Citizen Cane

I brought the knee scooter back to the medical rental agency yesterday. It served well it's purpose. I know I couldn't have done half as well as I did without it.

I am now using only a cane and to a large degree it's mostly for my own reassurance. Funny thing about having a cane in your hand though is that people treat you different. When I was using the scooter it was pretty much people staying out of my way, like they didn't know if this odd hybrid of wheelchair and skateboard was safe to be around.

A cane though is a different matter.

It's as if there is a unspoken societal red carpet spread before those who use a cane. A door will always be held open. A place in line will always be respected or for that matter given up in order to accommodate the cane bearer. Sympathy pours forth from the facial expressions of those encountered. Assistance will be offered without so much as a raised eyebrow of need.

A cane is a symbol of injury; sympathy must be given. A cane is a symbol of seniority; your elder must be honored. A cane is a symbol of urbane savoir faire; Fred Astaire incarnate. A cane is a symbol of potential threat; a rapier hidden within.

All this as opposed to a pair of crutches. A pair of crutches are sneered at, albeit at the unspoken "there but for the grace of god go I". Crutches imply the user is a klutz who comically fell down a flight of stairs or attempted the experienced ski run instead of the more appropriate bunny slope. Crutches are clumsy even for the most graceful of us, a cudgel of a medical device. Crutches are weakness, the metaphorical made real. Tennessee Williams even used them as a metaphor for impotence or at least an improperly close for the 1950s relationship between two men.

A cane is a great prop, it adds dimension to the person wielding it. It's George Burns' or Ernie Kovac's cigar silently punctuating the joke.Twirled though the fingers or standing upright next to it's seated owner it signifies an importance, attention must be paid. The best you can do with a pair of crutches is to pretend one of them is a rifle pointed at the enemy. How gauche. A gentleman uses a sword.

At least that's the way I see it. And you should listen to me because I use a cane.

I Stand, Corrected

Your Faithful Correspondent

I haven't given up the scooter entirely. The cane works well, but I'm really slow trying to walk with it. Therefore when I need to get anywhere outside the house the scooter is still the weapon of choice.

For the first time in a month I'm beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

In the mean time it's Opening Day when every team is in first place, every player a potential MVP, and every executive measures space in the office for the World Series trophy. It's the best day of the year.

In so many ways.

Life in the Scooter Lane

Say hello to my little friend.

The one basic rule of my post operative care is to never let my left foot touch the ground. No pressure can be applied, lest the healing bones shatter and I return to where I started. Years ago this would have meant not getting out of bed for six months. New surgical treatments (those screws you've seen in the X-Ray) have made it so I can get up and around, but I still have to keep my leg from touching the ground. There are two ways to accomplish this, crutches or the knee scooter. I will be the first to admit that my upper body strength is not what it used to be, if it ever was at all, so crutches were out of the question. That left the knee scooter. 

Betsey, being the half of our marriage who is actually capable of thinking ahead, rented a scooter a couple of days before the surgery. Now we could have bought one, in fact we could have bought one pretty cheap on Craigslist, but our feeling was that it was going to be better to just turn in the damn thing when it was no longer needed than to have it taking up space in our small garage till we finally had the time and inclination to go on Craigslist ourselves and sell it. Besides, the ones on Craigslist all came with admissions like "steering doesn't work well"  or "our six year old decided to decorate it for daddy".  Renting the scooter also gave us the option to return it for another one should something go wrong or I decided I really needed the schoolgirl's bike basket accessory to hang off the handles. This is embarrassing enough. And all talk of a bike horn or bell was quickly sent to the dead letter office by the scowl on my face when it was brought up. 

What's it like to perambulate with one leg on a scooter? Well imagine if every time you wanted to do anything, like  get a glass of water, you had to get into your car, back up out of your driveway, then made a three point turn before heading out straight. Once you arrive at your destination, which was only a few feet away, you now have to parallel park between two cars that, while you do have enough space, you don't really have a lot of space. Oh, and no cup holders here, so the return trip means you have to do all the same things only now with a glass of water in one hand. 

All this does mean that I need to be very specific about what the objective of the movement is. If I need to get from the living room to the bedroom I better remember to take everything I have in the living room that I want in the bedroom with me. Failure to do so means frustration and and a self inflicted dope slap to my forehead. It also means I have to bury my natural inclination to want to get things done quickly. Believe me, there is no quick on a knee scooter. Oh I just need to grab something off my desk, oops, don't put that left foot on the floor, get the scooter over here, swing the leg over, okay back up, make the turns, ah now I can get that pad of paper. 

But it's not the obtaining of objects where the greatest hurdles must be overcome. Surprisingly the toilet, while it does take some knowledge of advanced geometry to align oneself properly, is not the biggest problem. It's bathing where ingenuity must be employed. Remember, no pressure on the left leg of any kind and I can't get the cast wet. What it comes down to is I  put all my weight on the bad leg's knee, which is planted firmly on the scooter so my foot has no pressure on it and then I swing the good leg into the tub. From there I turn on the shower and get as much of my body wet as I can, soap it, and get as much of the soap off with the spray from the shower head as I can. What soap I can't get the spray to I simply dry off with a towel. 

