April twentieth

April twentieth may go down in infamy for any ol' number of reasons, but one of them has got to be my sheepish performance in my last post. Wow, drama queen much, eh? Especially considering how the cortisone shot took all of one minute, and as the doctor slapped a bandaid over the injection site, like every other bad cliche, I said:

That's it? You're done?!

I thought he was just inserting the local anesthesia, and he was already pulling out (har har). In comparison to my previous experience -- be it time, pain, trauma and all around fuss -- it makes me want to check the prices to see what the other place was charging me. Let's see:

Last time:  There were four people hovering around me the entire time, working the machine, the needle, trying to calm me down (people watching?)...
This time:  There was my surgeon and his assistant in the room, but she never even approached us.

Last time:  The cat scan they kept pushing me into to check the angle of the injection was ancient and huge, taking up half the room.  
This time: The scan was the size of a dinner plate that just hovered over my hip the whole time. No stopping and starting, stopping and starting.

Last time:  They tied up my feet to keep them from twitching, which made me feel extremely vulnerable and uncomfortable in a room full of people.  
This time:  No bondage for me.

Last time:  The injection took about 20 minutes of slow inching deeper-and-deeper into my joint. 
This time:  The injection of both local anesthesia and cortisone took one minute, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am.

I am... disgusted.

I got all seriously worked up. I got Valium, for gawd sakes. I was so freaked out about the idea of repeating that procedure that as soon as I stepped off the table, I burst into tears of sheer relief. That was really it?! 

And to top it all off, the nurse went and got me a boxed fruit juice drink. 

Did I get a boo boo?

 ~ * ~

So much for Valium. I have to wonder if they actually gave me a placebo, because I noticed no difference except perhaps a protracted morning fuzzy head. Every emotion you'd think Valium was supposed to innure you to, I experienced in full color that morning:  anxiety, fear, tears on several occasions, and actual rage. There's nothing like a good spot of rage to make you feel young again. You know the kind:  fire in the eyes, chest aching, drooling through clenched teeth and the top of your head shooting off towards Mars.

So I say, again; wtf is this Valium shit? Sounds like a conspiracy to me.

another jab of the needle for me

I'm not sure if I've shared this here, but I've been told, as a result of that lovely Arthrogram I underwent recently, that I need the same surgery on my left hip that I had just last year on my right.

Since I maxed my auto insurance's Personal Injury Protection almost a year ago, I've been paying for my medical expenses resulting from getting run over by a truck in downtown Seattle with my personal Medical Insurance... which is to say that, because of the lovely High Deductible plans, I've been paying for much of it out of my own pocket.  I can only hope that whatever settlement I eventually get will cover all the medical debt we've racked up in the last year+. 

Despite the fact that the High Deductible medical plan feels like we're paying for it all ourselves, in the interest of reaching that deductible and catching a financial break, I still have to jump through whatever hoops my insurance company decides I have to jump through to obtain their approval for the cost of the surgery to count against my deductible. The first hoop my insurance is demanding I jump through before they'll even consider approving the surgery is a cortisone shot into my left hip.  This is very familiar -- I had a cortisone shot in my right hip, prior to the last surgery, with barely more than a week of relief before it wore off.

Do I seem unhappy?  I am unhappy.  Extremely so.

Imagine this (which is a scan of a cortisone
shot to a shoulder joint, rather than a hip) only
it's coming in from the front of my hip, right
next to my groin, instead. And tell me that
doesn't make you cross your legs, and cringe.

This is the fourth time since the accident that I've had to lay down so some doctor can tie up my feet so I don't twitch wrong, then shove a needle so deep inside my hip that he has to constantly screen it through a cat scan to make sure he's on the right path. During the arthrograms, they then inject contrast dye into the joint so that the MRI can do its thing. For the cortisone shots, they use an even thicker needle--omg, I'm making myself nauseous remembering, why am I doing this to myself?!--because they have to insert this cortisone cream (read: steroids) into the joint. And, I'm just going to share here, there is a ring of tissue through which the needle needs to punch to enter the joint, and it makes me stomach flutter just thinking about it. Ugh. It's not just that it's really painful, it's more that I hate needles, hate the idea of it entering my body... and even if they inject enough local to make you sick afterward, there is no way they can numb you enough that you don't feel that pressure punching through, invading really deep inside.

