Sharing, Sharing That's the Thing to Do... Public Foray #6

Last Sunday, I made my first foray back to church.  I hoped that I was ready for the event because church is a major undertaking at 9 am with all your limbs.  I got up early, had a whole-grain cheerios breakfast, shaved my legs -- yes even the broken one that no one would see, got dressed, did my hair and makeup, put on my giant boot and was ready to roll--back into bed.  Wow, what an easy Sunday.  And then it hit, Jeff was in bed, the kids had no idea where their church clothes were and we had only 25 minutes to go.  I will admit that I grumped everyone into action, especially the boys that threw their shirts in the back of the closet after church last week and required me to attempt yet another first, ironing.  Did I mention that I was doing Sharing Time?  We made it 10 minutes late and miraculously there was a bench only three rows up. That NEVER happens.  Nothing like walking in late, except doing it on crutches really is more distracting for everyone.  Lucky for us, they were in the middle of singing.  I was more than a little embarrassed and tears were stinging my eyes.  I dearly hate being a spectacle.  I was in no mood to feel the spirit or do a seated song and dance for the Primary kids.  

Our Sharing Time was themed "Jesus healed the sick,"  and I am just the sick person to teach it.  I had been reading for the past week in the New Testament and found that this time something new stood out.  In Matthew, nearly every chapter from the time that Christ ended his 40-day fast until his arrest--  he was healing someone.  I got a new picture of people streaming in and following everywhere he went to be healed.   Just remembering my scripture study started to chisel away at my negative attitude.   I talked about this with the kids and how doctors didn't know very much and couldn't do very much in Jesus' time.  Which was a nice segue for me to talk about breaking my own leg and how it couldn't heal on its own, so the doctors had to use an idea of using screws and plates.  I showed them my x-rays, bolts and all.  The little kids were speechless for about 10 seconds, then hands shot up all over the room because everyone needed to tell me about how they or someone they knew had broken something.  One little boy told us about how his dad fell off the roof and broke his foot.  Wow, ouch.  Well, no sympathy from the 3-7 set.  I bet when their parents asked what they learned in Primary, they only said that 'Sister Macedone is screwed up."  A lesson to us all, kids get distracted by gore.  

Senior Primary fared better.  I had the good sense to ask if any of them had broken a bone from the get go.  They didn't care for much but seeing the screws and bolts, hmmm-- too many video games? Lesson 2, more sophisticated audiences want more gore?  I had known that this group would need more examples.  We talked about the priesthood power.  I shared a story from General Conference from Russel M. Nelson (May 2003).  I guess I like the anatomy-based teaching too, because I thought it was only a couple years ago.    He talked about a man with a heart problem that couldn't be fixed with any of the surgical techniques available.  The man went to then Dr. Nelson and told him that he had prayed and been led to Elder Nelson as the man who would fix his heart.  He encouraged Elder Nelson to pray to know how it was to be done.  In the very moment, Elder Nelson was directed where to make stitches, folds and cuts to repair the man's leaking valve. Don't worry, I was sure to point out the repaired valve on the heart diagram that I had brought.  The kids were riveted.  A couple kids shared personal experiences of someone being healed.  It was really cool to feel the spirit so strongly and my day could be turned around by the spirit so easily.  I think that is party of being "easily entreated,"  allowing the spirit to drive away your stress and negativity.  All in all, a positive foray.

People of Wal Mart: Public Foray Number Two

I am sure that in one way or another you have witnessed the comedy inherent at Wal Mart.  The tattoos, exposed flab and crazy outfits.  Perhaps you've seen that very large yelling mother with several disheveled children shouting commands from her Wal Mart issued shopping scooter.  That is my personal favorite that came back to haunt me today.  We opted for the least busy of our two non-local Wal Mart stores.  Jeff had called ahead to see if they had a wheelchair that I could use.  Of course they did, the disabled have every right to low low prices!  It was Saturday and crowded,  I regretted not asking for a temporary handicapped parking permit.  Crutches make everything seem far way.  Jeff pulled up to the curb and went to retrieve my wheelchair.  He came out of the store with a big GRIN on his face riding on an electric shopping scooter.  UGGGHHH, I took a quick look at the kids-- a little dishelveled.  Great, I am nearly that mom.  Don't worry, all my pet peeves directed my actions:  I did not run into the back of anyone's ankles,  I did not use the horn (all though Jeff begged), I didn't use any sort of loud voice.  Despite all that precaution people stared like crazy, doubtless some thought about pulling out their cell phone cameras. (It was a slow day for freakiness).  Right between lunchmeat and cheese, I saw another woman with a broken leg riding along like me.  Our eyes met, we checked out the footwear and smiled.  She pulled up and we chatted.  Turns out she fell down the stairs... in the splits.  Her back leg was jacked.  She tore the back of her knee and her ACL, and broke her fibula.  Hey same break, what do you know.  We laughed and wished each other a speedy recovery.   After that people still stared, but I had two happy thoughts: One, I didn't get hurt at home, and as such don't have to look at those bleachers every day and two, my knees both work.  Yea, for bendablity.

