Hopping Like a Mo-Fo (redux)

First and foremost, I'd like to let you know that my friend Mary (hi, Mar!) is responsible for today's title -- I used the phrase in a conversation the other day, she found it amusing and insisted I use it, and here we are.

The title isn't false advertising, either: I have been hopping all over the place. This means, of course, that my right ankle is rather sore and unhappy but oh, well. After talking with my lovely physical therapist Aaron, we've decided that my right leg likely won't be able to heal completely until I'm up and walking again -- the muscles are just not getting the workout they need, and the constant hopping puts a lot of pressure on things. It's about 80% of the way there -- I can hop and move and whatnot -- and 20% pain, until I'm in rehab and can use BOTH legs/feet again. Hey, considering that just about two months ago when I fell we thought both legs were broken? I'll take it.

Speaking of Aaron the PT pro, he tells me that this Wednesday is our last session: we can't go any further given my current limitations, so he's going to discharge me from home care. No more nurse, no more health aide, and no more in-house PT. I'll still have in-house blood draws, which is very helpful, but that's it. Exciting! And a tad scary.

This past weekend we went to Lori's Natural Foods ("Be good to the Earth -- go to Lori's ...") and to Borders, and then I was totally pooped. All I REALLY want to do is go and get a mocha. Dear God, a Finger Lakes Roasters mocha -- the pinnacle of all things craved for. Sadly, I cannot fit my wheelchair in their door (both the door and shop are really, REALLY small) but I am a junkie: grande non-fat decaff mocha latte, no whip. I'm such a junkie that baristas used to start making me my "regular" as I pulled up, before I even walked in the door. Just ... so good. Hmm, I think I've found my next trip to the "outside."

Oh, and to all who have asked if I'm going to listen to Dr. G and rotate the pin: N. O. I am/have/will not personally rotate (or remove -- dear GOD!) the pin unless I am under duress and something is severly hurting or injured. I'm not a wimp, usually, but ... well, I *am* about this. And I'm ok with that. I am not using my hand, my fingers, my pliers, my husband, my anything to rotate a dang thing -- the only thing I am willing to use deal with the pin is my surgeon. And that's that.

Conversations One Should Never Have with One's Surgeon (Pt. I)

CBB: Hello?
DR. G: I'm looking for Colleen.
CBB: Hi, Dr. Gorczyca.
DR. G: Hmm, I hadn't realized my voice was that distinctive.
CBB: Yes, Dr. Gorczyca.
DR. G: Well, anyway. I heard your pin shifted?
CBB: Yes, it was standing upright and now it's almost flush against my foot. Is this normal?
DR. G: Yes, it happens a lot. Just go ahead and use your finger to rotate your pin back into place.
CBB: {Long pause}
CBB: What?
DR. G: Just rotate the pin back so it doesn't dig into your foot at all.
CBB: But it's not digging, just laying there and ...
DR. G: Nope, just turn it right around in case it changes its mind and digs in.
CBB: {Longer pause}
CBB: Ooooookey-dokey.
DR. G: And if the pin gets, you know, loose, just go ahead and pull it right out. Just cover it with a Band-Aid.
CBB: {Cue hysterical laughter}
CBB: Just pull it out? Of my foot?
DR. G: Yes, and cover the wound with a Band-Aid.
CBB: {More insane laughter}
DR. G: Or if you need to come see me earlier than anticipated, that's fine too.
CBB: {still laughing} I just don't know what's normal with any of this anymore.
DR. G: Well, you're going to be an expert by the time this is all over.

Flu, Fly Away

It turns out that I had some form of the flu -- a minor form, to be sure (thank God for flu shots) but I was achy and fevery and yucky and then sore throat-y and unhappy. I am now just minorly sniffly, and so am recovering. Again. Thank goodness.

Since the past few days have really been spent hanging out here at home, watching old movies and using obscene amounts of Kleenex and decongestant, I have no funny stories to share. I do, however, have some small observations and experiences:

• Having the flu sucks. Having the flu when you have strange and deadly lung issues really sucks. It's like trying to breathe through a drinking straw while a 400-lb gorilla sits on your chest. (Note: If you don't like gorillas, please feel free to pick another primate of comparable size -- your choice.)


• As they say, "The worm has turned" -- or in my case, "the pin has shifted." Slowly, bit by bit, the external Col-kebab has rotated and flattened against the foot. The little bugger is trying to make a run for it ... not that I blame it. I'll call the doc in the AM, probably, just to make sure I'm not totally hosed. I forsee more exciting radiological pictures in mynear-future, don't you?

