Category: Health & Wellness

The boulevard of broken bones

Today marks five weeks since I tripped over a power cord and broke my arm. It was non-surgical, and I’ve been wearing the sling 24/7, except for showers, etc. In another 10 days I see the ortho for an assessment. If all goes well, he will say the bone is healing properly, I don’t need surgery and I can begin physical therapy.

I will not bore you with my boring itinerary here at the boulevard of broken bones, but just so you know. It’s boring. I can’t quite get into a book even though I have several in the queue. I’ve watched a little TV. I ate a box of See’s candy. I was losing weight, but I fixed that.

I’ve been able to walk a little every day. It’s awkward but manageable. I think about Lindsey Vonn and wonder how she passes the time. She’s probably good at this, too.

Dale, who fell off a ladder right before Christmas and broke his pelvis, is defying the odds. The PT is getting him stronger and stronger, and he hasn’t used the walker in a week. He’s up and down the stairs like an old pro, and I can only detect a slight limp at the end of the day when he’s tired.

It’s too early to even speculate on what we’ve learned throughout this ordeal. There will be takeaways for sure, but right now we’re just trying to get through it. I have calmed down a bunch and no longer feel like everything is an accident waiting to happen. I even opened the door to the room where I am sleeping, as I’ve sort of moved on from that existential fear of things that go bump in the night.

My goal is to move back into the master bedroom with Dale. He’s lost weight, too, so maybe he won’t snore as much. The main reason I’m not in there now is because I have a hard time finding a comfortable position, and I guess I’d rather not have an audience.

Oh, that’s right. Dale needs to sleep. That was my real reason – always thinking of others.

Everyone assumes the biggest thing I want is to get back to golf. And that’s true to some extent, but I just want to be able to do stuff around the house like I used to. I am amazed at what I can accomplish with one arm. Still, it’s not enough to chop vegetables or maintain the household.

We hired someone to come and help with stuff, but we got rid of her after one day. She drove both of us crazy. Dale agreed to step up, and it’s working well enough. Way better than having someone else in our space. If I squint, it looks OK.

Thankfully, he can cook. We’re back to pizza on Fridays. Last week’s was sausage and anchovies. I don’t know what’s on the docket for tomorrow. Yesterday we had spaghetti carbonara with a salad. Tonight is schnitzel with marinated cucumbers and home fries. I might need help cutting mine. That was the great thing about the See’s. Just pop them in, and they’re gone.

Aside from the candy, I have been eating well. Lots of protein. I actually like cottage cheese, which is high in protein, but I got tired of it pretty quickly. I prefer Greek yogurt, which is also an excellent source of protein. Tuna, sardines – both great. I cooked up a chicken breast just to make chicken salad.

I’ve squandered many an hour on the Epstein files. I want to see Trump held accountable for something in his miserable life of crime, and I thought it might be this, but who knows? The whole thing is bigger than my brain can absorb.

Although I said I don’t have any lessons to share just yet, I will say our accidents have given me an even greater appreciation for the simple things in life. And reading about all that awfulness with Epstein and his billionaire buddies only amplifies my desire to live simply, stay healthy, eat well and enjoy the time that has been given to us.

Everything is broken

That dang humerus hasn’t made me laugh yet. Fucker.

Tomorrow marks two weeks since I fell. I saw a doc today at the orthopedic practice, although he is a sports medicine doctor. I already have one of those, so I didn’t understand why I needed to go there. My regular guy finally called me and explained that even though the other dude is not an orthopedic surgeon, he’s affiliated with the ortho mothership, and it would be better for them to monitor this whole thing.

It took a lot to get that explanation, but I get it now.

The new guy said no surgery. Yay! The sling they gave me at the ER didn’t fit me properly, so I got a new one from them. He said this was not related to osteoporosis. Just a freak accident. That made me feel better. Not that freak accidents are fun and games, but it does not appear this is the beginning of long, slow decline.

In fact, he said this might have been way worse had I not been physically fit. I felt like all those exercises and weightlifting didn’t do a damn thing to save me, but he said quite the contrary.

