Ted's ability to waste time...

It’s been awhile since I posted my take on my accident, but that does not mean I have not thought about.  These posts are just a way of me documenting what has happened and to try and help deal with the accident, not just the physical pain but the emotional pain as well.

I was told my last post was a little too depressing…so I’ve tried to tone it down with this one.

Where I left off was me arriving back home in Pullman. The ride down was very uncomfortable and all I wanted was to get inside as fast as possible.  I used my fancy walker and hopped/strolled/meandered my way into the back room of our little rental house (I’d call it a bedroom, but the reality is…it’s a bike room with a futon).  Allison set the futon up for me to rest there that night.  The main reason was to be able to shut the door to keep the cats and dog off of me for a night.  Hitcher the dog (he’s a treeing walker coonhound) was absolutely ecstatic that I was home, and he want to show that by possibly jumping on me, which, quite honestly seems like a really bad idea.

The neighbors across the street came over to check on me (they are both M.D.s) and to offer any help.  Jeff was happy to bring me a Black Butte Porter.  I had been craving a beer, martini, or glass of wine for days…I was so grateful.  Of course I really could not sit up so he dropped a hot pink straw in the bottle for me to slurp on.  I was about as happy as I could be. I was happy to be out of the hospital and home. Everyone dissipated fairly quickly since it was more than obvious I wanted to be alone.  I settled down and watched the P2 F1 practice from Singapore…I was home…and Allison’s life would basically be put on hold for the next 4 weeks as she had to take care of me.  I was basically an infant unable to do anything for myself.  I would not say that I slept well that night (I have not had a good night of sleep since mid-April) but I was out of the hospital.

My sister, Corrina, flew in the next day to help Allison take care of me.  She helped out a lot with the basic life stuff that needed to go on around the house.  Without her I’m pretty sure that I would have ran Allison off with how on edge I was.  My days basically consisted of sitting on the loveseat with my leg elevated as high as it could go.  I’d have to ask for everything; food, water, chapstick, my laptop, the remote controls, you name it and I asked for it.  The thing I asked for the most were my pain-killers.  I was popping those things as much as I legally could, but the pain was always there.  

Allison cut my hair with some clippers the second day I was home.  I was at least six weeks past needing a haircut…the joke was that I would cut my hair once I put an offer in on a house which was not enough, I decided to cut my hair after the Tour of Walla Walla. Well, it was after the tour, so we cut it.  It felt good and about the only thing that did feel good for awhile.  After a couple of days of sitting around, watching bad TV, changing dressings on my elbows, and overall being a miserable SOB it was time to head back up to Spokane for a meeting with my mortgage guy and the doctor.  I lay down in the back of Allison’s Rav4 and dozed off for a few minutes here and there while we drove up.   At one point I noticed I had a voicemail.  It was from Sacred Heart’s pre-op office.  “Oh shit” I said, “I’m going to need surgery”.  I had a sinking feeling that everything was not as good as we thought. It was not the surgery itself that scared me, it was fact that I *needed* surgery that scared me.  Damn.  So much for healing up quickly.

The first stop was with my mortgage guy where I signed away my life a bunch of times all well on narcotics (probably not the way you want to buy a house).  My signature changed with every piece of paper as I could barely hold anything with my hand.  Oh well. I was one step closer to being a homeowner…but I really could have cared less.

Onto the doctor’s office we went.  They removed both splints and there was a lot of bruising and even more atrophy.  I was complaining the past two or three days of how my ankle felt “on fire”.  Sure enough a hot spot had started to develop on my heel.  The doctor went and grabbed his PA to show him why it occurred (the PA put on that splint and felt awful about it) and also told me that I should have said something earlier.  I thought I was nuts when I was feeling the heel pain, turns out I was right…always listen to your body.  X-rays were taken and then the news was dropped on me. “I’ve looked at the x-rays a bit more and you’re going to need surgery”.  He went on to explain why and it would help me maintain my active lifestyle.  It all made sense logically.  But I was not happy.  He left the room and I just yelled out “FUCK!”  Surgery next Wednesday, the stitches would be removed, the wrist would be placed in a hard cast and I’d be good to go.  Whatever “good” is/was.   We headed back to Pullman but stopped at Latah Bistro for a quick bite to eat.  I was in a pissy mood due to the prospect of surgery.  I had a few glasses of wine…that did not assuage my fear of what was ahead.

Within this first week of being home I was subsequently hit by the car again at least 10 different times during my slumber.  Every time I would jump up which just caused more pain and I would yell out something.  Me yelling, of course, then caused Allison or my sister (or both) to come running in the room to check on me.  It was embarrassing and humorous at the same time…except for the part of getting hit again.

That Friday night Merry Cellars was having a tasting at their new winery and tasting room in Pullman.  It was time for me to finally leave the house and do something.  We all had a pretty good time.  I was in my wheelchair moving around tasting wine and talking to a couple of “older” ladies.  Being crippled and looking pathetic makes anyone over the age of 50 who has two “X” chromosomes come over and talk to you.  I was having a good time for the first time in awhile.  The winemaker’s wife made sure I had a full glass all the time.  I smiled and laughed for the first time in eight days.  Of course, that could have been due to the wine…but who cares… 

On the way home we stopped at Dissmore’s to pick up some more wine.  Dissmore’s on a Friday night is crazy with the college kids getting crappy beer and Boone’s Farm, so just my sister ran in to get the wine.  I received a simple text from her while she was in there.

“I am old”.

Welcome to living in a college town sis!

The next day Corrina left and my mother was flying in later that day while Allison went to race her bike at a local collegiate race.  I was home alone for a few hours for the first time in long time.  It was strange.  There was no independence but I was there by myself.  It felt kind of nice, not because I did not want people around but it gave me hope that soon I could do things on my own.  Well, “soon” is a relative word.

On that Sunday we decided to head over to the collegiate criterium over in Moscow.  I’d see people I knew and get to heckle some racers (best heckle line to spout at a crit “Do something, this is boring!!!”).  It was a good time but it really made me yearn to ride my bike.  Not race it, but just ride it.  Afterwards we went to eat again.  It’s strange to head out places in a wheelchair and you need to bring a pillow(s) with to elevate my leg.  Being out in a public place was not an easy thing to do, especially since I am someone who does not like to talk to strangers.  I’m an introvert at heart and I just wanted people to leave me alone…but I realized (and still do) that won’t happen for awhile.

A few more days went by and they were all the same.  Get up. Stare at the TV. Be more and more rude to my mother and Allison who were doing a great job of taking care of me and become more and more depressed about the whole situation I was in (and that I caused others to be in due to the fact that they had to take care of me). I was just counting the days down to the surgery. My lower leg felt unstable and with every “hop” I took I swore I could feel it (the broken bone) move around.  I’m pretty sure this is NOT the case, but it felt that way.

The night before the surgery we went up to my aunt and uncle’s house.  It was raining and I had to use my walker to walk up a grassy slope to get to their back door which had three steps I had to hop up.  This was the most exhausting thing I had done in weeks.  We had a great dinner talked awhile and then got to bed early since I had to be to the hospital early the next morning.  I’m pretty sure I slept about two hours that night.  I just want to be done with the surgery and start the next step.  I was also worried that they would find something else wrong (foreshadowing alert!) with me.

Next post…surgery and beyond…maybe tomorrow.