Back To School: Public Foray Number one

Oh the fun of seeing all your school friends again, smelling that musty gym smell, shelling out cash for the PTA... school is coming.  Usually, this is the time of year that I begin mourning because I will really miss my kids.  They are helpful.  They are nice.  They are fun.  It has taken half the summer of being together for us to get into the groove of being together and now I am NO fun.  Curses.  So, this year we'll all be glad when the bell rings on the first day.  I braved registration today as my first non-doctor public foray.  I saw all my school friends, you know--the secretaries, aides, teachers, PTA chics, other mom volunteers.  It seemed that those who knew me noticed the Boot right away, while those who were complete strangers felt free to run me over at will.  I thought taking a stroller was a hassle, but a mommy with a walker is a total circus.  Well, thanks to the strangers for not staring, but don't avert your eyes so much that you miss that I am sitting here.  To be fair, sitting in the walker makes me as tall as a 5th grader, so moms who are used to moving through a sea of short bodies that ripple and flow to make way, had no chance against my aluminum walker!  I will say that for next year I have learned a secret tip... the head secretary is placed in the back corner with the copy machine and all registration can be done with her, she just avoids the fray by hanging back a bit.  She even unlocked the hallways so I could actually use the handicap entrance at the front of the school. (The grade is less intimidating than the 45 degree drop down the gym ramp-- you gotta be careful when your feet have wheels).

I passsssed...

Yesterday, I met with my surgeon for a follow up.  Folks, it was NOT pretty.  I did get to see what had been pestering me for the last 4 days and yes, Jeff, I really did have blisters.  Good thing I got to do some Pioneer Day bonding with my fearless forebearers by sharing in some really crazy blisters.  I will not go into detail, but I am sure they are quite unlike the type that a new pair of shoes has given you in the past.  My incision looks "really straight," "great," and "perfect:" according to all the men in the room.  I will excuse those three, but my yellowish green skinny atrophy leg with a giant purplish gash running up the side didn't look anything like those words-- except straight-ish.  Once they opened the cast and laid my vulnerable weakling leg open to the outside world, they said that I could hop back on my crutches and go down the hall for an x-ray.  Excuse me please?  I should back up and say that my crutches skill are about nil thanks to my handy walker.  We had brought the crutches as a more mobile way to get from the front door of the office to the reception desk.... not as a mechanism for further injury.  Don't worry, I didn't embarrass myself at this time.  Next the surgeon looked at the films, maybe to see the perfection of plate and screw placement to appease his guilt over the crazy bruising and the blisters.  He then described my options for footwear for the next 6 weeks.  The boot, light and protective, utilitarian-- the army boot of post-op or the nimble lace up ankle brace which is much lighter weight and consists of breathable (thin) fabric that is laced like a converse all-star without sole or toe.  As an added benefit the lace-up has additional arch support of elastic and velcro.  Ack.  really?  Of course I chose the boot-- not the dr.'s choice, so he threw in three weeks of boot and three weeks brace.  He apparently doesn't get that my three children have little to no idea that there is anything wrong with me, let alone a broken leg of all things.  They are merely convinced that I am lazy and now own a super fun array of carts and stilts that only I get to play with.  The boot screams this extremity is extremely broken, please do NOT invade my new larger personal space bubble.  The ankle brace says, "Hey I am an athlete with a minor injury, but the coach says I'll be in a couple weeks."  The Dr. did not give in...
Next he talked physical therapy.  That was fast-- I still have stitches, you know.  He proceeded to put my right foot in and my right foot out and shake it all about.  By the time he was done doing the range of motion hokey-pokey, I was white as a ghost and going for the full blackout routine.  Backpeddle by the Dr. He brought me some M&Ms for my "blood sugar."  I was too busy with my deep breathing to tell him about the Strawberry Shortcake I had for lunch 30 minutes ago.  After that, I guess all my instruction was over.  I was asking him questions as he backed out of the door.
After all of that I didn't pass out, but didn't feel ready to brave the crutches.  Jeff went to get my meds and appointments worked out while I waited.  We had decided to use a wheelchair to get me safely to the car because I was still a bit wobbly.  Maybe I did have low blood sugar.  One M&M would make everything better it had a peanut for protein right?  One was all I needed to get my body into action.  I called down the hall to Jeff, I was either going to pass out or puke right now.  (Sorry, I had to use the nasty puke word because really the lure of the alliteration was too strong for any self-respecting English major).  Jeff called down to a nurse and she tossed him a garbage can as he ran towards my room where I proceeded to purge myself of both the candy and cake in a most violent fashion.  This was not my most endearing moment-- I could tell from Jeff's face, but I really did feel MUCH better.  I offered to jump on my crutches and make a run for it, but Jeff's nerves had HAD it with my antics-- he got the wheelchair.