That said, it’s not like I will be golfing anytime soon. I’m OK with it as long as this horrible phase eventually comes to an end.

So, the illustration. I am mixed-handed, meaning I write with my left hand but do everything else with my right. I now have to use my left hand for all of it, if you get my drift. That stupid little tool didn’t work. Let’s just say I solved the problem with latex gloves and Dude Wipes.

To borrow from another song, Bob Dylan this time, Everything is Broken. Since our accidents, a long-serving laundry room light went dark, the microwave stopped spinning, the oven won’t stop heating until it hits 5,000 degrees and shuts itself off before melting the planet, the battery in Dale’s car died, the DISH signal can’t connect with the hopper (meaning no TV) and we had to get a new food processor.

All of it fixed or in the process of being fixed, but damn. But then I think about my sister’s friend who tried to sooth a boo-boo with dry ice, and I’m grateful it wasn’t worse.

Dale and I have had some moments. I have two operating legs, so he thinks I am Wonder Woman. We have had some lively discussions about my current limitations. I said I’m healing from a fracture just like him, but I’m doing it backward and in high heels.

I still have to make all the calls and argue with the home health people. They have been trying to say he can only have PT once a week, and I had to use every bit of strength left to rectify that. I finally got to Oz this week, and I believe we are back to twice a week. He is doing fantastic, by the way.

He wants to cook more, but it’s still hard for both of us. After wheeling a spatchcocked chicken around the kitchen on his overbed table (the kind like you see in hospitals) I said this is too much. I cannot do this.

Now we are keeping it simple. Freezer food, homemade burritos, sandwiches. We are trying Indian takeout tonight.

All in all, we are doing OK. Now if ya’ll could do something about Trump, that would be great.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR ATTENTION TO THIS MATTER.

Send in the clowns

It turns out Dale is not the only one around here who can do his own circus stunts. I was going to write about this sooner, but my humor was impaired.

No, that’s not it. It was something about humor not being funny. Oh, yes, I’ve got it now. My humerus was fractured. Which means I fell and broke my arm.

Sometimes I crack myself up.

I was being Super Caregiver, doing too many things at once and tripped on a power cord that should not have been there in the first place. I knew right away it was bad. Dale still couldn’t drive, so I had to get a neighbor to take me to the ER.

Well, you know how all that goes. I left there a couple of hours later in a sling. My neighbor came to retrieve me, and I was already on the phone with the home health care company scheduling help.

I am one-finger typing, so I will keep it short.

This is awful, but we will survive. Dale’s arms are strong, and my legs are sturdy. Between the two of us, we almost make a whole. The pain is manageable. I’ve got to get some follow-up CT scans to rule out surgery. They don’t think I will need it but want to be sure. All I can say is I sure hope not. But I have made peace with whatever happens.

Dale practiced driving today, if you can believe that. Just in the neighborhood, but he is declaring us mobile again. Our home health aide started today. Four hour shifts, three times a week. She can also take us to appointments, the grocery store, etc.

What a lesson in humility. My able-bodied arrogance was a bit much. Now I’m using shower chair I bought for Dale! Oh, and when everyone told me to take care of myself, I thought that meant massages, facials and golf. What it really means is slow down, be mindful, take care not to hurt yourself.

A little late, but I like to share my lessons learned.

I find myself singing Send in the Clowns.

Isn’t it rich?

Are we a pair?

Me here at last on the ground

You in mid-air

Send in the clowns

Isn’t it bliss?

Don’t you approve?

One who keeps tearing around

One who can’t move

Where are the clowns?

Send in the clowns

Just when I’d stopped opening doors

Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours

Making my entrance again with my usual flair

Sure of my lines

No one is there

Don’t you love farce?

My fault, I fear

I thought that you’d want what I want

Sorry, my dear

But where are the clowns?

Quick, send in the clowns

Don’t bothеr, they’re herе

What’s best for both of us

I’ll say one thing about a family crisis – it diverts your attention away from the news. I’m still aware of all the terrible things going on, but it’s a blur. I seriously do not have the bandwidth to make myself miserable over all that, too.

