I'm afraid my wrist is regressing. It looks a little...well...swollen. Is that bad? I really haven't done anything to hurt it though. I even swallowed my pride and started asking people in my office for help lifting heavy things. All I did was follow doctors orders to wear the splint about 50% of the time, and it swells up on me. I'm putting that stupid splint on right now and not taking it off until I see Dr. Heyman again.
There's also this weird bone beneath my right palm that seems to be sticking out a little more than it was a few weeks ago. The question is- did the area around the bone swell up because it's injured or does it just SEEM to be protruding more because there are no muscles in my wrist to protect it?
If it was actually going to be healed in 2 weeks, I think it would feel better than it does right now. This is ridiculous. I try to move it around every day, but I can't tell if my pain is because it's still broken or because it's just stuck in place after not having moved for 9 weeks. Can you say frustrated? I can. I can say it over and over and over again. Frustrated. Oh, and over it.
Countdown to tentative recovery: who knows anymore. I'll probably heal the same day that Tupac Shakur ACTUALLY shows up alive.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
the past few weeks
I had a request from a reader to write about how my arm has been doing for the past 3 weeks. No, I am not making that up. Someone did actually make that request.
I've been living my life. Takin' it one day at a time, ya know? Some days I forget that my arm is injured until I try to do something like push a drawer closed...then I remember real quick. Some days I wake up and stretch and I feel like I am pulling a muscle in my forearm just by fully extending it. Some days I just stare at my emaciated arm, mesmerized with the fact that I can feel the outline of all my bones and cartilage.
This splint has not been kind to my clothing. Velcro does not agree with satin, cotton, cashmere, lycra, chiffon...or even polyester for that matter. I have snags in just about everything I own now, with the exception of my jeans. Now that I can actually fold and iron my clothes, they look like I've had them since the 6th grade. Mom- if you're reading...wanna send me some shopping money? I can't bear to go outside with a snag in my nice new target wife-beater. I would no longer be able to impress the jorts guys who lives in my building. Just kidding- you really think I own a chiffon article of clothing?
The good news is that my range of motion is slowly coming back. If I had to guess, I would say I'm at about 80% when it comes to bending my wrist around. My arm hair is also lightening in some sections. It's more of a gradual change to black now, rather than a legitimate LINE where it changes from blonde to black.
Aside from the stiffness and the appearance of my arm, I still constantly feel sorry for myself for not being able to do lots of things I like to do (or things I would like to TRY to do). Why has everyone I know suddenly taken up a serious interest in bowling? It seems to be EVERYONE'S first suggestion when deciding on something to do. Are they trying to mess with me? Maybe they know I can't come and are just trying to get rid of me. That would be kinda mean. Regardless, I would appreciate it if the word 'bowling' didn't come up in conversation for a while.
On Monday, I went for a nice run in Washington Park. My old volleyball team plays on Mondays in the same park, so I stopped by to say hi and watch their game. I probably shouldn't do that again until I can play. It was pretty depressing. They tried to make me feel better by telling me how cool my splint looks, but I'm pretty sure they were actually making fun of me. Then they lost the game- so that made me laugh a little on the inside.
Countdown to tentative full recovery: 65 days down, 19 to go.
I've been living my life. Takin' it one day at a time, ya know? Some days I forget that my arm is injured until I try to do something like push a drawer closed...then I remember real quick. Some days I wake up and stretch and I feel like I am pulling a muscle in my forearm just by fully extending it. Some days I just stare at my emaciated arm, mesmerized with the fact that I can feel the outline of all my bones and cartilage.
This splint has not been kind to my clothing. Velcro does not agree with satin, cotton, cashmere, lycra, chiffon...or even polyester for that matter. I have snags in just about everything I own now, with the exception of my jeans. Now that I can actually fold and iron my clothes, they look like I've had them since the 6th grade. Mom- if you're reading...wanna send me some shopping money? I can't bear to go outside with a snag in my nice new target wife-beater. I would no longer be able to impress the jorts guys who lives in my building. Just kidding- you really think I own a chiffon article of clothing?
The good news is that my range of motion is slowly coming back. If I had to guess, I would say I'm at about 80% when it comes to bending my wrist around. My arm hair is also lightening in some sections. It's more of a gradual change to black now, rather than a legitimate LINE where it changes from blonde to black.
Aside from the stiffness and the appearance of my arm, I still constantly feel sorry for myself for not being able to do lots of things I like to do (or things I would like to TRY to do). Why has everyone I know suddenly taken up a serious interest in bowling? It seems to be EVERYONE'S first suggestion when deciding on something to do. Are they trying to mess with me? Maybe they know I can't come and are just trying to get rid of me. That would be kinda mean. Regardless, I would appreciate it if the word 'bowling' didn't come up in conversation for a while.
