cheap tricks from below. It truly became an unexpected family affair at the front door, in spite of an unnamed utterly shameless duo.
The contents of my 'Bobby-Box' are also thankfully shrinking. Earlier in the day, I went to refill only three prescriptions -- some short term, others lifelong, apparently -- and leave with a short get-out-of-the-country note from my family doc. It was nothing more than a short scribble on his Rx pad, for a surprising and almost tawdry on-the-spot user fee of 15 bucks. I haven't seen this kind of simple few lines scratched down on my behalf, since earlier parental-awaited grade school report card days: "Yes, little Anthony has been a good boy. Yes, he's been quite stable since October 10, 2006..."
YES, it's now been three months since The-Day! With a favourable nod from the out-of-country health insurance gods, we might soon be able to assemble some much needed holiday plans. Here's just another good reason, why we should all grab winter firmly by the scruff of the neck, and once and for all, wrid it farewell.
This week, my Rehab program is being ramped up to Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons. My target heart beat area has also been increased to 119 to 130. I can now peddle faster and longer under the tuteladge of our trusty Rehab team. Let's see.
So, how's the report card after three months, you might ask?
On the physical side, I'd have to give myself an "A" with much thanks to Patty -- always nearby like a lioness might be to her cub, along with the assurance of a close-by medical infrastructure. There will always be the scars. That said, my cracked open chest and filleted arm and leg, now seem to be healing well (I have an understandable kinship these days to the plight of all lobsters and walnuts.) On other fronts though, I'm starting to be more aware of some of life's unplanned speed bumps and small challenges, required to keep one's emotions intact. There's many bright days of course, but overall on the emotional front, I'd only give myself a charitable "B" at year end. No more.
I can still vividly remember prior to hospital discharge, one of the nurses admonishing me in a friendly manner, "Be careful Tony, to always protect your chest area. You don't ever want to have it separated again, due to any clumsy accident." Just to underscore the matter, she concluded with a faux-finger pointing into my chest incision area, "You'll feel the pain, right there, and hear a click-click like sound, when this happens. And for godsake, don't pop open your arm and leg stitches!" We were in a seriously kidding around mode, before that Sunday afternoon departure. I'm sure, she was just likely trying to make one last sisterly tough-love point to me. If this was the case, then it worked.
These memories still continue to consume me past Christmas.
I went into Mall crowds on several occasions, much like a boxer might circle his adversary. You go into automatic flinch mode on a moment's notice when needed, tuck your elbows tightly into your torso and raise your arms to protect your chest area. In a past lifetime, this reaction would have instinctively been followed through with a bone jarring left jab. As a past Light Welterweight boxer (in English, that's some 50 pounds ago), you're now vigilant once more in ways never quite earlier trained for -- always seeking ice-free clear walking lanes and anticipating two moves out, the unexpected actions of oncoming pre-occupied shoppers with many extended elbows and parcels. Overall, I fared much better than anticipated, with no punches thrown.
We went to see old friends, on the Friday evening prior to Christ- mas. I made the fatal mistake of squatting down on a corner bar stool and holding court in busy kitchen area traffic lanes. Without any notice, their excited dog crashed the party from outside, complete with wagging tail, long legs and longer claws. Santa's-Little-Helper just wanted to be my new pal, as he sought attention from the obliging crowd. Why me? What our uninvited 'guest' and busy hostess didn't know at the time, was that he was repeatedly raking all of my leg stitches with his right paw. Nice doggie, have a celery stick. Do you freak out, or stay cool in a crowd?
A few days later we trekked to Blockbuster's, to rent a few videos. This was an innocent enough evening outing, until having to wait in their long conga-like checkout line. And wait. It was just our luck that we were parked in front of a tired single mom, complete with a couple of her restless tykes still in free fall from a Christmas sugar high. In short order, one of the little dynamos was hanging onto Patty's leg. The other was on the grimy floor banging a video against my bad ankle and shin area. Is it time to confront the indifferent parent, or let Patty diplomatically step inbetween us?
And then there was that memorable crowd event earlier at the local Rec Centre. I'm used to taking charge of events, particularly my own. Now I'm having to confront the reality, that marshalling one's strengths and confidences, is becoming a longer route march, than previously anticipated. Perhaps in a lighter vein, something akin to pushing yarns of string or herding cats.
Why can't they all be as manageable as Poppy? She's the older of our two resident tabbies. One of her favourite past times, is to give a good affectionate head bunt against my leg stitches, then turn around and repeat the whole exercise, all the while never hitting my good leg. Don't ask, it's a cat thing. All she really wants is a scritch behind her ears. If there ever was an official cat yearbook, she'd likely have a banner size notation under her picture, com- plete with neon flashing pointed arrows that would read -- Most Likely To Get Knocked Up! -- even though Vet, Dr. Bonnie assures us, that happy occurance is just never gonna happen. But we love her sweet side, anyway. Between feedings, there's often a pain-like puzzled Homer Simpson look on her face; likely best translated in feline terms as, "Something was said! Something was said!" I'd like to think, she's simply planning her next venture. As dim as she sometimes appears to be between the ears, she'll always be our lovable 40 watt bulb. I can handle affectionate slow.
It's a new year. This phase will no doubt also slowly pass.
posted by leisurelan at 10:01 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home