What's fucking Valium,
am I a hysterical,
Georgian wilting flower?

I haven't managed to get through any of these procedures without crying all over the stupid table. I'm just too afraid of needles. I spent all morning last week negotiating with the Dr.'s office, begging for anesthesia, gas, anything to just knock me out so I don't have to experience it again. I want to hurl my lunch just thinking about it. But apparently, Valium is the lowest they will go.

Damn them. 

on hands and knees in public restroom... even worse than you're imagining, you sicko

Little did I know, when I posted about the accident in which a truck hit me while I was walking across the crosswalk, that the medical shit flung at the fan-that-is-my-life would literally take over that life for years to come. 

Check me out:  it was just a funny story; I was all ho-ho, off-hand, laughing it off... I had no fucking clue. It's been a year and a half now since that crosswalk, and I'm still undergoing scary, painful medical procedures and am now facing the possibility of another surgery, on the opposite hip of the one I just had surgery on last June.  To find out just how "possible" that second surgery is, I had another arthrogram, on my left hip last Thursday.  And can I say...

Ouch!!

shrine of germs

They force a huge needle into the hip socket from the front, and inject dye, pain relievers, etc. into the joint so they can get a really clear picture of what's going on in there (MRI).  Between:

1.) Me being needle-freaky (read:  ready to cry upon the sight of that big long needle), and;

2.) The doctor injecting extra local anesthesia to keep me from feeling the needle too much and freaking out (according to the doctor, he really didn't want me to cry like I was threatening to, because he said it'd make him cry, and all kinds of awkwardness and retardation would ensue)

 ... I ended up crouched over, with a hip full of various liquids, hugging a public toilet and trying not to puke 5 minutes after trying to stand up. 

GROOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

When I came out of the bathroom -- because they just wouldn't stop knocking! Give a girl a chance to clean the smeared mascara from under her eyes after collapsing over a public toilet, why don't you!?? -- and reported that the nausea was fading, the nurse looks alarmed and says:

"Well, if you're feeling like fainting, I think we'd better get you a wheelchair!"

Who said anything about fainting?! If my husband had been there, he would have been rolling on the floor. My voice isn't overly loud like his, so the word I hear most is "What?" and "Huh?"  John characterizes my quiet voice as "booping".  I only get one "What?" from his direction before he looses patience and responds with:

"Boop, boop-boop-boop?"

Bastard.

Anyway, protestations aside, I ended up in a wheelchair.  And then I ended up developing a cold that very same night...hmmm, I wonder where I picked up that bug.  YUCK.

worked 112 hours in last two weeks...

And I don't see it lightening up any time too soon. But I can hardly complain, after working so hard to get the job! :) The good part is that I am walking almost normally now, post-surgery. I can't make a full stride -- I know, because I tried today on my way to the library -- but I can put my full weight on my leg. I figure a little physical therapy should work wonders on my stride, since I simply haven't been able to walk with a full stride in about a year. No wonder the muscles have shrunk.

Yesterday was my son's 14th birthday party. "Angst" and "puberty" and "emo" have cropped up in his daily dialogue.  It was almost too humid to live, so we spent it out on the porch, or downstairs in the basement. I love the sun, craved it so bad when it was playing least-in-sight, but now that it's here... ;/ It's so humid. What the hell. I won't be overheated, but I'll be pouring sweat and sticky. Argh.

But next week I'm heading with my extended family to Long Beach for a week. Parents, sister+triumvirate, cousins and chil'ens. That... almost sounds relaxing.

Kinda.

personal analysis

In case my last post of inarticulate bitching and moaning wasn't clue enough, I have been told by the doctor to remain on crutches for the entire month following my surgery---rather than moving to a cane and then nothing in the weeks following as I was originally told. This edict was handed down a week following my surgery, at my first check-up. I've had some weird symptoms and a distinct lack of improvement in the last 2+ weeks, which means I'm quite anxious to get back into the Dr.'s office this Thursday for my follow up.