Still there are limitations. Stairs? Forget it. Even the single step up from the driveway to the pathway leading to the front door I can't negotiate myself. In fact, any surface that's not perfectly even has me afraid of going head first over the handlebars. Activities outside the house have to be scrutinized for how I could deal with it. I am disheartened that I will not be able see my nephew in his high school play this weekend because sitting in an aisle seat (which it would have to be) with my leg straight out, unable to get up to allow others to pass, just isn't going to work. 

Yet I have to remind myself this is ultimately a temporary situation. Once healed I'll be able walk, run, chase frisbees (all right maybe not the latter). I won't be perpetually seven steps behind because of my limp or screaming in agony after being too long on my feet. 

And that's what this is all for. 

Feeling Farm Fresh

This so far has been major achievement weekend.

Yesterday for the first time in over two weeks, I wore real clothes. Pair of Dockers, button down shirt, socks (well, a sock) and shoes (again, one). No sweatpants, no pajamas, real clothes. These were clothes I was going to have to get out of before going to bed that night, as opposed to clothes I put on in the morning with the full knowledge that I will be wearing them until the next morning.  I didn't even care that the pants had a hole in the seat and the shirt had a stain on it. Both were chosen on the basis that should I take a tumble I wouldn't care if the paramedics had to cut them away.

And why would I be worried that I could take a tumble?

Because I actually left the house. Yes, Betsey got me into the car and we ran errands. Well, she ran errands and for the most part I stayed in the car, but it was a welcome change from the landscape of the house I had come to memorize. Best of all, we drove down to Sigona's Farmers Market for produce.

If you've never been to Sigona's I highly recommend it. It's a delight for the senses. Every locally available fruit or vegetable is displayed with the skill of a designer rendering colors. Real food, not processed sorta kinda food from a supermarket. Tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes, lettuce that is crisp and green and not in a bag. Then they top it off by having a cheese selection that rivals any in the world. I am a fool for their Cheshire White Cheddar with it's nutty, tangy flavor that gives a distinctive taste in each section of your mouth and throat. I don't know how they do that. Plus they have the largest assortment of dried fruits I have ever seen. They dry everything. They have dried cantaloupe. Who would dry cantaloupe? Why? But they do it. 

And then there is the marinara sauce.

This is actually something we had never tried before, but several people had told us how good their signature bottled marinara sauce is. Frankly we had always passed it by because we figured, what the hell it's marinara sauce that's twice as expensive as what you could get at a Safeway. Oh how wrong we were. I don't know what they put in it, I'm thinking opium, but it is phenomenal. Italian restaurants I've gone to, expensive Italian restaurants I've gone to, don't have as good a sauce as this. Some fresh pasta (free when you buy a bottle) and some hearty red wine and dinner was a treat.

Toddling around on my scooter wasn't too bad. Other shoppers were nice enough to give me a wide berth. I did get some stares from the kids who were everywhere (hey, it was Saturday). One four or five year old boy was really giving me the wide eyed treatment. I couldn't resist. "This is what happens if you don't eat your vegetables", I said to him. His lower jaw dropped. I scooted away.

I was amazed to realize when we got home that it had only been a little over an hour that we had been gone. It seemed like it had been much longer because I had to lay down and take a nap. I guess I'm getting better, but it's still a ways to go. 

Top Ten Things I've Learned So Far As An Invalid

1. The cat really does sleep all day long.

2. You don't need as much coffee if you're just going to sit around all day.

3. The predominant commercials on daytime television all seem to be for law firms soliciting clients for personal injury cases or class action suits against pharmaceutical or medical device companies. 

4. On  a gray cloudy day like today, with rain but a moment away, it is better to be sitting in a comfortable leather chair while wrapped in a thick green sweater than taking a tour group out to Alcatraz.

5. Though the body may be bound, the mind can always run free.

6. Previously simple everyday chores become triumphs of the spirit when accomplished on a knee scooter.

7. Naps can never be overrated.

8. I'm seriously considering getting a pair of binoculars and going all Jimmy Stewart in REAR WINDOW on my neighbors.

9. When your wardrobe choices are limited to sweatpants and t shirts, getting dressed in the morning is a breeze.

10.If one forgets there is a cast on one's foot and crosses that leg over the ankle of one's good leg, the pain subsequently inflicted is one's own damn fault.  

Patience Patient

Being patient. It's something I have never been known for. And yet now I am in the position of having to practice it.

Being a patient. I've never really been one before. Other than the occasional cold I've never been sick in bed for any  amount of time. And yet now I am in the position of having to be one. 

I keep waking up each morning thinking about what I have to do at work and then realizing I don't have work to go to. That's if I can remember what day of the week it is. Then I go to swing my body out of bed and remember the cast on my leg and the knee scooter parked next to the bed and the fact that going to the bathroom is a protracted exercise in the precise manipulations of angles, tangents, and vector phases. 

And that's when I lose my patience. It's a momentary thing I admit, a primal scream against the reality I find myself in. Generally I'm able to continue on with my day. This morning though was different. It might have been the rush I was in to get it together so I could catch the first Premier League match of the day (yes, I get up early on weekend mornings so I can watch English soccer on the computer -- so sue me). It might have had something to do with all the fun I had last night when friends came over to share dinner and a few bottles of wine. It might have been mixing my pain meds with the wine. Whatever the reason I was unsteady on the scooter and in an attempt to open the door to let the cat in I fell. On the bad foot. 

Pain will teach me to be patient.