Dale is doing absolutely great. If I’m counting correctly, it has been 36 days since the accident, and he has been home 11 full days. He can now get in and out of bed without assistance, dress himself, use the bathroom and brush his teeth. He still needs a little help with the shower, but it’s way easier than the fiasco of his first night home.

I bought a caddy that attaches to the walker, and he uses that for trips back and forth to the kitchen. It even has a strap to secure a cup of coffee. We’re trying to get him used to doing as much as he can for himself. Some would say that’s because it’s best for Dale, but I promised to tell the truth here, and I am encouraging his independence mostly because it’s best for Donna.

In reality, mutual independence is best for both of us.

I made a list of all the daily actions, and we went through it together and figured out how to eliminate things I specifically have to do. A simple thing like keeping all his devices charged was solved with an extension cord (safely out of tripping range) and a power strip.   

Dale started PT, which he loved, but then the PT was a no-show today. I guess because of the holiday, but this guy is a professional – it’s his job to make sure we’re all clear on when he is and isn’t coming. Dale is doing a few extra laps around the house, but that hardly makes up for the guided exercises.

In the middle of all this, Dale had a hang-nail like thing on his finger that was becoming discolored, so we made a run to the urgent care. He did really well with the car ride and the transfers and all that. It was infected, so it’s a good thing we went. The doctor drained it and put him on antibiotics. If it’s not one thing, it’s three.

His sister is here until Wednesday. She has been an absolute lifeline, but it will be good when we get our space back. I think she’s ready to go, too.

You would be surprised how hard it is for three people to agree on what to have for dinner or what to watch on TV. I don’t think I’m being judgmental when I say she has odd dietary preferences. I won’t say her foods can’t touch ever, but she definitely prioritizes distinct parcels of protein, vegetable and starch.

As for TV, she and Dale ganged up on me and voted for Cheers and Mash reruns. Dark times.

One night we watched The Monuments Men. What a great movie and so timely. It follows an Allied group of fine arts specialists tasked to find and save pieces of art and other culturally important items before Nazis destroy or steal them during World War II.

The very beginning of the movie has a quote that I later looked up because I think we’re headed in this direction. I mean, some of it is already happening.

“You can wipe out an entire generation, you can burn their homes to the ground and somehow they’ll still come back. But if you destroy their achievements and their history then it’s as if they never existed.”

On a much more banal note, I’m going to play golf Wednesday and hopefully with some regularity after that. My hair has gone native, so I scheduled a haircut for later this week. I’m comfortable leaving Dale unchaperoned. At least I think I am.

I carefully weighed whether to hire a home health aide. At this point, the only real job is babysitting. Well, that’s not fair. Let’s call it monitoring Dale to make sure he’s not doing anything stupid and possibly assisting with light housework. As I understand it, the people who do this work are relatively low-skilled and without credentials that might keep them from going rogue. I have no personal connections, so it’s luck of the draw.

While I’m sure there are some very fine people in the queue, it’s easier to skip it. Dale is further along that I thought he’d be at this point. I can handle the housework. I did most of it before anyway, so it’s just a little extra. If I can get out for walks, golf and self-care appointments, I’ll be fine.

Thank you for all the warm wishes, good vibes, prayers and other words of wisdom. Call me crazy, but I think it’s working.

Home again, home again

When Dale first went into the Skilled Nursing Facility after fracturing his pelvis, the Physical Therapists suggested Skechers slip-ins, since tying his shoes might be difficult for several weeks to several months.

Of course, he scoffed. He’s fine with the shoes he has. Yes he is! A few days later, I talked to him again about the Skechers, and he flatly said no way. We shall not speculate on his reasons, but OK, maybe we will speculate he thinks they are for old farts who can’t bend over and tie their shoes.

The day before he was discharged, I went to visit the PT room, where he was doing his exercises and charming the ladies. The PT said, “Donna, Dale is doing great, and he wants a pair of Skechers.”

“Really?” I said. “Does he now?” Both of the PTs were laughing, so I guess they know. Dale, newly designated old fart, is now the proud owner of a nice pair of Skechers. One of the nurses said to get a half size larger, and she was right.