• Das Boot (DB) and I have made some peace with one another, now that I'm accustomed to its size and weight; I suppose it could say the same about me if, you know, boots could talk. But they can't. I don't think. Can they??


• At last, J and Col have moved into the 20th century: as of a few days ago, we have actual digial cable television. Who knew?! James says it's for me so I'm not bored -- so altruistic and thoughtful he is, really. However, I've noticed that the History and Discovery channels have been getting quite a workout from one super-tall engineer that lives in my house ... wonder who that could be?


• I've been sleeping in the big girl bed with my husband again. It is odd. The bed is very, very high so I have to do a very graceful "lift and roll" onto the bed, clinging to it and pulling myself inch by painstaking inch onto the mattress top until I lie there at last, more on than off, gasping like a landed trout. I heart it. As I'm sharing again, I also have to compete for space and blankies, but the mattress is infintely soft and J is like a little heater at night. Eh, potato, potahto ...


• Come February, we're planning to get rid of the hospital bed altogether. I'll be making calls for that this week, I think. Wait, what's that I see in the distance? Why, could it be? Yes! It might just be a (please, God) return to semi-normalacy (pretty please?)!

That is all.

Hack.

OK, existential crisis aside, I'm doing ok. I slept in the big bed (aka my actual, real bed) last night, as opposed to my hospital bed. It went ok, except ... except I'm getting a cold. Have one already, actually, as of sometime in the wee hours of the AM. So last night in the big bed was slightly marred by tossing, turning, sweating, wheezing, etc. Today I'm back in the hospital bed, jacked upright, hibernating, drinking juice and trying to stave this thing off. Wish me luck -- colds can be bad things for damaged lungs.

I'd also like to mention that a dear friend of mine is coping with loss today -- her grandfather passed away last night. Please send a little love and energy her way as she and her family deal with this sad time.

Next Up: A Red Porsche and a Himbo Named Kurt

Hi, my name is Colleen, I'm 33 years old and I'm having a mid-life crisis.

Here's the deal:

As you know, on December 30, I almost died. Not to be a drama queen, but that's the long and the short of it. I was diagnosed with "significant" bilateral pulmonary emboli (PE) -- in other words, a bunch of large blood clots stuck in both of my lungs, products of a mother clot in my leg caused by recent foot surgery. As one doctor put it with a very solemn look, it's "a lot of clot." This put my heart under extreme pressure, made my chest hurt, stopped large parts of my lungs from functioning, almost stopped my breathing, made me lose consciousness. It was unfun -- actually, that's an understatement: it was terrifying. It IS terrifying.

The fact is that more than 25% of people with PEs die in the first 60 minutes of the PE lodging; many die instantly. I'm lucky that I got to the hospital and was immediately tested and medicated; I'm grateful to be alive.

I am also, for the first time in my life, acutely aware that I am afraid of dying.

I totally get that there is some irony in the little goth chick, she who loves Halloween and skulls and the dark side of things, finally fearing death. The PE issue has made me realize that yes, I am mortal. REALLY mortal. So is James. So are all the people I love. And I finally, truly am beginning to understand what "mortality" really means.

Today my chest hurts, and breathing is a little harder that I would like. A nurse was here to check me out and all looks good: BP is great, pulse is normal, lungs are clear, heart is good. My doctors said I would have both good and bad days as clots dissolve and things move and try to heal, and I expect this is one of the bad days. A little part of me, though, is scared that this means I'm worse, that all the meds I'm on aren't working. A little part of me wonders if I'm really going to make it through this whole thing alive. In a very real, very visceral way I know that I am no longer the invulnerable person I once was.

Everyone says that I'm handling things well, that I still have my sense of humor and a good perspective: my reply is thank you, I'm really trying. I believe deeply that good thought leads to good action, so a facing this optomistically is crucial. However, I have to admit that it's hard. I just really want someone to say to me, "Col, everything is going to be OK. YOU are going to be OK." I have these little flashes of awareness, all throughout my day, that I'm ... vulnerable. Fragile. Damaged. That life is so, SO much more fleeting, finite, that I had ever imagined (had I ever thought about it at all?) and all I am doing is clinging on by my fingernails and hoping I'll make it to the next sunrise.

It's alive ... ALIVE!!

Ah, a big doctor's visit for me today -- went to see the fabulous Dr. Gorczyca today, do the x-ray thing, etc. I brought the nurses candy because I am (A) a shameless suck-up, and (B) fully aware of who REALLY runs offices across the country.

First up: the removal of the Barney cast, which I was somewhat sad to see go. I had become accustomed to it's lovely purple-ness, and so as it was cut off me I had a moment of fond feelings and then it was gone.

