Chocolate and caviar

While I am doing reasonably well with my strategy to disengage from the news, some things can’t be overlooked. For example, when the president of the United States calls for annihilating a civilization, it’s time for even drive-by citizens to speak up.

I’m calling my three legislators every day or at least until I poop out telling them Trump must be removed from office one way or the other. He is stark-raving mad.

But we all have ways of coping. Chocolate and caviar. But not together.

Dale and I had one tiny tin of really good caviar left over from New Year’s, which we didn’t celebrate due to our unfortunate turn of events. The tin was tightly sealed, but I said, you know now, it’s not getting any younger.

It was last night on the eve of destruction that I dragged it out and suggested we have one last pleasure before it all went up in smoke. Dale agreed, but then my sister called to tell me there was a two-week cease fire. So, we ate it anyway to celebrate the possibility of better times ahead.

For the record, we no longer make a pretense of eating caviar with accompaniments. We each have a mother-of-pearl spoon (nonreactive). I open the tin and we pass it back and forth until gone. Don’t worry. It’s over quick.

I have found that trying to restrict what I write about doesn’t do me any good. I think it’s better to write a little more frequently and let it roll. Hopefully, I will keep trying and find the right balance.

We are both doing well recovering from our injuries. Dale is amazing. I don’t think they thought a 76-year-old man would bounce back like he has from a fractured pelvis, but there you have it. I’m closing in on week 11 since I fell and broke my proximal humerus.

I’ve been referring to it as a broken arm, and I was surprised to find the whole thing so painful. But then I read this particular fracture is sometimes referred to as a broken shoulder, and for some reason, the pain level made more sense to me. It’s all in the branding.

The physical therapy hurts, but I am improving significantly, especially my range of motion. I have started to sleep better. Still not quite what I need for a happy snooze, but I do think it’s within sight.

For awhile there, I couldn’t keep weight on. It was scary, but I ate more, and now I have to pay attention to what I eat or the pounds creep back on. I sort of miss all that extra eating. It was fun while it lasted. But now, even being careful, I refuse to give up my evening cookie. I won’t say we eat one every single night, but most nights, yes.

I keep a stash of homemade cookies in the freezer. Two kinds of chocolate and an oatmeal. It’s the perfect treat – high in taste but not ultra-processed and built-in portion control. There’s a coconut sheet cake featured in a recent King Arthur email that looks absolutely enticing, but I feel like that’s a slippery slope. 

I’ve been using really good quality chocolate baking chips. They are expensive but worth it, in our opinion. They also make delicious fudgsicles. And as our weather warms up again, I can see putting them back on the menu. It’s fun to eat one outside after dinner. I don’t know why it feels special, but it’s a simple pleasure we both enjoy enormously.

If you’re into making popsicles or fudgsicles, I recommend hard plastic molds like these. I tried the silicone, and they were worthless. My baking chocolate is from Dick Taylor.  It’s a great place up in Eureka, where my sister lives. We toured the factory one time when I was up there for a visit. Very fun! This is their recipe for fudgsicles:

I haven’t done any of my art because I didn’t think I could sand the board. But I’m feeling pretty frisky and might try it today. My entire recovery strategy is to push hard enough to get things done and improve but not so hard as to interfere with my sleep. You might be surprised to learn that is a fine line. For me, at least, the pain always comes later.

As soon as I can predictably sleep through the night without a mountain of pillows, we are going to take some sort of a little road trip. We like Morro Bay. It’s a longish drive, so we might need a little more time before embarking on that particular journey. But we are ready to get back into life.

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.

Turning the corner

Dale and I have been through some stuff in our 47 years of marriage, and I will just go out on a limb here and say breaking bones within weeks of each other and then trying to recover at home together is by far the hardest thing we have ever done.

We have different reactions to pain. Different expectations for comfort. Different ideas about what progress looks like. Different ideas about safety and risk. One of us is on team normal, and Dale is clinically insane.

Just kidding. No lie, though, it has been tough, but I believe we have turned a corner and will soon be back to our jolly selves. I had something like PTSD, and every little noise, every little thud came to haunt me. Was that just the icemaker or did Dale just fall down and die?

The chat bot helped me come up with a mantra.

“I am not the safety officer in this household. I am present, grounded and at ease.”

That helped me a lot, and I’m not nearly as fearful as I was. I saw the house as one giant booby trap waiting to kill one or both of us, and I had to let that go. I’m cautious now but not neurotic, although Dale might take issue with that assessment.

We’re slowly approaching normal or what passes for it. Dale navigates freely about the house without a walker, going up and down the stairs as needed. He uses the walker outside sometimes but not all the time. At first I tried to intervene in that but quickly realized it is his call to make.

He is sleeping upstairs again. That was another one I just had to back away from. I moved to the guest room because of the pillow fort I’ve created to support my arm. I imagined him getting up in the middle of the night to pee and taking a tumble, so I closed my door. At least I wouldn’t hear it.

We haven’t gotten rid of the adjustable bed downstairs yet because there is still a remote chance I will need surgery, and that bed might come in handy. I was so proud of myself for getting that all set up for Dale, but now I hate it. That was the cord that tried to kill me.

We’re back to showers upstairs, but we now have grab bars and a no-slip matt. We stashed the shower seat and other medical equipment out in the garage until we decide whether to keep it, donate it or whatever.

I’ve got a couple more weeks before I see the ortho again. The worst of the pain is gone, and I’m pretty comfortable most of the time. My mood has improved significantly. I don’t expect I will require surgery and am visualizing that outcome.

I’m also visualizing myself at 80, healthy, active and strong, recalling that year I broke my arm. Was it 10 years ago already? I mean, it was awful, but now it’s just a blur. Glad it didn’t stop me!

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.