On Monday, I went for a nice run in Washington Park. My old volleyball team plays on Mondays in the same park, so I stopped by to say hi and watch their game. I probably shouldn't do that again until I can play. It was pretty depressing. They tried to make me feel better by telling me how cool my splint looks, but I'm pretty sure they were actually making fun of me. Then they lost the game- so that made me laugh a little on the inside.
Countdown to tentative full recovery: 65 days down, 19 to go.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
And it continues
It's been 3 weeks since the fiberglass came off, and well, 3 weeks since my last post. I will personally apologize to 2 people in particular for not writing- you know who you are.
I had my 4th, and what I expected to be my last, doctor's appointment yesterday. As stiff as my wrist still is, I had this glimpse of hope that I would be cleared to play volleyball, do handstands, and maybe even throw an occasional shot-put. I have GOT to stop getting my hopes up. Apparently, my fracture looks the same as it did 3 weeks ago, when Dr. Heyman said "give it 3 weeks." Now, that 3 weeks has turned into 6, and my original 12 week recovery time line is back on.
I could tell that Dr. Heyman felt bad. Deep down, he really wanted to say "GO! Run around! Use your hand! Drive with your right hand! Lift with your right hand! Do whatever your right hand wants to do!" But instead, he looked at me with that usual blank stare and said in a rather monotone voice, "Give me 3 more weeks. Then we'll be done with each other."
As part of my job, I coordinate the execution of both paid for caterings and sponsored marketing events. Since we are a small operation, I personally end up shifting around a decent amount of catering equipment. Some of this equipment is not the least bit lightweight. In fact, some of it is pretty heavy. But it's part of my job, and they pay me to do it, so I try not to complain. (Please note the word 'try' in that last comment) So when Dr. Heyman asked me yesterday if I had been lifting heavy things since I got my cast off, I felt myself turn a crimson shade of red. Anyone who knows me should be familiar with the color- my face turns this shade fairly often. Anyways, I hadn't had more than 2 seconds to respond when he said in a not so monotone voice- "DO NOT DO THAT." He then proceeded to show me the x-ray of a guy who just HAPPENED to be my age, who just HAPPENED to have an appointment earlier that morning and whose bones just HAPPENED to still be up on the x-ray viewing thingy. This guy also just HAPPENED to have broken his scaphoid a few months back. For some reason, I think Dr. Heyman had anticipated that I wouldn't have followed his orders and was armed with plenty of ammo to make sure I listen this time. I guess this guy didn't let himself heal, and now his bone is literally in 2 pieces and needs a bone graft, screws, etc, etc, etc.
Thank you, docta, for once again scaring the poo out of me.
I'm so ready for this to be over. I wonder if I could get some sort of workman's compensation settlement because my job prolonged my recovery. I'm gonna go discuss that with HR.
Countdown to full recovery: 63 days down, 21 to go.
I had my 4th, and what I expected to be my last, doctor's appointment yesterday. As stiff as my wrist still is, I had this glimpse of hope that I would be cleared to play volleyball, do handstands, and maybe even throw an occasional shot-put. I have GOT to stop getting my hopes up. Apparently, my fracture looks the same as it did 3 weeks ago, when Dr. Heyman said "give it 3 weeks." Now, that 3 weeks has turned into 6, and my original 12 week recovery time line is back on.
I could tell that Dr. Heyman felt bad. Deep down, he really wanted to say "GO! Run around! Use your hand! Drive with your right hand! Lift with your right hand! Do whatever your right hand wants to do!" But instead, he looked at me with that usual blank stare and said in a rather monotone voice, "Give me 3 more weeks. Then we'll be done with each other."
As part of my job, I coordinate the execution of both paid for caterings and sponsored marketing events. Since we are a small operation, I personally end up shifting around a decent amount of catering equipment. Some of this equipment is not the least bit lightweight. In fact, some of it is pretty heavy. But it's part of my job, and they pay me to do it, so I try not to complain. (Please note the word 'try' in that last comment) So when Dr. Heyman asked me yesterday if I had been lifting heavy things since I got my cast off, I felt myself turn a crimson shade of red. Anyone who knows me should be familiar with the color- my face turns this shade fairly often. Anyways, I hadn't had more than 2 seconds to respond when he said in a not so monotone voice- "DO NOT DO THAT." He then proceeded to show me the x-ray of a guy who just HAPPENED to be my age, who just HAPPENED to have an appointment earlier that morning and whose bones just HAPPENED to still be up on the x-ray viewing thingy. This guy also just HAPPENED to have broken his scaphoid a few months back. For some reason, I think Dr. Heyman had anticipated that I wouldn't have followed his orders and was armed with plenty of ammo to make sure I listen this time. I guess this guy didn't let himself heal, and now his bone is literally in 2 pieces and needs a bone graft, screws, etc, etc, etc.
Thank you, docta, for once again scaring the poo out of me.
I'm so ready for this to be over. I wonder if I could get some sort of workman's compensation settlement because my job prolonged my recovery. I'm gonna go discuss that with HR.
Countdown to full recovery: 63 days down, 21 to go.
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