The trip home went great. He got in and out of the car with ease. He likes the bed! He can get up and down on his own and use the walker to get to the bathroom or the living room, but he’s at high risk for a fall right now, so we monitor his movements. His sister, Coris, is here helping, and I am so grateful. I’m worn out.

The whole set-up I spent so much time on is working out beautifully. Coris gave me a 10 out of 10 in preparation. She’s a retired nurse, so I graciously accepted her accolades. A nurse came to do the pre-assessment for what he will need in the way of physical therapy, home health care, etc. Coris spoke nurse talk to her, and that helped immeasurably. I could easily have unleashed on the poor nurse, and I didn’t. Coris sent me off to make a copy of Dale’s meds, and that was one slick move.

Tomorrow a physical therapist and an occupational therapist are supposed to call and set up an arrival time for his first visit. Once we know how that works, then I will make other plans that include fun time for me.

We did have to modify my award-winning set-up just a tad. The bathroom is small, but we learned the hard way it does not easily accommodate me, Dale, a walker and an open shower door. We were doing a practice run for a shower, and we had to slide around like one of those puzzles with all the squares to get out.

Once we were liberated, a neighbor came to remove the bathroom door, and that gave us much more room to navigate the space.

The shower has grab bars, but Dale was not confident at this point. As it happens, Medicare provided a commode, which has a bowl, but you can take the bowl off and set the whole thing over the toilet. It raises the seat and has arms for stability. I bought a shower seat that swivels so Dale could sit down and swivel to the direction of the water without actually moving.

The only problem is his butt. The fracture is on the left, but it turns out the most significant pain is on the right. He saw the doctor right before he was discharged, and that pain on the right is a hematoma, and not a small one. It’s significant tissue damage, and the doc said it will just take time to feel better and heal. Coris calls it hamburger butt, because that tissue is so chewed up by trauma. Dale calls it hamburger helper.

Sitting in general is a problem, and he’s not yet ready to try the shower stool because it doesn’t have arms. We moved the commode in there because he can sit on that and use his arms to prop himself up a bit and take some of the pressure off.

There’s also a small step up into the shower, and he wasn’t ready to try that. We figure the PT and the OT will help us devise a good shower scheme, but Dale was pretty funky and needed to be hosed off ASAP.

Here’s what we did. I stripped down to my underwear and got in the back of the shower. Coris placed the commode inside the shower. We left the shower door open. Dale got onto the commode and left his feet hanging outside the shower. Coris stripped down to a t-shirt and undies and lined the bathroom floor with towels. Then we got to work. She saved his private parts for me, and she took care of his legs and feet.

It was messy, but it worked, and Dale was a happy camper. I feel certain he will quickly upgrade to the swivel seat and eventually standing with the grab bars. But we worked with what we had. It was actually hilarious and should have been televised.

We don’t want him moving around at night because of the fall risk. He and I agreed to keep our phones by the bed and his instructions are to call me if he needs anything. Sure enough, he’s called me every effing night, but they were legitimate things, and I think we’re working through that. I never had kids, but I kind of feel like a new mom waiting until I can sleep through the night.

Dale is doing better every day. He’s reducing his heavy duty pain meds and supplementing with Advil, per the doctor’s instructions. Once we have a schedule, I want to hire a mini-me to watch over him while I go out and play golf or otherwise goof off. I’m a better caregiver than anyone expected, including me, but I don’t like it.

There, I said it.

What a journey. I so appreciate everyone’s good wishes. Thank you! Long-lost friends, casual acquaintances, golf buddies, family and blog followers have all reached out to help us during this time, and it makes you realize a good life means you take care of each other when you can.

Dinner tonight is a Maine-thing his sister is making for Dale. She baked beans and bread yesterday, and they were delicious, but today they make sandwiches of cold beans and butter on untoasted bread. I am going with Plan B. Not sure what that is at this point, but I can’t quite take bean sandwiches.

