I’m using a cane now and last night I actually slept through one of my percocet doses. Today I actually bent my knee 91 degrees! The goal is 115-120 so I have a lot of work, but I started at 50 so I’m feeling pretty good about it.
Becky and I are playing out our nurse-patient fantasies. Except I always thought she was the one that was supposed to wear the white nylons!
Ouch! The first two or three days involved some major pain, much of it self inflicted. Or inflicted by thy physical therapists. It’s for your own good, son. But I have good drugs, percocets and they encourage you to take them so you can get through the amazing pain the first time you try to bend your leg. Percocet dreams are strange. It’s been like this infinite line of people conjured from my imagination walking past and saying wierd things to me, and I’m never quite sure if I’m awake or asleep.
Something fucked up the first night in the hospital, I think they overdosed me on the iv drip narcotic. I’m not clear on what happened because I was SOOOO out of it, but I know there were a lot of people in the room yelling at me to keep my eyes open and wake up and to stay with us. They’ve been pretty straight forward about it since, but haven’t really said how much danger I was in or exactly how it happened.
I came home from the hospital on Thursday and Becky has been nursing me back to health. I can walk (a little) without crutches and can already bend my leg more than I could before surgery. Needless to say all those ligaments need to be stretched out since they haven’t had to lengthen to that extent in decades. It’s a process. But I’m glad I did it.
I might have had a different answer on Wednesday.
This seems as good a day as any to resurrect my blog. When you write a public blog, journaling your personal life, it’s a a bit dicey, the most interesting stuff is the most private. There’s been a lot going on in my life that I’m not interested in sharing with the world, or even the few people who ever read this.
I guess the big news is that tomorrow I’m getting a new knee. I’ve been walking pretty much one legged for several years now, dragging my non-bending right leg along with every step. It really doesn’t hurt that much but if you watched me walk you’d think I was in pain. One reason it doesn’t hurt is that I’ve become so sedentary that I don’t put much stress on it anymore. I almost wish it did hurt more, so I would feel better about having the surgery. I’m having a little buyers remorse today. I can’t help thinking about the fact that if this doesn’t work, there’s no going back. Plus, I’m feeling a little disloyal to my knee. It’s been a good knee, we’ve had an abusive relationship, but on the whole it’s been a pretty decent body part. And now I’m giving up on it, replacing it with a new fangled contraption of titanium and teflon, or whatever they make these things out of. I feel like I’m being disloyal.
Another thing that’s bothering me is that in the past I have not been a very good patient when it comes to doing my rehab. That’s probably one of the reasons my knees are in such bad shape. After a basketball misshap, I’d pretty much ignore the exercises that I was given and then return to playing way to soon. It seems like I’d just get to one hundred percent when I’d tear up a knee again. I really don’t have much cartiledge left. But this time around, I think it’s work hard at rehab or be a cripple, so I hope I can shake off my old lazy ways. I’m a little nervous about conquering my sloth.
On the mental health front, I’ve been very good lately. I guess it’s the right mix of medications. I’m not nearly as restless as I usually am, I can concentrate at work and am getting so much more done than ever before. I think I used to waste three hours a day in five second intervals. I can get through the most boring paperwork tasks that I have without going completely nuts or simply not being able to start them. I don’t hate my job, and am taking it one hour at a time instead of thinking about “just two more years and I can retire.” In fact, we came out money ahead at the end of the year (not counting the debt we’ve taken on for the girl’s college) and for some reason that made me think that the job is OK. It gives me the feeling I’m getting something out of my efforts, other than just keeping the wolf away from the door.
The down side of this is that I don’t get obsessed anymore. You say “That’s a downside?” Well it is a blessing in the sense that I’m not drifting away from what I’m supposed to be doing to day dream about the obsession dejure, but on the other hand, my obsessiveness has been part and parcel of my creative drive over the years. This blog, my artwork, the guitar, basketball all those fun things that I’ve pretty much taught myself over the years. And right now none of those things seem worth doing. I have a hard time doing much more than my job, the house chores and read a book. But I guess I just have to let that situation play out.
“Several offices in the midwest will remain closed on Friday due to the winter storm.”
Of course they read off our office at the end so I had to listen in suspense, but I’m snowed in! Rebecca’s office is probably open, but she’s staying home as a matter of principle.
Our office closed at noon! Fist time ever. I’ve blown the driveway out twice and it really hadn’t started yet. It’s coming down pretty hard now, it’s supposed to go at an inch or better an hour until tomorrow. Now we’re famous for blizzards around the middle of March during the State Tournaments, which makes me wonder if this is the mid March blizzard come early and we’re going to have an early spring, or if we’ll get this AND a mid March blizzard. Hope so, we really need the moisture, and it’s what keeps us rugged. It’s very wet snow, so it’s perfect for snowballs, I hear kids screaming and laughing outside now.
I love snow days!
I think Helen Mirren is HOT!
Not much going on. Playing the guitar, smoking cigars and going to Gopher Women’s Basketball games. I wish we didn’t have to be so politically correct so I could just say the “Lady Gophers” but that’s just so twentieth century.
I’ve taken to hanging out at a local smoke shop. Since I don’t drink, it’s kind of a nice male bonding thing to do. Gets me out of the house and makes me smell really bad.
Rebecca’s laptop went belly-up just before Valentine’s. Although I had no intention of replacing it, I was browsing Craig’s list and found someone selling a brand new MacBook for $850. They’d won it in a silent auction and weren’t really interested in having a Mac (poor misguided fools). They thought it was the low end one and I couldn’t really tell from the packaging. I offered them $800 and they took it. I got it home and when I fired it up it was the next level up. 2GHz, 1GB RAM, 80 GB drive. That model retails for $1300. I never get deals like that!