In its place:

Seriously, I AM the Bride of Frankenstein. LOOK at that thing! Of particular note is the shish-kebab pin -- very nice, no?

So we mosey off to x-ray for a few glamour shots of my oh-so-photogenic appendage, and then we're off to wait. Dr. G comes in once my foot is all naked-like and says that all looks good, in good position, and we set a few landmarks:

• Stitches come out today (Calloo! Callay! And also, ouchie.)
  
• The shish-kebab comes out Mon. Feb 11 (four weeks and counting, darlings).
  
• Weight bearing (aka stepping on the bad foot) begins March 11 (give or take a few days in either direction).

And cast? HISTORY. Instead, I was wheeled over to the prosthetics and devices wing (I kid you not) and was fitted for ... Das Boot.

It is large (No, really. This thing is freakin' giNORmous), in-charge, black, strappy, and looks like something the Bride of Frankenstein would wear to lounge about the dungeon in her off time. See, I AM the Bride -- no kidding. Please note, below, the special mod we had to do to my boot: it has a special hole cut out for the Col-kebab. Nice, no?

In any case, I'm hating Das Boot (DB) at the moment -- it fits oddly and rubs at my incisions and it's heavy and huge -- but the trade off is that **I can take it off.** Not a lot, mind you, but I can take DB off three times a day to exercise my foot, and also to take a shower. SO, while it has it's minuses, there are some pluses as well.

And now, since you endured some icky pictures and probably need to clear your mind, I'll give you something pretty to look at, courtesy of my friends Tony and Linda who sent this over a few days ago. Enjoy, mes amis!

Field Trip

Today was a monumental day, indeed: I took my first post-hospital, non-medical field trip. I didn't go to a medical office, a doctor's visit, a testing lab, or any other place. For such a landmark event, where would a geek such as me choose to go on this, my inaugural outing?

Why, the library, of course.

James and I maneuvered my less-than agile self into the car, with bum leg propped on a squisht 70's-vintage gold-and-orange velour pillow (holdover from the Hancock apartment), and off we went. The first excitement of the day was the fact that James was able to use our shiny new handicapped parking tag for the first time -- that's right, prime parking, y'all! Right in front and ready to go. I hopped (literally) into my wheelchair and into the library we sailed.

People are oddly nicer to you when you're in a wheelchair -- they hold doors and say "excuse me" and whatnot. It's odd. I wish people were that nice to each other, regardless of circumstance, but we take what we get. At least folks are nice SOME of the time, I suppose.

I wheeled about, followed by my trusty 6'6" book carrying slave. The library is, of course, nominally handicapped accessible. However, you'd be amazed at how difficult all the study spaces and reading chairs and rolling cards and the like make it navigate. As I'm not the most graceful chicklet in the universe as it is (surprise!), I'm afraid I found myself stuck more than once as I rounded corners. Ah well, it was a learning experience.

I did find a number of interesting tomes, and it's quite the eclectic combo of books, I have to say. Being low to the ground via the chair made me notice a number of books I generally overlook. Also, as I told James, it's a different thing when you're browsing and able to sit right there in the aisles as you review and choose. For those of you who are interested:

• boy meets girl by Meg Cabot
• Close to Perfect by Tina Donahue
• Diary of a Bad Year by J.M. Coetzee
• Take a Walk on the Dark Side by R. Gary Patterson
• Death Makes a Holiday: a cultural history of Halloween by David J. Skal
• Fun Rooms by Ana G. Canizares
• Right on the Money by Steve and Annette Economides

Stay tuned for select book reviews, to follow.

Power to the People

We had some hellacious wind storms on Tuesday night and early Wednesday morning -- gusts as high as 70+ mph, even. I was awake listening as the gusts became more and more intense, until finally one gust started and then, rather than ebbing and falling like gusts are wont to do, suddenly increased until it was as if a freight train were about 3 inches from crashing through my bedroom wall. The windows rattled, the cats were freaked, and then -- silence. And darkness.

And no power.

So we went about our day, figuring that electricity would come back on sooner or later. But no electric = no heat, and the day -- complete with wind -- wasn't a warm one. It grew more and more cold, until late morning (T-minus 5.5 hours without heat) found me curled on my bed with my down comforter pulled over my head. My mom was similarly wrapped in a chair. We called RG & E to tell them I'm kind of sick and need to be warm and use my hospital bed and whatnot, and they were *very* receptive but not hopeful about the power thing, saying is might be as late as Sun. 1/13. By dinner time (T-minus 12.5 hours without heat) we had borrowed a generator from the Chins and were starting to get warm. Kim came over, and so we had pizza and chicken fingers by the light of a single lamp -- very glam. We went to sleep to the soothing hummmmm of the generators cranking all up and down the street.

