Here's my nest. I like having a bed in the living room so much, it may stay there forever. Curtis, if you are reading this, I'm only kidding. If Curtis doesn't read this, I am totally NOT kidding! The gigantic pink fuzzy pillow has made my life worth living during the past week. It elevates my leg to the proper height and it's soft.
The first day I was in this bed in this location, I spied several books I thought would be nice to peruse. So, I got my long handled grabber device (without safety goggles) and started pulling books off the shelves. I got pretty good at it because CB walked in and I had about 7 books scattered around me. He was not amused, but I was completely entertained. I can say without regret that none of the books I pulled off the shelf were any of the Kansas statutes (the burgundy and blue books on the bottom shelf). I'm not that bored. yet.
By putting one hand on the wooden stool and the other on the side table, I can get out of bed alone. It's still more fun to ask CB for help because when he lifts me, his arms are around me and I curl into him which feels very safe. And usually he smells really, really nice.
In the mail today was a large envelope from Kansas State University. Enclosed was a nice note from Dr. Pat Bosco and this Powercat cut out to encourage me on my healing journey. The Powercat will remain in place until I can do 3 things: ditch the walker; go upstairs; and have a 90 decree bend in my knee.
I'll keep you posted on the progress. Powercats are tough and so am I!
This poor chair is just like me. It has a bad leg. It started out today with good legs. Four good legs. Four reasonably sturdy legs.
This chair is on loan to me from my mom. It was my brother's at one point and, since it has arms, it was perfect for me at the supper table.
Until today. At 12:20. CB was in the garage getting a splash of milk for his potato soup. I was minding my own business, eating a piece of pizza when I decided to scoot up a bit closer to the table.
Bad idea. In hindsight, not a good idea at all.
One second I'm scooting, then the next second I'm on the ground, flat on my back, yelling for help.
About 10 seconds (it seemed like longer) later, CB was by my side, checking to see if I was okay. And by "okay", I mean bleeding. I was fine. No head bump even.
But we were faced with a problem: how to get me upright. I was not going to be any help at all. I didn't want CB lifting me alone. I weigh more than I should - remember my surgeon so graciously reminded me of that fact a little over a week ago.
CB said he could lift me but after some discussion, we agreed to call my brother in law, Jay, who came right over and with minimal effort, hoisted my ass up off the floor and on to a waiting chair.
All was well.
Almost.
What I didn't mention is that when I hit the floor, I wet my pants. Yes. Indeed. I. Did.
The hits just keep on comin'.
