Category: Health & Wellness

Recalibrating! Recalibrating!

Today marks 12 weeks since I fell and fractured my proximal humerus. That’s up there near the shoulder, so some may call it a broken arm, and some may call it a broken shoulder. I call it absolute misery.

But it’s weird that today is my accidentversary, because the pain is now minimal, I’m sleeping better and I woke up today feeling, I don’t know, brighter? On this exact day. I have not been in a good place emotionally, but something lifted. Maybe it just takes 12 weeks to feel human again after a fall like that.

Prior to my accident, and prior to my husband’s accident, which preceded mine, I seemed to be breezing through retirement. Although I like to read and cook and create art, the bulk of my time is typically spent walking, swimming and playing golf. And all those have been pretty much off the table for three months.

Although I can walk just fine, I learned the hard way the shoulder goes through some serious movement when you walk and let your arms swing naturally. For an injury like mine, that means you can’t just walk and burn off all your frustration on the footpaths.

One of my shorter routes is about two miles. I wear my sling when I start and then take it off at various junctures. I’m now doing about half of it without the sling and improving fast. I expect to walk the full two miles slingless within a couple of weeks. And this might be a pipe dream, but I’m thinking once I can do the two miles regularly without pain, I can increase my mileage and maybe even hike.

I tell you this not because it’s all about me. Think of it as a public service announcement. Nothing is permanent. Change is inevitable. Do your best to stay safe, but be prepared for hard times. We just have to keep evolving. I’m not saying I’ve been good at it, but knowing what I know now, I’ll be better at it next time. And no, I’m not planning to fall again, but there’s always a next time when it comes to bad shit raining down.

Honestly, I still feel a little lost. I’m giving a lot of thought to how I spend my time. Who I spend it with. How I present myself to the world. I’m still happy to be retired, but I feel like I need to recalibrate. You know, when you’re in the car, and you’re using the map but you take a different route, and that woman’s voice says, “Recalibrating! Recalibrating!” That’s what I’m hearing.

In one baby step forward, I FINALLY donated the last of my professional wardrobe. I had some gorgeous suits and skirts that have been sitting there for eight years.

One day I just did it, and it was liberating. Skirts be gone.

As far as how I present myself to the world, I’ve never been one to seek the male gaze, but now that I’m over 70 and invisible, it’s easier than ever to avoid that whole scene. And yes, I realize rapists and serial killers will go after anyone, but the routine sexual harassment that comes from just being young and female – well, those days are over, and I couldn’t be happier.

Throughout my life, I’ve made an effort to look the part, to fit in. Well, for the most part anyway. But with all the mysogynist rhetoric coming from the right, and so many women falling in line to look younger and sexier, I feel zero interest in living up to anyone’s ideals of what I should look like. Or how I should behave.

Fun times ahead.

Dale and I were talking the other day, and I said, you know, I feel lucky I was never sexually assaulted. There were a few times when that was a real possibility. Isn’t that something? That we have to be grateful we weren’t raped? I realize that politically speaking, women are just as vicious, and certainly some of them are sexual predators, but what is up with all these men?????

Which brings me to the Epstein files. I think I became somewhat obsessed after reading Virginia Giuffre’s book, Nobody’s Girl. Sometimes I wish I had never read it, but you can’t unsee it. If you are equally driven to torment yourself, I recommend Alisa Writes on Substack.

She is a career investigative reporter now working independently on Substack. She’s from New Mexico and mostly focuses on Epstein’s Zorro Ranch – all that happened there, how it’s connected to everything around it and why it hasn’t been investigated.

Alisa an excellent writer and powerful researcher, and the breadth of information can be hard to absorb, but damn. She connects the dots and reveals how big money runs the show. I suppose someone could come out of the woodwork and say she’s a quack conspiracy theorist, but I don’t see how that’s possible.

As best as I can tell, her ducks are lined up in very tight rows.

On the lighter side, I thoroughly enjoyed The Fourth Consort by Edward Ashton. It’s a fun science fiction novel, not the Dystopian drama that these days seems too real to be read as entertainment. Ashton also wrote Mickey7, which I have not read but plan to. There’s a relatively recent movie based on the book called Mickey17.

I almost went to the theater to see Project Hail Mary, another science fiction story that isn’t so bleak, but I said almost. I loved the book and look forward to seeing the movie when it starts streaming.  

While I still can’t play golf, there’s a tournament next week in my women’s club, so I thought I’d go out and help. They will need cookies, so I’m going to get started on those this weekend. I like to make the decorated kind with royal icing, and those can take days to fully dry. But they’re fun to make and so cute and delicious.

I might go through the cookie cutters today and see what piques my interest. I have insects. Ladybug, dragonfly, etc. That sounds like spring does it not?

Baking saves lives

Manchego cheese muffins with Spanish chorizo and roasted red peppers. Oh, and sour cream.

For most of my life, I played by the rules. I served my country in uniform. I stayed informed, I worried about all things big and small and checked the boxes of what a “good citizen” is supposed to do.

I’m not saying a broken arm is a good thing, but since I fell down and went boom, I’ve had plenty of time to read a lot of wretched news and rethink pretty much everything. Whatever I thought I knew doesn’t seem to be true anymore.

This I do know — whatever it is going on out there leaves many of us feeling anxious, divided and powerless. We didn’t choose it, and we can’t control it.

While I’ve tried hard to disengage from all this noise in the past, I always felt guilty for not paying attention. It’s my duty! But it has occurred to me we can redefine what it means to be a good citizen. It does not mean we have to save the world one doomscroll at a time.

For me, it means being peaceful and kind. Mastering the art of the micro-joy. Helping my neighbors. Supporting my community. I think that does more for the world than being angry and miserable.