Due to the crutches and a steady stream of pain medication, I am on medical leave from work while we come to mutually agreeable terms regarding working from home. This has been a wonderful chance to be with my family, and an urgent reminder of why I chose to go to work in the first place. I am in total awe of people, like my partner John, who can deal with the hectic and crazy stress of a house full of two teenagers (sometimes three when he watches his youngest sister during the day) and all the mess they can generate. The truth is, it just makes me feel inadequate when I realize how quickly I'm biting my tongue and reaching for my hair.  It's a personal failing, for sure.

The dichotomy of gratification/third-dimension-of-hell that home currently is has raised another of my family's ongoing obsessions:  personality analysis.  We found Sun Sign, Moon Sign by Charles Harvey to be a fascinating study of the various people in our lives, and the latest... the Kiersey personality test. Me, I'm an INFJ (or should I say, Ghandi? :D) and John's an INFP.  According to Kiersey.com:

Idealist Portrait of the Counselor (INFJ)

Counselors have an exceptionally strong desire to contribute to the welfare of others, and find great personal fulfillment interacting with people, nurturing their personal development, guiding them to realize their human potential. Although they are happy working at jobs (such as writing) that require solitude and close attention, Counselors do quite well with individuals or groups of people, provided that the personal interactions are not superficial, and that they find some quiet, private time every now and then to recharge their batteries. Counselors are both kind and positive in their handling of others; they are great listeners and seem naturally interested in helping people with their personal problems. Not usually visible leaders, Counselors prefer to work intensely with those close to them, especially on a one-to-one basis, quietly exerting their influence behind the scenes.

Counselors are scarce, little more than one percent of the population, and can be hard to get to know, since they tend not to share their innermost thoughts or their powerful emotional reactions except with their loved ones. They are highly private people, with an unusually rich, complicated inner life. Friends or colleagues who have known them for years may find sides emerging which come as a surprise. Not that Counselors are flighty or scattered; they value their integrity a great deal, but they have mysterious, intricately woven personalities which sometimes puzzle even them.

Blessed with vivid imaginations, Counselors are often seen as the most poetical of all the types, and in fact they use a lot of poetic imagery in their everyday language. Their great talent for language-both written and spoken-is usually directed toward communicating with people in a personalized way. Counselors are highly intuitive and can recognize another's emotions or intentions - good or evil - even before that person is aware of them. Counselors themselves can seldom tell how they came to read others' feelings so keenly. This extreme sensitivity to others could very well be the basis of the Counselor's remarkable ability to experience a whole array of psychic phenomena.

I've never wanted to be a counselor to anyone, of course, but I found a lot in the profile that resonated, sometimes with things I've been told by others, and some that I know for myself. Another description can be found on this site, which classifies INFJ's as "Protectors":

INFJs are concerned for people's feelings, and try to be gentle to avoid hurting anyone. They are very sensitive to conflict, and cannot tolerate it very well. Situations which are charged with conflict may drive the normally peaceful INFJ into a state of agitation or charged anger. They may tend to internalize conflict into their bodies, and experience health problems when under a lot of stress.

Because the INFJ has such strong intuitive capabilities, they trust their own instincts above all else. This may result in an INFJ stubbornness and tendency to ignore other people's opinions. They believe that they're right. On the other hand, INFJ is a perfectionist who doubts that they are living up to their full potential. INFJs are rarely at complete peace with themselves - there's always something else they should be doing to improve themselves and the world around them. They believe in constant growth, and don't often take time to revel in their accomplishments. They have strong value systems, and need to live their lives in accordance with what they feel is right. In deference to the Feeling aspect of their personalities, INFJs are in some ways gentle and easy going. Conversely, they have very high expectations of themselves, and frequently of their families. They don't believe in compromising their ideals.

* Italics mine

I like that John and I share the "INF"---Introvert (vs. Extrovert), Intuitive (vs. Sensory), Feeling (vs. Thinking)---which makes both of us Idealists... something I would have told you without taking a test!