A couple miles down the road he asking if that was embarrassing.  Um, nope.  Hopefully they forget me over the next 6 weeks.  I'll be sure to tip off the physical therapist to my special tricks.  Maybe I will develop some stamina in training so my next visit will restricted to dry humor and inconspicuous grimaces.

Yep, It's Broke.

State Tourney Part two. There were no trophies for Ben, but I received a load of custom stainless steel that I can always carry with me as a reminder of how fun baseball 2010 was. I now have a plate running along the outside of my fibula with 5 screws to put my leg together again. Apparently the twisting move I made to save Caitlyn from fracture ended up exploding the pieces of my bone hither and thither. What's to be done, cadaver paste to the rescue. The surgeon strategically squirted it into the empty spaces so my own bone has something to grab onto while healing for the next 7 weeks. Yes, as an added bonus I added more hardware and two weeks onto my recovery time. In addition to all the exterior ligaments on the inside of my leg I tore the ligaments that actually hold my tibia and fibula together. End result 3-4 inch bolt through the bottom of both bones to help the interior ligaments stitch back together. Even in the old Anatomy and Phys. days, I never fully appreciated the precarious interactions that enable walking....

So, thanks to my mom's generous set of new cotton sheets, I am rediscovering sleep, reading, suduko, crosswords, sleep, crochet, reading picture books, playing monopoly and phase ten all from the comfort of my bed. Good thing we upgraded to a new mattress in February ... I can feel the good karma coming around.

Thanks to both of my grandmothers for their walkers that have saved my dignity a few times and my sanity daily.

So if any of you have any great new sedentary hobbies or skills I should take up, just let me know.

Is it broken?

Ben's baseball team made it to the state tournament, which means more ball fields. They started yesterday bright and early and I packed snacks, drinks and a million thing for Noah and Caitlyn to do, so I could watch the game. When we pulled up it turns out that all adults have to pay to get into the ball park. It was only 2 dollars, but really paying to watch your own kid still rubs the wrong way. While the boys warmed up, Noah and Caitlyn started climbing the bleachers until Caitlyn cried because she was up too high and was scared to come down. Yes, those bleachers were super high and steep. I climbed to the rescue and started carrying her down. With only 3 or 4 rows left to descend, I slipped or something and fell off the side of the benches to the pavement with Caitlyn in my arms. Apparently I did some sort of tricky stunt double maneuver so that Cait didn't get hurt, but I did.

I looked down to see that my ankle was really out of whack. Like bones bulging in places they shouldn't. And that was just the right side, the left ankle was swollen to the size of a tennis ball. Great, two broken ankles.-- I guess I am a girl who will be able to finish her summer booklist. One the baseball moms drove me, Noah and Caitlyn to the emergency room, where Jeff met us. I ended up with only a major sprain on the left ankle, a broken right fibia, and torn ligments in the right ankle. Prognosis: another first-- surgery and at least 6 weeks in a cast.

Dead or Alive....

Well the blog, as Debi pointed out, is DOA and since I am no good at Facebook, I guess I can commit to this. As you all are busy, you can understand my excuses, but that doesn't mean that you will accept them. We have been embroiled in marriages, deaths and projects for sure, but I hope to do better and document what we have to show for our negligence.