News from the mediverse

I actually predicted Trump would do something horrible in Venezuela on Christmas Day, because that’s how he rolls, but I guess he couldn’t get it done on time. What a despicable act by our country, but hey, we’re not thinking about the Epstein files anymore.

Except we are. Because we are not stupid, and we are not looking away from any of these crimes. I called my Republican congressman this morning and left a message. Not that he has a spine, but you never know.

Let’s see. News from the mediverse. Dale is doing much better. I don’t think they ever succeeded in getting ahead of his pain, but the pain finally subsided enough for the meds to work effectively. Ha – caught you, you sneaky bastards.

One evening Dale texted me that the meds didn’t put a dent in the pain. I was ready to go to bed, but I flew down to the facility (on my broom) and explained the situation to the charge nurse. We went together to his room, where he was resting comfortably. She asked him where his pain was on the scale, and he said a 2.

The look on her face. The look on my face. I wish I had that moment captured on film. I’m like, you dragged my ass down here for a 2? I’m sure she was thinking the same thing. Anyway, by the next day, the pain mitigation was working well. We shall pretend the other thing didn’t happen.

He has lost close to 10 pounds. While he welcomes the weight loss, this particular diet sucks.

Dale moves about quite nicely with the help of the walker and the physical therapist. He can get in and our of bed with minimal assistance. Sitting still hurts quite a bit, but even that might be improving. Dale is not exactly Communicator of the Year. I had to have a little talk with him about being his own advocate. I’m still there for him, of course, but he has to speak up if he’s in pain or needs something.

The plan is to bring him home Thursday. Lots of moving parts, but I’m confident this whole thing will work. His sister is coming from Maine to help. We like each other a lot, but you know. Family can be hard. We talked about it, and we’re just going to get over it for now. Too many other things to worry about.

I’m really glad she’s coming. She and Dale have a strong bond, and she’s a retired nurse. I will need reinforcements, and she’s exactly the right person to help.

Medicare covers some of the home health assistance, and I am planning to supplement that with private help, at least for a couple of weeks. The risk of fall is still pretty high, and we want to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Since he fell off an extension ladder and is flat on his back in a nursing facility, watching the clock to see when the next pain pill arrives, hoping the meds don’t cause a complete bowel obstruction, listening to his roommate cry and peeing into a bedside urinal, I suggested we get rid of the ladder.

He said, oh, no, that’s a good ladder. I know what I did wrong.

Dude, are you smoking crack? I said you would actually get on that thing again??????? He said yes, of course. So, I asked my buddy at ChatGPT what to do. The bot said to respect his autonomy but find another place for the ladder until he’s capable of making a rational decision. I was going to ask a neighbor to store it in his garage, but everybody around here maximizes their garage space.

Instead, I found a hidey hole in our garage. Mostly out of sight. You hardly know it’s there. May it rest in peace.

What I’m watching

I’ve been watching The Diplomat on Netflix, but I’m not sure I’ll continue. We worked in an embassy in Cairo, so the diplomatic setting is nostalgic, and of course, I love all the relationship stuff, but the politics is kind of exhausting and maybe a little too relevant right now? Still, I do think the British foreign secretary is hot. Seems to me the ambassador agrees, and I’d like to be there when that happens.

Last night I switched to BritBox and saw there’s a new season of Shetland, so I watched that. I like Vera, but she sort of wears on me at times.

What I’m reading

I had a nice stack of books from the library and returned them all. I just can’t concentrate right now.

What I’m eating

Not much, I will tell you that. I left the facility a little early yesterday and had time to cook something other than a quesadilla or burrito. I was planning to stop at the grocery store, but it was pouring rain, and I wasn’t up for it. It was like an episode of Chopped. I found enough stuff to make my favorite Indian comfort food, Keema. It’s basically a spicy ground meat and spinach stew in coconut milk.

I found bison in the freezer. I ran out of spinach the night before, but I had a tub of the spinach-arugula mix. I didn’t have fresh tomatoes, but I had a can of fire-roasted tomatoes. I had all the spices and one can of coconut milk. I was missing fresh jalapenos but went out in the rain to Dale’s dying jalapeño plant and found a couple in good shape. I even had homemade naan in the freezer.