Highly ethical in their actions, Idealists hold themselves to a strict standard of personal integrity. They must be true to themselves and to others, and they can be quite hard on themselves when they are dishonest, or when they are false or insincere. More often, however, Idealists are the very soul of kindness. Particularly in their personal relationships, Idealists are without question filled with love and good will. They believe in giving of themselves to help others; they cherish a few warm, sensitive friendships; they strive for a special rapport with their children; and in marriage they wish to find a "soulmate," someone with whom they can bond emotionally and spiritually, sharing their deepest feelings and their complex inner worlds.

Our primary difference---again something I could have told you!---is "Judging" (me) vs."Perception" (John). I tend to judge situations and people with a quick sweeping glance, but John holds back judgment on any and every thing. (Ok, that's a slight exaggeration, but it doesn't feel like it when we're at the grocery store and he refuses to make a decision on which bread to chose. Grrrr!)

The children are another story, and another dimension, altogether...

stir-fry, stir-crazy...

If I snap at one more person today, I'm going to have to put an end to my misery and stick my head down the toilet to drown. It's been 23 days since my surgery, and I am still house-bound, facing another week before my doctor re-evaluates whether or not I can escape these crutches I am consigned to. I am so irritable and stir-crazy, I could scream.  I can't go out strolling, walking, see the beach, take pictures of the beautiful flowers finally blooming in our yard... can't go basic shopping for real food (sorry, Johnny, no offense, but I want something besides ramen, rice and stir-fried whatever-is-in-the-fridge!), can't go to work, can't see a movie or meet with friends... I am officially sick of it! 

Johnny is trying, but I'm a real burden, at this point. He puts roses in my grandmother's vase for me, takes pictures of it to post here when I ask; tries to keep me fed and even pampers me with chocolate, and I repay him by snapping and moaning constantly.

Life is barely worth living. I don't want to see anyone. The phone battery is never charged when I need it for work---why the hell did I ever decide to have kids and who said they could be teenagers at the same time?! I can't bring myself caffeine. I can't pick up trash around the house (and that pisses me off). Whine whine, grouse grouse.

 Honestly? I'm bringing it online so I can get it out of my system, and hopefully leave my poor family alone. 

100th post

I am happy to publish my 100th blog post stating that I have survived hip surgery, and am anticipating--based on little other than real nice narcotics--a complete recovery. :) Though it's been less than a full week since the surgery and therefore I have to be quite careful, I have still noticed that I can flop my legs, bent at the knee, over to the right and to the left (oh so carefully).  I wasn't able to do this before the surgery, so I am excited.

I am currently scuttling around on crutches, and looking forward to moving on to a cane soon. I am in bed for the most part, but beginning to see the signs of stir-crazy. I have another week off work, and I've spent the last 5 days convalescing in my daughter's room, which is right next to the bathroom. My own bedroom is down a flight of steep stairs, which has--until today--been unassailable for me. I still don't look forward to tackling that in the middle of the night when in need of a bathroom break, so I think I'll be staying where I am right now.

Actually, I think I'd have a mutiny on my hands if I decided to move back into my own room.  Mae and John have been camping out on her floor since the surgery (John has been regulating my medication, etc., and insists on being next to me), which basically comes down to watching movies until 4 am and generally "camping out".  It's been a big spring-break, with Judah gone at my sister's house.

Better get back to bed, though.

a day of lasts

Today is my last day of work before hip surgery, resulting from my accident last year.  It's also (hopefully) my last day with a screwed up hip, and my last day without an attorney to represent me.  Johnny and I had a consultation and signed a contract, if only for the sake of not having to deal with all the medical bills until after the surgery! Who'da thought it was as easy as signing over a third of any settlement I might get? ^_^;;;;

I also had my last interview for the Marketing & Sales job I've been working toward within my company for the last (there it is again) 3 years. But now I have to wait until after the holiday to hear what the next steps will be, or---if I'm incredibly lucky---any outcome.