I mean, hell, yeah, I’m still going to vote, do what’s right, speak up, pay my bills and follow the law, but at age 70, I want to focus day-to-day on my happy retired life – the one filled with art, cooking, walking, chocolate and other simple pleasures … the life I started to write about eight years ago but got sidetracked by political drama.

This is my way of saying I’m returning to my roots. You will read less about politics and more about the experiences of a retired person observing life and just trying to be happy. The biggest news will come from my kitchen. Or maybe from my workshop in the garage.

It does feel as though the world is spinning out of control until you realize you aren’t in control anyway. I do not believe it’s a cop-out to disengage a bit. I do not believe it makes us bad citizens. Quite the opposite.

Those of us who choose happiness over hysteria are not part of the problem. Call me crazy, but I like to think we are actually part of the solution. Perhaps living simply and living well is resistance in its finest form. Proof good people can flourish, and peace is still possible.

As for the picture, I was baking yesterday. Baking saves lives. And yes, I think I’m getting my mojo back.

Have you seen my mojo?

I’ve been waiting to be inspired by something joyful before posting again, but there’s not a lot of joy in Mudville these days. We are both healing well and have forged an even stronger bond through all this personal trauma, but recovery is a slow uphill journey.

I lost my mojo. If you see it anywhere, let me know.

At first I thought, well, if I can’t say anything funny or happy just say nothing, but then I felt bad for giving you the silent treatment. I started to write a post explaining that I was not going to write for who knows how long, but it sounded so pathetic. So, here I am.

In addition to my broken arm, I got doomscroll wrist from reading the news on my phone. I had to quit doing that, and my wrist is much better. I bought a cool little tool that solves the problem. It’s also very handy for watching TV on my Kindle in bed.

It would be impossible to itemize the list of all things horrible going on out there, so I will instead share one observation. What Cesar Chavez has been accused of is vile, but I’ve been sort of surprised by how quickly he’s being erased.

Too bad that doesn’t apply to other men of ill repute.

For example, the president of the United States has actually been found guilty of sexual misconduct, and he gets a pass? Nobody is in a rush to scrub his criminal carcass off the windshield of life.

I think I’ve read one book since Dale fell, and then it was hard to hold a book after I broke my arm. I’m proud to say I just finished another Maisie Dobbs novel, and it felt great to read again. She’s a psychologist and investigator in England following the first world war.

Now that I’m back in the saddle, I will mosey on over to the library and stock up on new reading. Probably not tomorrow, though, as I am committed to making beef stew. I usually like to save that for a cold rainy day, but we seem to be experiencing early summer. I’m making it anyway. If my starter behaves, I will also bake a loaf of sourdough bread to go with.

I’m starting to call 2026 year of cheese. It’s like we can’t get enough. And at this point, I don’t care. My arm must have been a little shaky on this blurry picture, but I made turkey enchiladas from the breast we froze at Thanksgiving. I actually made two pans this size, so we got some nice freezer food.

Then, of course, El Rey de Pizza produced another spectacular monument to deliciousness. This one was topped with whole milk mozzarella, pepperoni, hot Italian sausage, pickled jalapeños and green olives.

But life is not all cheese. My neighbor gave me a huge bag of lemons from her tree. I juiced them yesterday along with fresh ginger – prepping the lemons was a little hard on the arm, but I was careful and Dale helped some. I added simple syrup and froze quite a few six-ounce bottles of tasty lemon-ginger juice.

So, even though my arm still has a ways to go, we are able to cook, and that’s a great thing. We’ve been pretty hard on the cookies, too, so there more work to be done.

Rebound

I visited the ortho yesterday for follow-up x-rays and a progress report. The bones are healing properly, and I don’t need surgery. He said to ditch the sling permanently and use my arm gently as much as possible but no lifting over five pounds. I start PT next week.

So, yay. What a relief. He even said I could putt and chip a little, but no more than that until I see him again in two months. I believe whisking, chopping, stirring, frying and sautéing count as gentle exercise! Sadly, so does cleaning the house, but I’m actually eager to take it on as I am able. Slow and gentle. I am not going to do anything stupid.

Although I am sickened by all things political, I feel optimistic here on the homefront. Next on the agenda – get back to writing about something other than broken bones. Walk more. Get back to reading, which I haven’t really done since this whole shitshow started. I’m referring to our personal shitshow not the national example of shitshows gone wild.

I’m thinking about food and what I can make. I was going through old cooking magazines looking for a specific pasta recipe we seem to have lost and stumbled onto a recipe for coconut cream pie. I definitely see that in my future.

Dale took out the last hunk of his homemade corned beef and is making corned beef hash tonight. We always top it with a fried egg. He made white bean and sausage soup the other day. I always love that with toasted French bread brushed with garlic-infused olive oil. Two batches of that went straight to the freezer.

Our freezer food is the best. It has been mostly depleted since the fiesta began with Dale’s accident in December, but we’re back on the job. We still have the whole breast from our Thanksgiving turkey, and it will probably end up as enchiladas. It’s always nice to have enchiladas in the queue.

I’ve got my starter, Gollum, cranking up for sourdough. Dale has been asking for my little homemade baguettes, so they need to go in the rotation. Yeast is so easy compared to sourdough. We make a charcuterie board with Italian cold cuts, some kind of runny cheese, nice, bitter arugula and some cornichons and just have that for dinner with the bread.

With regard to politics, I do call my senators and congressman, but both my senators are Democrats and so far don’t need prompting to do the right thing. The Republican is another story. Maybe he was dropped on his head when he was a baby.

It’s hard to find anything to say to him that might resonate, but I do call every couple of days to remind him I am opposed to him rubber stamping everything Trump says and does, and I want him to join with other members of congress to provide independent oversight.

That is, after all, what these yahoos were elected to do.

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.