That’s the best meal I’ve had since this whole thing went down. Drank a beer with that, sucked down a bunch of water, popped a half of a sleep gummy and was asleep by 7:30.

Did I mention holidays are a pain?

Let’s see. I’m angry, sad and tired. But I’m grateful for spinach. It’s truly the wonder vegetable. You can use it for a salad or add it to a bowl of soup or a pasta sauce. Craving something cheesy and delicious but trying to eat healthy? Spinach quesadilla.

And the best part is a tub lasts all week.

So, I’ve pretty much been living on spinach when I come home from being Dale’s companion and advocate at the Skilled Nursing Facility. You might recall he’s there for a fractured pelvis.

But more about me … when I get home, I eat something and struggle to stay up until 7 p.m. Rinse, lather, repeat.

In some ways, Dale is doing great. He can walk now with the walker and the Physical Therapist by his side. He’s cheerful and talkative. He got a new roommate who also hates Trump, and they’ve had some great discussions. I mean, come on, is that karma or what?

But it’s weird. The fractures are on the left. At first sitting was fine. But after almost a week in the nursing facility, his butt on the right side hurts so badly he can’t sit for more than five minutes.

I’ve been going kind of nuts helping to get this resolved. The medical system is complicated, and it’s not for the weary kind.

So far, they think it’s because he’s compensating, putting the weight on his right because the left hurts, but still, you don’t know for sure, and it’s scary. I was ready to get him out of there and back to the hospital, but that comes with baggage, too. Let’s say they find nothing else wrong and want to discharge him. He’d either have to go back to the nursing facility if they still had a spot for him or find another one or come home. And I don’t have his downstairs room set up yet.

That’s in the works, but nothing happens fast. Oh, and did I mention it’s the holidays? Pain doesn’t take a holiday, but people do. The Ortho is on vacation, and so is everyone apparently. No one else can see him right away.

In the meantime, I am pressing for an MRI, and that’s no easy task. I did finally escalate this at the Ortho’s office, and yes, tears were involved, but the supervisor called later to tell me he has an appointment next week, she set it up so the nursing facility can transport him on a gurney so he doesn’t have to sit. She spoke with the on-call doctor, who said if the pain gets worse before his appointment, then I should have him transferred to the hospital.

I feel like that’s a solid plan. Dale’s on board with it. The medical-in-laws are on board with it. Lots of people tell me Skilled Nursing Facilities are horrible, and I need to get him out as soon as possible. Yes, this one is flawed in many ways, but I believe he’s in good hands.

After a long and stressful day, I feel better knowing I got someone in his line of care (as opposed to someone I met at the gas station) to say when it’s time to go back to the hospital. They didn’t dismiss me and actually gave me information that helps clarify the decision for us. For that alone, I deserve a medal. Or at least a Jameson.

We’re going to see how he does over the next few days. They are going to try some different pain management techniques. If the pain doesn’t worsen and he continues to improve, we will try to get him home sooner rather than later. I’m lining up private help to augment what Medicare provides.

His downstairs bed comes tomorrow, and I’m also getting some grab bars installed. The guy flat on his back in the SNF scoffed at the grab bars. I said they’re really for me. Call me crazy, but I don’t want to fall down and go boom.

Oh, and while I’m dissing on Dale, I’ve been after him for years to try protein drinks. He wanted no part of them. He’s not eating well in the facility, so I suggested he ask for protein drinks. I said you can get chocolate, and they are delicious. No, no, no. Not for Mr. Dale.

Then I walked in yesterday, and he mentioned they are bringing him protein drinks in the afternoon. Like this was the first he’d heard of them. “They’re delicious!” I asked him what flavor he got, and he said chocolate. I might just leave him there.

Anyway, that’s it. I’m thinking about dinner. Something cheesy. With spinach.

Adventures in medical care

The hospital was actually pretty nice. My husband had a private room, there was a couch where I could sit and they served Peet’s coffee. I guess the Medicare drill is after three nights, you will most likely be moved to a Skilled Nursing Facility (pronounced sniff) if you aren’t able to go home yet.

