moar funny pictures
Before I get on with this post, I just wanted you all to see how much snow we’ve been getting. All I have to say is: Global warming, my ass!
That’s the corner of our deck and that’s about two feet of snow on top of our flower pots and grill. It’s been coming down all day and still hasn’t stopped.
I want to say right now too, that my dear Dusty did a stellar job of house/dog sitting and he even shoveled part of the deck and steps for us. Because he just rocks.
I’d also like to say that Lucky acts like a completely spoiled brat after his Uncle Dusty babysits him. When I was snuggling him last night, he snorted and grunted and sighed as if I weren’t doing it right.
I’ve been snuggling him for 14 and a half years but apparantly his uncle does it better.
On a more serious note that has nothing to do with what I just wrote, I want to say that for the first time in about a month and a half, I am finally pain-free. I have been dealing with an ailment that has had me in constant pain so much that it’s affected my personality. And some of my relationships. Finally, my doctor listened to my whining and switched my meds and what a difference it has made.
I am normally a healthy girl. I do not deal with sickness very well. Being sick for that long was un-nerving and truthfully? Terrifying.
Luckily, all of my tests came back negative, but I do indeed have a “dysfunctional uterus.”
Ha. Dude, I nearly laughed myself off the gurney when my OB told me that. Figures, right?
But considering all of the bad things it could have been, I’ll take my dysfunctional body part any day.
I just wanted to put that out there. I don’t like talking about my health too much because Lord knows I have other things to piss and moan about but damn it, I’m so glad I went with my instinct and was persistant with my doctor.
I’m also certain that when I told his nurse that at this point, the pain was enough to make me want to jam rusty nails up my veins, it finally got their attention.
Well, we’re back home as of this morning.
Howard ended up having knee surgery on Wednesday and lost 60% of his Meniscus because it was torn in three different places (all new injuries, thank you very much…) and also folded over and wedged between his knee joints, hence the enormous amount of pain. What this means is he will need total knee replacement in 8 to 10 years.
Take that, Workman’s Comp.
You know? I know there are a lot of people there who take advantage of our system. And I know that those idiots make it hard for the rest of us. But I’ve never been treated like I was on trial more than dealing with the good old folks at the insurance company who carries our Workman’s Compensation.
Thank God, our orthopedic surgeon was impassioned about it too and said he’d provide all the proof they needed that Howard was indeed a “legimitate case”. He’s glad we flew in when we did instead of being good little employees and just sucking it up. He’s glad our P.A. here fought for us too. We’re not a couple of flakes looking to make a quick buck. Howard was injured on the job, we have a VP in the Head Office who preaches to us, that even in the event of a “stubbed toe”, we ARE to file a claim. Most of the time, those claims are never acted upon. We’re told to file them just in case someone tries to pop up six months later and sue us over the injury. We just do as we’re told.
Then we’re treated like liars. Can you tell I’m a little aggravated?
Luckily, we were treated very well by the good folks at Providence Hospital and Anchorage Fracture and Orthopedic. The surgeon who worked on Howard is renowned in the Orthopedic field and is the only Native American Orthopedic surgeon in the world. He and his nurses were very compassionate and accomodating. Thank God someone believed we weren’t trying to “get over” on anyone.
So, he’s home, he can already feel a difference in his knee now that he can straighten and move it without pain and the Physical Therapist says in about six weeks, he should be back to 100%. As much as 100% when you’ve lost 60 percent of your Meniscus. He can no longer jog or run but he should be able to do everything else.
I think aside from his ego and feelings, he’s none the worse for the wear.
Thank you for all your kind emails, and when I’m caught up at work, I’ll give you a good and proper entry.
It’s now 2:41pm and our flight is on a weather delay. It has been snowing non-stop and the plane just couldn’t land. They’re going to try to land again around 4pm. Otherwise, we’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. Oh well. At least we’re stuck at home instead of in Anchorage. There’s nothing worse than being ready to go home and not being able to.
