Hey there! I'm not dead, not angry,just not so inclined to argue politics.
This past Monday I had my appointment with my orthopedic surgeon. He was very pleased with my progress. He's a bit perplexed that a 67 year old has healed about 25% faster than average. Most people with a tibia plateau fracture are not allowed to put weight on their knee for 12 weeks. I've been cleared for weight bearing at 9 and a half weeks.
I'm pleased, but now I have to work on getting this damned leg strong enough to walk. After over 2 months in a brace or cast that has kept my knee bent about 10 degrees, I can't lock my knee straight and with the atrophy from all this time not using the leg, I cannot support all my weight on my left leg... So, yesterday, I started therapy.
Very interesting! It HURTS, but I am making progress. Until last night, I had been sleeping and mostly living on the pullout sofa in the living room. Yesterday friends moved stuff around so I could get back into the bedroom. My living room looks like a living room again, instead of a hospital room and I'm done with the foam wedge to elevate my leg and keep the knee slightly bent. between the exercises and sleeping without the support, my knee is straight. I can't quite lock it, but I'm happy with the progress.
For a couple weeks, I was slipping into a depression. Not being able to perform my daily tasks, Infrequent visits to Doc's, pain and side effects from narcotics were wearing me down. So, Monday morning I need coffee. I grab the walker next to my bed and hop one legged to the wheel chair and sit down. Damn! I didn't have my cell phone.. It was in center of the bed and I couldn't reach it from the chair. I got back on the walker and leaned way over for the phone. The walker toppled over and the cross bar hit my left foot and I fell across the bed.
I started laughing uncontrollably. I had visions of a tiny car with a couple dozen clowns getting in and out all to the theme from Benny Hill.
I was still laughing once I was back in chair measuring coffee into the grinder. As I was about to push the button, my partner called. I was still laughing and could only manage "Hi" and "What's up?" He asked if I was down with him and a few friends coming over to waste about 500 rounds off my back deck.
3 hours later, there were 5 of us shooting at anything we could find that looked like a target and we could throw off the deck. I ran 100 rounds through my matched pair of Colt 1973s at one point, propped up on my crutches shooting with one in each hand.
I'm no longer laughing uncontrollably, but that day was exactly what I needed. I've started working on my recovery both physically and mentally. I'm probably happier than I should be considering my limitations, but hell! I can get down the steps and get to my truck and haul my decrepit butt to Doc Holliday' a few days a weeks. I can wear long pants for the first time since the last pair were cut off me in the ER and I can sit on a bar stool with both feet on the rail.
Life is good and I promise: I won't be such a stranger.