In other words, today I see the last of numerous stress-factors that have been weighing a great deal on my mind. Is rising like a pheonix from the ashes too X-men?  *crosses fingers*

more whining

The benefits received from physical therapy have plateaued (after readjusting my off-kilter pelvis bones, which did minimize the pain to some degree). I've therefore been referred to one of two surgeons in Seattle who are "really good" at the type of hip surgery I need. My consultation isn't for two more weeks, but my understanding is that they'll be shaving down some excess bone (a spur) on my femoral head (pictured right) that is grinding against my pelvis bone, and probably damaging my articular cartilage in the meantime (my "possible labral tear" according to the arthrogram). They'll also try to repair the labral while they're in there.

The spur is said to likely be caused by trauma when I hit the sidewalk (since it's on the opposite hip as which was struck).  I'll know more after the 17th.

Can I say?  I'd rather do this!  Stem cell repair on joints, and no surgery needed! That would be so... nice. :P

Anyway, I have to say that not having a working car for about 5 months, and commuting 100% by bus through my daily commute and all these Dr. appointments, is getting increasingly painful and dispiriting. But then I imagine trying to operate a manual shift with my hip protesting at the most unexpected times and the achy, old feeling that lingers through the day... and realize I just can't be pleased. :) Both sound depressing. I just really, really want this over and done with.

dialing in from the borderlands

There are so many things going on in my life now that I don't feel comfortable displaying here. That's the only way I can account for extended silences, or the shallow touch of subjects I visit here. I can't upset anyone with some pictures I took around the yard or neighborhood, my commute sunset or random facts about me. Even I cringe at my shallowness sometimes, but when I get the urge to talk about anything real, I am struck with the awful chance of someone I know or love stumbling across it and being hurt or offended. And not offending one of the many, many people in my life has become a major theme of this past year. It's becoming suffocating, honestly.

You might have noticed I've determined my injury to be a fairly innocuous subject, all around. ^_^;; So. Since I'm a hypochondriac of the most lovable type, and all my bodily hiccups are utterly fascinating to one and all...

I've been getting some acupuncture done to help manage the pain and anxiety I've been dealing with recently. It's my first time going to an acupuncturist, and has been a strange experience; a needle/wire accidentally left in once for me to discover as I was getting up, a couple of bruises caused by the needle/wires (hip and forehead! D'oh.) I'm not sure how long the acupuncturist has been doing this line of work, but don't think too long! :) But her bedside manner and patience keeps me coming back.

I definitely have less pain in my hip, but whether it's attributable at all to the acupuncture treatment is unverifiable, because I also had a cortisone shot around the same time that I started acupuncture. But the areas that I definitely noticed its effects are:

1. Sleep (I sleep better for about 3 nights, after my treatments, than I have since the accident)
   
2. Knot of pain in my stomach from stress (I feel it fading as I lay there on the table, and it doesn't come back for days. It's such a relief.)
3. Anxiety

The latter is probably the most nebulous, but the one I feel the most gratitude about these days. My anxiety is caused not only by my worry over the injury and what the long term affects may be on my health, but many other personal issues. It gets scary when my chest starts to feel constricted, and I notice every breath, regulate it. It begins to take effort to breath deeply, and hurts to expand my ribs. When I went in to the acupuncturist last week, and told her I was feeling incredibly anxious and stressed, she put a few needles in and I inexplicably began sobbing.

I think I've mentioned this before, but I turn my stress inwards and turn it into a bellyful of wanna-be ulcer. It's sad when you need to have the dam burst by a pin-prick. But burst it did, and I was a wet, bedraggled mess. I think the acupuncturist's understanding and bedside manner was incredible. I went on to sob for the entire hour on her table in the dark (hence, I think, the bruise on my forehead, from the needle in it!) And it's not like it fixed my problems or anything, because I went on to sob myself sick again the next night. But I think it may have helped force me to start the process of dealing with these dammed up emotions that were strangling me. And I feel a little bit stronger for it.

It sure was sheepish crawling back into her office the next week, though. --_--

teen angst

Less than 24 hours before I am scheduled to undergo a cortisone shot in my hip joint (to help with the pain caused by the labral tear in my right hip from being hit by a truck last June), I find myself chasing my 3---I mean, 14-year-old daughter Mae through the park on the beach at dusk. Dodging dogs and joggers, neighbor folks and skateboarders, as she tries to lose me by darting up hills and down paths...