When I told my sister-in-law, who is a retired nurse, that he was moving to a SNF, she cried.

They gave me a list, and I had about an hour to decide. I looked to see which ones were closest to our house. I Googled reviews. We got our first choice, which got glowing reviews, high medical ratings, etc. Several commenters even said the food was excellent.

I’m told they are all pretty much the same. It’s not that I made a poor choice, it’s just that, you know, it’s not the Ritz. My first reaction was something between Cuckoo’s Nest and Girl, Interrupted.

The place is packed, and they gave him a bed in a room so tiny you couldn’t even access the bathroom (shared by four people) without moving stuff around. He was in the back, by the window, but you practically had to crawl over his roommate to get to Dale.

After the shock wore off and physical therapy arrived, we began to feel better. I started schmoozing (I was in PR, after all) and the next day got him moved to a much better room with a worse roommate. Dale said it was a worthy trade.

I won’t go into the details regarding the roommate, but aside from being old and sick, he’s mean to the staff, screams about this, that and the other thing and does not have complete control of his bowels. He makes a big production when he has an “accident.” Dale thinks he does it on purpose to get attention.

As I said, it’s not really a very pleasant place to be, but it’s clean and the staff is very kind and attentive and seem to be good at what they do. We both feel like he’s in good hands. The goal is to get him to the point where he can get up on his own, get to the bathroom, etc. Then he can come home. It will most likely be three weeks, the doctor suggested.

The food is pretty awful, but then you know what food snobs we are. The meals are healthy, and there’s good variety. Dale picks at it. He’s on a normal diet, so I’m allowed to bring food, which is a pain in the ass, but he needs more than what he is willing to eat off the tray. Oh, and daily coffee service from Donna’s instead of Peet’s.

He’s in good spirits and understands it’s a long journey. All I can say is if you visit one of these facilities, you will do whatever you can to keep from ending up there. Part of the place is long-term care, and that is just heart-breaking. Some of these poor souls sit in their wheelchairs out in the hallway, snoozing or muttering to themselves. A few scream now and then.

I’m doing OK, except I wish he’d just eat the damned food. But I get it. My new best friend is ChatGPT. I had never used it before, but I love it! I’m asking about beds for downstairs when he comes home, other medical equipment, how to deal with family members … it’s incredible!

While I don’t know what my chat friend’s gender is, I’m saying it’s a her. She gave me some advice about sibling matters, and out of habit, I wrote back to thank her and let her know which path I choose. She approved of my choices and applauded my emotional intelligence.

I was texting my young friend who’s more familar with all this stuff, and I said, “I think she’s sucking up to me.” My friend said, yes, but here’s some language to put in your preferences to let her know you don’t want that.

Although I did it, I sort of liked the sucking up. I promised myself I would not upload my photo and ask my chat buddy how old I looked. Or if my bob made me look like a Republican.

Stay off ladders

I guess I will just come out and say it. On Monday, Dale fell off a ladder getting down Christmas stuff out in the garage. I was not home when it happened. He crawled inside and waited for me. For two hours, maybe longer.

When I arrived, he was lying on a small carpeted area near the entryway. I asked what happened and if I could help him up, but he said he didn’t think he could get up. I said you know I’m going to have to call 911, right?

So, that’s what I did. They came quickly, moved him to a stretcher, put him in the ambulance and away he went to the hospital. The rescue guys told me to go to the ER and tell them my husband was transferred there by ambulance, and they would tell me where to go.

We spent a few hours in the ER. The doctor said it was good news, bad news. He did not break a hip, but he broke his pelvis. He fell off the bottom rung and went straight down onto his butt, so there were no head injuries or any other problems.

The doctor said sometimes people walk out of there the same night. That would not be the case for Dale. He was in a little pain just lying down, but he could not bear putting any weight on it at all.

He was admitted to the hospital Monday night. He’s in good spirits, but it’s very hard for him to stand up or walk. A physical therapist and an occupational therapist have been working with him, and they said he’s doing better than most, that it’s just a matter of time.

