Back in the saddle...

My return to the workforce was today.  Of course, the day I return, we have executives visiting.  Probably not the best day to sport Crocs, so I wore some sandals that were the least offensive to my mending toe.  I pulled off an acceptable ensemble.

I arrived at work to people welcoming me back, hugging me and advising me how they were happy to see me.  What is the appropriate thing to say when someone says, "It's so good to see you!  Are you glad to be back?"  It was too soon to be bitter, so I said I was happy to be back.  A small part of me was actually a little happy to be interacting with humans again.  It was getting kind of old to be with the "kids."  "Spanky, get off me.  Spanky, you want to go outside? Spanky, you wanna come inside? Spanky, are you getting out of bed or not?  Spanky, don't eat that crayon."  And then, one of the managers came up and said, "it's good to see you, I know you don't really like to be hugged, but I want to give you a little hug."  She then stood off to the side and gave me a kind of side hug that allowed for her to flee to safety if things went wrong.  I likened it to someone petting a tiger at the zoo that was allegedly tame, but that everyone was scared of just in case it wasn't tame.  I told her, "I am too a huggy person.  Everyone thinks I'm not...but I am..." She didn't look like she believed me.  It's just one of those things I have to live with, I guess.  Of course, it is true I don't want just anyone hugging me...it's so hard to keep the riff-raff off, sometimes the interpersonal signals just overpower me.  Probably a self protection mechanism.  I should welcome it, I suppose.

Anyway, Valerie has been filling in for me and showed me several piles of papers, all of which were important to some degree.  She had my email up, which contained a butt-load of emails and then I was advised of multiple things that needed to be handled, pronto.  I mean, my God, we were out of white, gold and pink balloons.  I needed to get that order in immediately. Plus, some people needed Post-its.  I know where the Post-its are.  I'm like, way important. My boss informed me that he has a lot of lost time to make up for and would be harassing me extra to make up for it.  Oddly, this comforted me to some extent.  The universe was as it was when I left a month ago.  And so, the day went on like this.  It should be documented that I start work at 8AM.  It took until 9:03AM before I uttered my first, "This is the stupidest thing I have heard of..."  I think that showed remarkable restraint.  I've really grown during these last few weeks while I was at home watching HGTV, coloring and napping.  Case in point, today Lizard Lick shows up at my desk and informs me that the copier in his department isn't working.  I ask for the serial number, he provides it.  I go to put in a trouble ticket for it, but the system can't find it.  I ask Lizard if the number is correct.  He assures me it is.  Hmmm.  I go about three rounds with the company that is contracted to fix the copiers.  I'm about to get western with them and then I thought, "you know, I'd better check this out."  I go limping down to his department and check the machine, and there, clearly marked on the lid, is the serial number Lizard gave me.  Well, this isn't my first rodeo.  I pull up one of the menus and sure enough, there it is, the real serial number.  Another case solved by Inspector Admin.  I asked the previous person that used to care for the machine's service calls about it.  She informed me that yes, she did recall something about the wrong serial number being on there.  I informed Lizard Lick that his department had just been down-graded and renamed from the Technology Center to the Non-Technology Center.  Seriously.  He said he would remove the sticker.  The point of this silly little story is that I never even got mad and I didn't call anyone stupid.  This rest period has really done wonders for me.  Why, it's like having your ears rubbed!

I'm not going to lie, at about 1pm, I was thinking it was nap time and at about 3pm, I was thinking that this was my designated coloring time, but I pushed through and achieved a full work day.  A proud day, indeed.

Now, let's talk about my plants.  The orchid I was given for Admin Professional's day is pretty much a plant skeleton with a couple of dying buds.  Valerie says this is normal.  She says it is going into a state of hibernation.  I look at my other plant and it is pretty sad.  Dead leaves everywhere.  Valerie says, "I know it looks dead, but I did water it.  It will be fine."  I have no choice but to believe this.  It's at this point I see that my lip gloss is on a different part of the desk.  I said, "did you use my lip gloss?"  She said yes, she used that, tried on my glasses once, and then used my deoderant one day. I guess a girl has to do what a girl has to do.  I'm just glad I didn't leave my toothbrush in the desk.

