the everyday adventures of sabrina

nicknames i have been given or given myself, thus far:

tinkertoy arm – before the nerve block had worn off after surgery, my arm was like a big floppy ragdoll arm. it reminded me of the tinkertoys i had as a kid.

marshmallow hand – right now, my hand is all swollen up like a balloon (has been like this a while, really), so you can’t even see my knuckles. it’s poofy like a big fake rubber hand. or marshmallow!

pirate dan sang me a little song to commemorate. but i’ll leave that up to him to blog, for i am kinda sleepy and tired of typing for now.

it’s saturday night, friends and neighbors, and while normally that means time to get the hell out of the house and go boogie or something, today it means something way, way more fun:

wooooooooooohoooooooooooo!

i swear to you, as soon as i pulled off the ace bandage and the cold wrap, and got off as much of the gauze as i could, i danced my way to the kitchen. (or as close as you can come to dancing while being careful to keep my wrist and arm straight, and vertical. which was actual;ly pretty close, all things considered.)

i have to admit i was also really kinda curious what my incision would look like, and how many stitches i would have. imagine my disappointment when i saw that i apparently have no stitches: i think they used that liquid skin stuff — like for paperfcute, only in the surgical strength version. seriously, i can’t see any stitches. i’m kinda bummed. i guess i keep my previous record of 8 stitches (left knee; ran into a wire rabbit cage while playing hide and seek in the dark at a friend’s farmhouse at age 9 or so. kids, friendly bit of advice here, on a farm with real live implements of destruction is not a smart place to play hide and seek in the dark.).

the incision itself is fairly frankenstenian. kinda jagged, and about 7 inches long. starting under my thumb ball joint, it curves slightly and ends up in the middle of the underside of my forearm. i have to admit i’m a little worried that the scar will look like i tried to commit suicide. steve suggests i get a tattoo to cover it up, but i’ll just have to figure out what to get.

from an email to michael:

: [something about does niqui calling sushi dinner ‘state sponsored’ mean niqui is getting a fat check from the government for her woes]

you know, i’ve actually done a little thinking about litigation. not so much in the “i want to sue” column, but in the “i hope work doesn’t want me to sue atlanta” or whatever. and also in the i want to write a letter to atlanta’s streets and san people and tell them “funny, almost the entire time i was in atlanta i was all about ‘you know, those ungrated storm drains look really dangerous and you ought to put something over them or someone could fall into one,’ and then *i* fell into one! so you should fucking fix them, jerks!” but i don’t think i would be wise to do something like that (that could, by the properly paranoid, be construed as some sort of threat to litigate) without the advice of a lawyer — don’t poke the sleeping lion and all that — but shit, i just wanna say “i (mentally) told you so, pigfuckers, and maybe the next person to be a klutz in atlanta won’t be so philosophically opposed to extortant lawsuits for shit that you know the jury would award them some ridiculous sum for.”

i really, really want to “i told you so” them. even if i only told them so in my head.

i also really want to see an mri of my wrist now, with the plate and screw. and also i want to find out if i set off airport security.

but first? A SHOWER.

i’m torn on whether i like or loathe my space age ice pack. sure, it’s nice to only have to change the ice every 6 hours or so, especially since i’m supposed to (and have been) wear it for 72 hours after surgery, but it’s a beast to lug around. and it’s really pooly designed, from my point of view as an independent person living alone (and therefore dealing with this all by myself).

first and most ijmportantly, it’s impossible to connect it one-handedly due to the placement of the connector right behind mt right elbow. and as it’s wrapped right into my splint, that bit is non-negotiable. so i’ve been hooked up to it constantly since wednesday night, which wouldn’t be so bad except that i’d like to change shirts sometime this century. … i’m supposed to be able to take off the dressings saturday afternoon and shower, HALLELUJAH. i feel particularly gross. i mean, isn’t it bad enough that i have a broken wrist and things that were formerly quite doable — like opening a jar of peanut butter — aren’t; now i have to wear the same shirt for three days running too??

actually, i suppose that’s my only real complaint about thr space age ice pack. i just freaking wanna change clothes without requiring someone to assist, like i’ve been doing for the past 24 years. sigh.

in other news, the pain is getting somewhat better. FINALLY. i actually slept about 20 minutes past ‘time to take more meds’ not once but twice today, which i’m viewing as a major accomplishment. i haven’t felt completely pain-wracked and helpless since late last night, so hopefully that resident was right and the worst is over.

got a really lovely floral arrangement from folks at work today, which was kinda nice. although i intend to give max shit … when choosing flowers to send to someone without the use of both hands, pick an arrangement that comes with its own vase… 8) climbing up to my top shelf where i keep my vases was not really something i had in mind for today. ah well. they are really pretty flowers. not my favorites (those would be gerbera daisies, in case anyone is wondering) but pretty lilies and roses. and colorful, which makes me happy.

my sleep schedule is going to be completely fucked up by the time i’m better. i’ve been, basically, just drifting off when the spirit (or the drugs) moves me. but on the bright side, i think i quit smoking. too big a pita and i just don’t want it that bad.

ok, tired now.

bored.
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also: ow. i hate vicodin. it’s the biggest letdown of my life. everybody makes it sound like the greatest thing since sliced bread, and here i am wanting to sell my soul for a wimpy-ass otc motrin.

yes, we’re well entrenched in the cranky stage of recovery. my kingdom for a shower — a proper, scaldingly hot, long shower where the water never goes cold and the pressure is exactly right and i have scented shower gel and cosy warm towels afterwards. but i’d settle for one with both arms available for use.

so,v the vicodin makes the pain — a very dull, diffuse ache from mid-forearm to my hand — bearable, but only just. in comparison, the time between the last dose wearing off and time to take the next dose is incredible. it was really bad at 2-3 this morning, but it was really wretched from 6-7. am unsure is lying prone (i.e., trying to sleep) actuall makes it worse — next time i decide to sleep, i think i’ll just sleep in my comfy chair and see how that works.

when it was so terrible before 7, i actually paged the on call resident to see if this was normal. he said that i was dtrt wrt elevating and constantly icing it, and it’s normally worst for the first 24-48 hours. i’m certainly hoping for the former: normally i’m pretty ok with pain (like my headaches), but this is just so bad it’s hard to cope with at all; i can’t imagine 48 hours of this.

but enough self-pity. i talked to mom tuesday, and asked her to make me a poncho, since i can’t wear a proper coat. (and, btw, yesterday, walking 5 blocks to my bus, in the sleet and wind that occasionally nearly pushed me down, in a coat that i couldn’t button SUCKED. oh, brrr, i was so cold!) so she’s going to make me something out of polarfleece and a water/windproof nylon shell. i just hope it’s very warm, if yesterday’s storm is anything to judge the oncoming winter by.

am also very bummed about not being able to go down to p-town next weekend. i was totally in the mood for manual labor, and wanted to work on The Car. none of that for a while, though. bah.

ok, that’s about all i have the energy to type in at the moment, so, ttfn.