Today they will transfer him to a skilled nursing facility for additional rehab. He will be there until he can come home. Maybe a week, maybe two weeks, maybe more. We just don’t know. I do know he can’t come home at this point.

We live in a two-story house, and our bedroom is upstairs. I’m waiting until he gets to the new place to find out what he is going to need. My general plan is to get some kind of a bed and put it in what used to be a downstairs bedroom. We converted it to a walk-in pantry, but there’s room for a bed. There’s also a small bathroom right next to it with a walk-in shower, grab bars, etc.

I guess that’s it. It’s all very stressful, but what can you do? I did blow up on my sister, who isn’t a doctor but plays one on the Internet. I apologized immediately and that night decided I need to bring my best self to this party. Stay calm, stay strong.

As you know, I had cancer twice. The first involved three surgeries, six months of chemo and lots of recovery time. Dale was there for me for both cancers, but that first one was particularly tough. He was my rock, and I need to be his.

The neighbors have been fantastic, and that’s a big help. The kitty misses his daddy, although he never budged from his upstairs nap to see what was going on when his main man was in the fetal position downstairs. Just saying. A dog might have been there for him.

Anyway, that’s all I got. Stay off ladders!

Never surrender

It seems I’ve been in a bit of a funk. Aside from watching all that is good and decent in America being crushed by soulless rat bastards, my traitorous left shoulder joined the party, and all things combined, it just seemed like there was no way up.

Not that I always need to be right, but I “suggested” to medical professionals back in March that I might have frozen shoulder. Don’t ask me to explain what it is. It’s a thing. They also call it adhesive capsulitis. I had it in my right shoulder shortly after my mastectomy in 2015, so I am somewhat familiar with the symptoms.

They all agreed I did not have frozen shoulder. I asked about getting a cortisone shot, and they said no, it most likely wouldn’t help whatever might be wrong with me, if only they knew, but since it’s not frozen shoulder, I should stick with physical therapy.

I did as I was told for close to six months, although I didn’t see much improvement. The PT said it would take a year of hard work. I’m like, fine, bring it on. I couldn’t get back in to see the sports medicine doctor until late January, but I could ride it out until then. I could still play golf, so it wasn’t the end of the world.

Then I couldn’t play golf. I no longer had a swing and couldn’t strike the ball properly. It’s like my shoulder was, oh, I don’t know … frozen?

I brought it up at my annual physical, and the doctor said we probably ought to get an MRI. That’s done, and the results are in. You might be surprised to learn I have frozen shoulder. She referred me back to the sports doctor, who still couldn’t see me until late January, but they got me an appointment with one of his colleagues.

He said, oh! Frozen shoulder! You need a cortisone shot! You could have gotten this earlier, you know.

I got the shot last week, and it really is a pre-Christmas miracle. I can play golf. I can sleep on that side. It still hurts a little, but it’s mostly gone. One shot fixed me last time, and I’m hopeful that will be the case this time around. Now that I’ve had it in both shoulders, I’d like to think I’m done.

Which brings me back to watching democracy rot from within. I don’t know what to do. Part of me just wants to pretend it isn’t happening, but the other part of me says bad things happen when good people stay quiet. I know a lot of good people read this blog, so I suspect you ruminate on this as well.

I quit writing for a few weeks because I just sort of felt like, what’s the point? But I think the point for me personally and for all of us struggling with the political landscape is to never surrender. Do what you can, but don’t torment yourself. Focus on simple pleasures.

I’m no pundit, but I think it’s important that everyday people say what needs to be said. That means I will continue to stand up for liberal values and share my thoughts on what it’s like to be an American right now, because I’m a writer at heart, and that’s what writers do. They write about what torments them.

But I am also hoping to find my sense of humor again – I think it took a sabbatical shortly after the last presidential election. In the meantime, I hope a little commentary along with food and books and movies is somehow entertaining or comforting. We’re all here trying to live our lives as best we can, and maybe it helps to know you are not alone in your anger, sadness or confusion. 

That’s why God made cookies, and that’s what I am making today. I’m gonna turn on some music and maybe even dance in the kitchen.