More MS shenanigans Saturday we are expecting a wound specialist nurse to deal with bed-sore developed my non-moving and aided by Ambien non-movement. We have been told to expect this person.

Person shows, DH helps me lie on bed in my diaper to show how he positions me, show person bed-sore. Person agrees it is bad and nothing else. Turns out he was sent in error to take my blood pressure! But DH had already whispered and made me laugh "What a waste this is!" Think we totally confused this guy who just wanted to take a blood pressure reading!

Kicker, maybe he should have taken HIS blood pressure after your little show-and-tell episode!!

He did ask for a chair.

My poor uncle went in for heart surgery, since he was unmarried my mother (his big sis) and I went down for moral support. I had an exaspération of my MS so I was using my wheelchair, sitting in the pre-op room with him for them to get his weight and draw blood and all that fun stuff. Well the nurse didn’t see us enter the room so she came in, greeted all of us and got my uncle’s vitals, drew his blood and then said she’d need to get his weight.

She saw me in the wheelchair and my mom sitting on the only other chair in the room and looked at my uncle who only had one leg sticking out from his robe. She looked really confused for a moment, and then very politely asked my uncle if he could stand on the scale on one foot. My uncle was very good natured as he said “Sure I can, but wouldn’t it make more sense to use two?” As he untucked his other leg from under him where he was keeping it warm.

The poor nurse turned several shades of white to red, white from trying to catch him when he went to stand up right on through to red when she realized her mistake. But it really did lighten the mood of what ended up being an even bigger operation than intially thought, he was only supposed to have a bypass, maybe a double and it turned into a triple .

Well this afternoon must have been a day for mischief indeed, as is our annual tradition my mother and I were working on making our holiday crafts for presents. I was working on an ohio star quilt for my father in law. My mother heard some French coming from my side of the kitchen and asked what was wrong... i told her the light went out on my machine, couldn’t see a thing, and with a grumble I got up to get a flashlight and my screwdriver. Ignoring the fact that my mother was still asking me what I was talking about.

I have a tool chest in the living room, joke between my DH and me, but regardless I grabbed the flashlight from the upper left drawer, and grabbed the screwdriver out of the bottom right drawer of the top of the chest and still muttering because we’re getting down to the wire now, I retake my seat at the sewing machine and flip on the flashlight... a few more French words fly from my mouth... the dang batteries are dead.... grrr... grumble.... grrrr....grrrr.....

By now my mom is beside asking why on earth I have the flashlight and screw driver and why am I so upset? She’s trying to nudge me out of the way thinking I jammed fabric or something in the machine. So I tell her the light went out on my machine, like seriously can’t see a thing and now the flashlight doesn’t work either and I don’t have time for this....

She proceeds to tell me that both are on.... “what??” No they aren’t, geez, can’t she see how dark it is? I get “love, both of them are on I see the lights...” “no they aren’t it’s like pitch black heck I can’t even see my own hand in front of my face let alone sew...” and no sooner did I say that then I could start to see some light.

Eventually my vision cleared and I could see well as fine as I do any other time, thankfully I was too distracted by projects to realize I had quite literally blindly gone to the living room and grabbed a flashlight and screwdriver never realizing I was actually blind at the time . And worse that it was the middle of the day and it never clicked in my mind that there was no sunlight coming through the windows lol.

And no I didn’t go to the Er, allergic to cortisone which is the only treatment, but I did finish the quilt top

Well sometimes it’s good to have a waiter that knows you . Our waiter tonight was someone who was in a few of my college classes, and an unfortunate victim of my pencil projectiles when my hands would spasm. Funny enough that throughout my college career by the third day of classes my classmates were always on the look out for incoming leaded missiles, but tonight I was just thankful that of all the things my hand decided to suddenly toss was my spoon and not my knife . And since my waiter knew me, he expertly caught the spoon before it could hit the oblivious diner behind me.

My poor DH looked on in abject horror as my fingers flipped the spoon up into the air and was shocked when the waiter smooth as could be caught the spoon and handed it right back to me with a chuckle. We had to explain to my DH that we had been classmates and in apology for the number of pencils that flew his way during class I tutored him. And when he brought our steaks out he was nice enough to ensure my plate was set in front of my DH to cut it, and did so very nicely so as to not attract attention from the other diners that sharp implements would not be my friends tonight .

Ugh, this is a mischief I could do without, but oddly makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something.... years and years ago (gosh do I feel old now) I would get sudden shin splints. Appearing out of nowhere popping like eggs up on shins that would bruise and swell and last for months and then the swelling would go down and I’d have a dent in my shin for another month or two before the whole cycle would begin again. The only thing that stopped them from occurring was... breaking my back and tearing multiple tendons and ligaments in my ankles and knees to the point of walking more than around the house became nearly impossible, but hey at least no more shin splints the plague of my existence since age 6.

Then last year, I finally had enough with the spasms and rigidity and bit the bullet on getting the baclofen pump. By then most days even getting around my house was a challenge most days, and I used my wheelchair pretty much exclusively whenever I left the house, honestly I didn’t think there was any more harm a surgical oops could do at that point. And thankfully there was no oops, aside from an allergic reaction to the pain meds immediately following the surgery and over the weekend which left me feeling the full pain of 21 stitches for 48 hours until my doctors office opened on Monday.

A month later the pump got filled for the first time, and I spent two weeks on a diet of devil dogs and marshmallows due to plummeting blood sugar, they took me off the gabapentin to fix that, and I was basically off to the races. My body was listening to me again. The tearing of the tendons and ligaments actually had a chance to heal some and each day I was able to do so much more than the day before. I healed up enough for the start of spring to get my garden in order, by April my wheelchair was all but put away , I’ve lost 4 dress sizes, helped my uncle with some deconstruction of an old trailer on his lot, took my grand baby to the zoo and actually walked all around with her (ok Nama needed a long soak and slept for a day and a half afterwards but still).

Needless to say I WAS feeling better than I have ever felt in my life, and then last week the dreaded shin splints made their valiant return and as it is 1:30 in the morning and I’m writing this rather than tucked up sleeping soundly, I can say they have definitely returned with a vengeance. Drawing me from my slumber last night with a sudden and exceptionally sharp pain searing it’s way up and down my shin bone with every tiny movement.

I know I should feel a bit discouraged, even perhaps worried over this new pain, and yet I find myself chuckling even as I gasp in pain, because it really does feel now like I got my old life back. Rather sad, I’ll admit, but seriously from age 6 to age 27 shin splints were my near constant companion, never once deterred by any amount of physical therapy and to have them back again... well it’s like meeting that weird cousin no one ever talks about at a family reunion and feeling slight relieved to know he’s alive still so you won’t be called on to offer your condolences over his passing, and yet spend the rest of the time avoiding eye contact at all costs while offering fevered prayers to the powers that be that they never come over to talk to you.

Okay maybe not the best analogy but give me a break, it’s going onto 2 am on my second day of little sleep