Who thought this little cutie would end up trying to do me in? Teenage angst, what did I do to deserve you?

~*~

"I'm full of music, huh?" --Mae, 5 years old

I had just undergone my first acupuncture treatment for the pain yesterday, and for the last 24 hours had definitely felt some relief. So much for that.

I am pretty nervous about tomorrow's cortisone shot. Reading different people's experiences with it last night was definitely a mistake. Not to mention, the arthrogram I underwent a week or so ago was pretty painful, and I humiliated myself by crying like a baby when the needle punched through the tender ring of (muscle? tendon? I don't even know) surrounding the joint. And this procedure is supposed to be basically the same thing... with a bigger needle.

Gah.

it was 12.2 degrees this morning

Nothing short of a massage on my hip would induce me out during lunch break...



By the time I'm done shedding layers, my hour will be up. Damnit.

global warming makes ninjas of us all

This morning, I slunk down the street to the bus swaddled to the eyes against 17 degree crystal-clear hell. I took a note from my brother T. and executed a Ninja-Arctic-Suspension move, as pictured -->
You can't see me. I am not even here.

In fact, I looked just

like this, nah-ha.

I lived to tell the tale, despite the suspicious looks of bus-riders and building security. I have made it; I am in the building. The weather will determine whether I leave it again this evening or not.

What the hell is with weather in the teens in the Pacific Northwest? This is bullshit. Grr.

Speaking of ninjas and doing good and saving the world, (which we were, yes) check this out. Patrick Rothfuss, author of the wonderful world I like to visit called The Name of the Wind, is offering some really cool prizes to help raise some money for Heifer International. If you are unlike me and have anything to spare after the economy stopped treading on you, check out the amazing things you could win by helping him hit his goal.

And also speaking of ninjas, I am not one. A real ninja would not only have seen that truck coming (which I did), she would have successfully dodged it (which I did not). So I admit freely that I failed it; wanna-be ninj-ette, that's me. The result of which is apparently a spinal lumbar disc injury, which is "incurable", as well as a potential hip labral tear.

All kidding aside, stop reading here if you don't feel like reading protracted whining and complaining.

I thought I was disgruntled about the lumbar disk injury. I mean, the chiropractor says it's incurable, and the best I can hope for is that (with daily exercises and hanging-upside-down-in-strange-traction-thingies, pictured to the left) I will be 'asymptomatic'. But if I fail in doing these daily, time-consuming and vertigo-inducing exercises, then I will be 'symptomatic' and in great pain. By which I mean so much as a cough will send a spasm of significant pain through my lower back. I'm 32! And I walk and sit and sleep like I'm in my 50s or 60s.

But after reading up some on this hip labral tear, I'm upset in a whole new, I-see-needles-and-pain-and squick-in-my-future kinda way. I've been dealing with this worsening pain in my groin area that kept me from rotating my right leg outward or inward. As this article states:

Typical symptoms of a hip labral tear include:

• Groin pain
• Clicking and snapping sensations in the hip
• Limited motion of the hip joint

I got all those, baby. Sprawling in bed is impossible for me--I have to lay very carefully with my legs stretched straight, because though I can lift my leg straight up all I want, the second I let my foot flop outward or inward, or shift as though I'm going to turn right, or try to cross my right leg over my left? yeeee-OUCH! (There's that clicking and snapping sensation.) Trying to tickle my son is increasingly out of the question. So is shifting every day to get out of the bus seat, crossing my legs in a business meeting, leaning down to fetch something from under my desk and last but not least, sleeping. I cannot even search subconsciously for a comfortable position without being jerked awake from a jolt of pain. And the worst part? I've been mentioning this to my chiropractors for months, and they only started taking me seriously about 3 weeks ago... 5 and a half after the accident. And only then because I threatened to go to my regular doctor because I was in so much pain.

But enough of whining. I've reached my tolerance quota for the day. I need distraction.