I also just used my bank card points to get an 80 gig iPod. I can put all my music, my photo collection and a couple of movies on it and still not dent it’s capacity.
I just watched the Dixie Chicks video, “Not Ready to Play Nice.” Now I’m not a big Dixie Chicks fan, but after what the country radio assholes did to them after they spoke out against the war, I found the video very moving. It’s really cool.
I love old time country and I’m really a redneck by heritage, but I guess I’m a redneck with blue state politics.
Guilty pleasure: The Wreckers
I’m in trouble. Through no fault of my own, I might add. I took today off for no particular reason. Becky usually has Mondays off and I think she might have been a little irritated that I was impinging on her time alone in the house. She’s also not very open minded about how I like to spend my free time. I’m pretty good at doing nothing. I like doing nothing. When the day began I told her I’d reached the point of no return on the book I was reading and intended to finish it before I did anything else. Then I spent some time doing research to try to understand some of the literary allusions in the book. Then I took a nap. She wasn’t very sympathetic to my need for a nap. But I like to nap and it’s my day off.
When I woke up we decided to go Christmas tree shopping. I am not a huge fan of Christmas tree shopping and without little kids around, it really doesn’t hold much charm for me. In most cases I would pick the first tree that I saw that wasn’t completely deformed. Becky tends to want to closely examine every tree in the lot. At least once. I tend to get impatient. These kinds of outings are a recipe for strife in this marriage. Blessedly Beck picked a tree very quickly, there really weren’t many to choose from in this lot and they were all the same price so that eliminated one aspect of the decision making process. We made the purchase and hauled our little jack pine out to the car. It fit in the back of the station wagon with just a little bit of the top sticking out. Beck started to adjust the position of the tree to see if it would fit all the way in. “Let’s just leave the back open,” I suggested and she wondered if it would fly open. I had a long piece of twine and decided to tie the tailgate down. I started tying a knot to the tailgate, and pulled it down to get a better look at what I was doing. I pulled it down at the same time she was sticking her head into the car to arrange something. I wacked her on the head with the tailgate. There was no blood and no loss of consciousness but it had to really hurt. Things have been rather icy around here this evening. She’s accused me of trying to kill her.
Bill Benson, Dorothy Hoffman and I were living on Bloomington Avenue in the summer of 1973. Bill and I had spent the previous summer in Idaho. I came back to Minneapolis in the fall and he’d stayed in Idaho, working in the mines through the winter. Dorothy and I had driven out to pick him up and we drove back from the Olympic Peninsula in a 1956 Studebaker Hawk with no reverse. I think I was between jobs and Bill was guiding high school students in the wilderness of the Arrowhead. Bill was always fit and I was in the best shape of my life having spent the previous summer working in the Forest Service. These are all their own stories, and this is the story of what happened one day when Bill was back in town from one of his trips.
One morning as we sat around the kitchen table wondering what to do with all this time and energy. We decided, as we often did, to go shoot some hoops. Elliot Park is on the corner of Franklin and Elliot and it was the closest court to our house. The court is on the Northwest corner where most of the traffic was. We drove over in the Studebaker Hawk.
We may have stretched a little before we started the ritual. I shoot until I miss, you shoot until you miss. An unspoken rule of shooting. I’ve actually never heard it spoken, but the convention is there. Sometimes if you miss a clever banker on the backside or such, you can take another crack at it just to see if you can get it to drop, without exceeding the bounds of the polite. Bill had injured his achilles tendon on his last trip, and unknown to me, had told Dorothy it was going to rupture.
We hadn’t been there long enough for a one on one game to break out when two Indian gentlemen showed up and asked if they could shoot with us. Well of course, it’s a public court isn’t it. One of them was older, probably in his thirties (how are perspectives change) and the other a teenager. The kid was about my size and the other guy was slightly bigger than Bill. Yes, we were sizing them up and they us.
It didn’t take long before the inevitable, “Wanna play some two on two?”
“Half court make-it take-it to eleven?”
“Let’s play to fifteen.”
“Sure.” Introductions were made and we signaled them to take it out first. Now bill and I had played a lot of 2 on 2 together the previous summer and we were looking forward to testing our game on the big city courts. And I think these guys wanted to show us what the Indian brand of big city basketball was like. It soon became apparent that Bill and I had these guys on several levels, I think they might have been a little taken aback by how hard we came at them. They started to foul and play very rough, even by our standards. Fouls on every play. Hard ones. Now, I have what’s referred to as the Keller temper and I’m sure Bill saw that I was getting a little excited.
Our ball. Bill called me to the top of the key and whispered, “Let’s show these guys we can kick their asses anyway.” Bill was, inch for inch, the best basketball player I’ve ever played with, all 5’6″ of him, and those were the days when there were games that I got every defensive rebound. We put on an “and one” clinic, and our opponents weren’t backing down an inch. It was some of the most fun that I’ve ever had on a basketball court.
Then Bill got me the ball in the high post and started breaking to the left, outside of where the three point line would be if there had been such a thing. I’d seen him make thirty in a row off the glass from that position and he had enough space to get a shot up. I immediately returned the ball to him. As he went into triple threat position I got the kid on my hip and spun down the lane, in case he decided to pass up the shot. He collapsed to the ground. I guess it was the traffic noise that kept me from hearing the pop. The three of us were crouching over him, the way it always happens. He knew immediately his achilles had rolled up his leg. The building anomosity from the game was gone. It was as if it was never there. “What can we do to help?” Help me carry him to the car. “I’m really sorry man.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
We loaded him in the Studebaker Hawk, exchanged our goodbyes like we’d known each other for years, accepted there wishes of good luck and I drove Bill the emergency room. I made a lot of trips to the emergency room in the seventies.