Finally in the late night hours power came back on and the generator noise was just so much remembered white noise in the backs of our brains. SO now we thaw out and keep thanking the gods of electricity for the power that keeps us warm.

Team Colleen

I've got the coolest friends ever, kids. I've mentioned it before, but it's worth mentioning again. And I have to take a moment to say thank you.

My dear friends the Osgoods, Dave and Kim, have been just the best buds ever with the sheets and the support and the falafel and the visits. If you too have friends like my friends the Osgoods, you are blessed indeed.

And then there are the Boudreaus. Matt and Monique and Javert have helped James build my ramp (SO impressive!), offered me books and intelligent conversation and have babysat my sorry self straight out of the hospital. Old friends ARE the best (yes, Matt, you ARE old. Sorry.).

The Geeks (Garth, Dower, Pete, Neil, Dave (Osgood again!) and crew) are so amazing. In a million quiet ways, they offer support. They help us move furniture and do woodwork, offer us access to their power tools, chat on IM and lend videos and games galore. Geeks rule, and that's a fact.

And my team. Oh, my team. My lovely, lovely team. From our fearless leader Kate to the uber-stylish Sofia, to media goddesses Jules and Alicia, photog Alex, master wordsmith Mary and my own partner-in-Web Fran -- not to mention fabulous VP Kelly and her right-hand, Shirley. They've sent notes and cards and flowers. And now? They've sent me the coolest laptop table a girl could ask for as she recovers from near-death. Danke.

And all the rest of Team Colleen -- you know who you are -- I can't thank you enough for your cards and calls and visits and love. It's literally keeping me going on days when things are stinky. Thank you, so much. You make the days a lot more bearable, and I appreciate you all.

Breathing Easier

I've been home for a few days now, settling in to my new routine. My mom has taken this week off to come up and help take care of me -- I can't thank her enough, really, for that. I'm pretty busy, oddly enough, since my days are now filled with doctor's appointments, visiting nurses, blood tests (every other day!), physical therapists, home health aides and the like. We're still trying to regulate my blood thinners, a challenge made that much greater by the fact that I have a bit of a systemic infection and am also now starting antibiotics (yucko). Ah, well. It's going to all pan out eventually, it's just a matter of time and patience.

My doc's appointment this afternoon was good. Dr. T explained what's happening, and said I should be feeling normal again in three to six weeks. Of course, it will be months until all is really well, and a year or more before I come off all the drugs. He also said that the clot in my leg should be stable within 10-15 days of putting blood thinners on board: I'm on day eight now, so only a few days of worrying about clot instabilty left! Woohoo!

You know, just a month ago I was worried about Web work and wrapping Christmas gifts and household improvements and other small stuff. And so I think to myself: how my life and priorities have changed.

Home Again, Naturally

I'm home.

Tired. Happy to be here, in both the larger "Thank God I'm still alive" and also smaller "I love my bed" kinds of ways. On lots of meds. Thankful. Still sick, but healing.

Home.

My Broken Two ... Lungs

It would seem that the focus of the blog has changed. On Sunday, I had what we're calling an episode. I had heart palpitations, couldn't breathe, and blacked out. I headed to the hospital (Strong Memorial, y'all!) early Monday morning and was hooked to a LOT of machines. I went for a CAT scan and the doc came in with the *wonderful* phrase: "I have bad news."

Turns out I have a huge clot in my left knee (yes, the injured leg -- not uncommon), and large pieces broke off and got caught in my lungs (aka pulminary emboli), which paralyzed and damaged pieces of said organs. My heart is strained, and I'm sick (AND tired -- badumbum!) and on a lot of blood thinning drugs (IV, self-injections and oral - YATZHEE!!) to help me along. I'm in the hospital for a while -- about a week total, I think, maybe a little less -- and then I go home on thinners for a long, long time.

Today the doc told me that I look "remarkably well," and that other folks with the "amount of clot burden in their lungs" that I have are usually still on O2 and have fevers and infections. Or, you know, die.

I don't mind telling you that this has scared the ever-loving doody out of me.

James is suggesting that our sob story is a good match for "Extreme Home Makeover." Picture: James in tears, trying to be stoic. "Hi, ABC. We're the Barry Family. Colleen broke her left foot and sprained her right ankle and now she has pulminary emboli and her heart's strained and, and, all she wanted to do was make the Web a better place!" Cut to felines Bina and Ramad looking sad and mopey and VOILA! A new house. Or at least, a new workshed. Or something.

More later.