I am taking a quick break from the norm to do an easy, all encompassing personal update here. Many, many thanks for everyone who has been asking about my current first world travail. A little back-story:
Just two weeks ago, a very close friend, watching me attack a job that needed taken care of, called me a tornado. A few years back that would have irritated the hell out me. In fact, a few years back, someone else I love called me intense and I went through the roof. It really incensed me. For a variety of reasons, the word had a very negative connotation for me. Very upset, I of course made an ass out of myself… a common occurrence… and proved the accuracy of the statement by exploding and calling another friend. “He called me intense! AM I INTENSE?”
idiot would be more appropros.
A bunch of us at the time decided a word I could handle was passionate. Not as negative a connotation. I guess I have matured … or inured myself to it.. as I now embrace the intense moniker, what the hell. Consequently, tornado didn’t bother me.
What’s the point? Well, as the tornado raced through the living room last week doing twelve things at once and saw the rug was bunched up under the very heavy sofa bed-couch, I reached down at a weird angle with my right arm and yanked hard on the sofa, rather than lifting it, while trying to straighten the rug with my left arm. Did I mention it’s a very heavy sofa, I was at a very odd angle and I yanked hard with one arm?
The sofa did not move. My arm, however, moved. I guess I don’t know my own strength as my elbow popped out and in and my right bicep almost entirely tore off my elbow joint.
If only I’d had a sound recorder. There was this “pop” that sounded like a very loud firecracker. Loud. It was followed by an equally loud ‘rippppppp’. I remember about a 3 second reprieve where I looked at my right arm and thought clinically, ‘Those sounds could not have been my arm….” Then my synapses started firing and a very different sound filled the room.
Pardon my french but there is only one way to say it: It hurt like Fuck.
Anyway, after a trip to 1) the ER 2) a very good orthopedist and 3) an MRI (did not like that!), I am having my bicep reattached fully to the joint on Friday. It’s about a 75-80 % tear. The surgery is outpatient, though I will go completely under anesthesia. This will be followed by one or two pretty gruesome weeks and then a few months recovery. But if I get the surgery, chances are I am back in full tornado form 3 months from now. If I don’t have the surgery, odds are I lose at least 30 % mobility. According to the doctor, a number of people in similar circumstances choose not to have the operation but for me, there isn’t much of a choice. Gotta have that mobility.
Life could be a lot worse, I’m thankful. And as my sister Jeanye remarked, slings are very slimming. Woo hoo!
Yet another good buddy, my friend Chad in Ohio, hearing the story remarked ‘Typical lineman.” Very, very true. I was indeed a lineman, which for me equals bull in a china shop. I’m so clumsy I don’t even pay attention anymore when I ram into things. Once a month at least I find a huge bruise on my thigh or hip or arm and think, ‘How did that happen?” Clearly something did happen but I don’t even register them! Combine bull in a china shop clumsy with tornado and, well, I am probably lucky it is just a bicep tear. I guess the Good Lord sometimes says to us, ‘Slow down.” I also guess I am not one for gentle prodding.
Again many thanks for the care and concern, you all remind me how truly blessed I am, even when banging into things.
Oh, and I introduced some of you to ‘pin’ on Facebook. Here he is again, he was cool to see when they did the xrays for this current problem.
‘Pin’ came into my life and my right shoulder in 1986 when I crashed learning to hang glide in the Smokey Mountains. When I crashed, I dislocated my right shoulder for the 23rd time. It was a chronic problem supposedly solved by a muscle tightening surgery 4 years prior. When I crashed and dislocated my shoulder, no one with me could pop the damn thing back in, even after about 12 yanks. I had to drive myself to the emergency clinic. The clinic was 45 miles away. I was in a stick shift car. With a dislocated right shoulder. I’ll relate that lineman story some other time, it is pretty funny. Suffice to say, however, that also hurt like F@%#.
I learned one major lesson with that experience, though: if anyone ever says to you, ‘Hey, want to try an IV of Valium?” Take me advice and say “yesssssssss”……. Oh My.