I do feel bad for Howard because if we end up going in tomorrow, he’ll miss his early morning appointment at the radiology clinic thus making his afternoon appointment useless because they won’t have his x-rays. Which will put his relief off for one more day and this boy is in some serious pain.
Dusty called while Howard was napping and he and I made a run to the store for some junk food and we took his dogs for a run. I wish to God, I would have had my camera. Dusty has this big, fat, huge dog named Tackle that looks like a full-blooded German Shepard, except that he isn’t.
At all. Instead he’s an overweight lap dog who thinks he’s a Chihuahua.
Except Chihuahua’s can be little scrappers and Tackle…well…he’s definitely not a scrapper. I think you get my point.
When Dusty let him out of the car to run, he and I laughed so hard because when Tackle runs he wobbles from side to side and every ounce of fat jiggles and bounces. Add a little snow to his running and he’s all “OH GOD! OH GOD! STOP AND LET ME BACK IN THE CAR!” For that five minute run, he’ll need five hours to nap.
Poor Tacky. The big baby.
Anyway. The snow is still coming down, the fact that I got up at 6am is catching up with me and I think I’m going to take a nap until my plane gets here. Keep your fingers crossed!
It’s 6:00am and I’m running around like a madwoman cleaning my house, packing for myself and Howard (he can’t get around all that well and he’s on crutches), and getting ready to leave for Anchorage.
I don’t know how long we will be gone, hopefully only a few days. It all depends on what the prognosis is for Howard’s knee. As of right now, there has been no improvement from Halloween night except that he now wears a stabilizer and he has some kick-ass pain pills.
Dusty’s watching the house for us, our fabulous book keeper is manning the store, and I’ve gotta check in in less than two hours.
So, wish us luck and hopefully we’ll be back within a week!
It’s amazing no matter how sick my husband is, he still manages to slip a hand up under my nightshirt when I’m trying to take care of him.
Last night, not long after I wrote that post and lost the wine buzz, I was about to run out the door to pick up Howard from work, when the phone rang.
It was Howard. Telling me to make haste because his knee blew out and he couldn’t move it, much less stand up. I hauled ass down there and when he told me I may as well shove hot pokers in his eyes because that’s how much it hurt to try and stand up, I dialed 911.
Our normally even-tempered cashier was wide-eyed and cautious looking and I’ve honestly never seen that side of him before. At one point, I wasn’t sure what was more scary: His reaction or Howard’s injury.
We spent the rest of the evening with our lovely P.A. who pumped Howard full of anti-inflammatory and pain medicine. With a wounded ego and a set of crutches we finally made it home. He was so disappointed that we didn’t get to celebrate Halloween and I felt bad for being such a bitch about carving that pumpkin.
I made him a grilled cheese sandwich and some vegetable beef soup. We watched “The Legend of Boggy Creek” and got exactly two trick-or-treaters because it was so late. During the night, he would wimper if I so much as grazed it. When I offered to sleep on the couch, he would wimper even more. And my Howard is no wimperer, believe me.
This morning, I called my benefits manager, and as I was explaining our situation to her, I lost my shit. Just lost it. The next thing I know, I’m blubbering to her on the phone. Now Becky’s a good girl. She’s a GREAT girl. I consider her a friend. But we’re not to the point where we feel anywhere near comfortable crying in front of each other.
She was gracious and sympathetic and told me to take a deep breath and the crying was over before I knew it. If I could have stood outside myself for a second I would have given myself a look like “What the hell was that about?” I know Becky doesn’t judge me for it though, bless her heart.
I know the reason why I lost it but I can usually choose the moments when I know I’m going to lose it. And those moments are usually behind closed doors. And usually involve a pillow being thrown at something.
So the next few weeks are going to be hectic, filled with doctor’s appointments, and some changes that have needed to happen for a while. I am certain that I will lose my shit a few more times. I’m sure there will be pillows thrown and probably more wine than I should be legally allowed to consume.
I’m sure I’ll hear the words: “Oh stop feeling sorry for yourself, Chrissy.”, rightfully so.
And I will look at that pumpkin and tell him to go screw himself and pour myself another glass of wine.