I guess that is pretty much the recap.  Can't wait for more fun tomorrow. 

Last Day of Captivity

Today is my last day of captivity, aka, approved medical leave from work.  I have vacation tomorrow and then another day after Memorial Day, so I will be back to the grind next week on Wednesday.  Kind of mixed emotions about it, because who really wants to go back to work, but then, who wants to be trapped in their home with a bum foot with nothing to do? 

Due to my boring little life as of late, I haven't really blogged much.  Last night I was called out on Facebook for not blogging for a while, so, as I laid in bed last night, I tried to think of what has happened that I could blog about.  I have had a few things that were blog worthy, but I can't really blog about them due to the key players might not enjoy my version of the story.  Anyway, I got a mini flashlight, a piece of paper and a pen and jotted some things down before falling asleep.  I woke up this morning, and here is what I had on the post-it:
 - Sex after 60
 - Betty White
 - Hugh Heffner
 - Walking farts

Ok, so clearly I have some explaining to do.

So, the other day, the presence of Cosmo magazine in my home led to another discussion about sex.  I was informed that by 60 years of age, sex will be just a thing of the past.  I was kind of saddened by that, if it is true.  I mean, I don't think that Will and I will be like Betty White or Hugh Heffner being the face of elderly virility, but still.  I have had a lot of time to think about what getting old looks and feels like as I sit on the couch day in and day out not being able to enjoy the beautiful weather and being in pain with every move I make.  But none the less, I'm holding on to the hope that I can get healthier and party like a rock star well into my 80's at least.

For example, take a look at my grandma.  She is like, 84, I think, and she runs around her little farm taking care of her goats, chickens and cows and her significant other is 20+ years younger than her.  Try keeping up with her!  However, I have been told by my mother and others around her age, that somewhere around 60 is about the time that the walking farts kick in.  I don't care what scenario you create, the walking farts are not sexy.  Apparently, you get to be of a certain age where you just can't keep them in.  Thusly, you are just walking along and "toot" there it is.  I can picture it now...I've got my walker, I'm shuffling it along, seductively gyrating my hips (or the gyrating could be because I have a bad hip), heading for Will.  He pops a blue pill and then reaches for his oxygen.  As I get closer, an attack of the walking farts kicks in and it's like magic, you know why?  Because Will can't hear anymore and his hearing aid is off.  That's right, when his walker collides with mine, it's as if we weren't elderly anymore, it's like we are spring chickens again....and then, it's back to watching Wheel of Fortune for post coitus cool down.

I know women can do kegel exercises for their girl parts, surely there must be some sort of butt clenching exercise to stop the walking farts?  I can picture the workout now, "Squeeze...and hold....good, now squeeze and hold, that's right, you're working up a sweat now! Buns of steel are in your future!" Instead of it being called "Sweating to the Oldies" it can be called "Sweating with the Oldies."  I don't know, just a thought.

Anyway, clearly, as I spend hours coloring in my My Little Pony coloring book and watching daytime TV, the monotonous hours have taken a toll on my brain activity.  I'm hoping that someday I will be able to fully walk on my foot again and once again join society as a functional human being.  I don't exactly know what I am going to do about foot wear when I return to work.  I can't wear anything other than some single strap flip-flops.  I can kind of wear Crocs.  Maybe I'll get some Crocs and bedazzle them!  See what happens when you spend too much time coloring?

Well, I guess that is enough blogging for today, I think most of you probably agree.  Some people have been spared today and for that...you are welcome.

Before I go, a shout-out to my good pal's Valerie and Dan for coming to visit me in my primitive state while in captivity. Also, to those that brought me ice cream, you saved me. We won't talk about what happened on the scale this morning, but this too shall pass. And, to Will...for better or worse...till death do us part.

Here's to being back to kicking ass next week!  woot woot.

Staple #2...you. bitch.

Today I had a follow-up at the doctor for my foot.  It was time to change the bandage, check out my progress and get the staples removed.  Will and I discovered last night, due to the "foot-in-bag, shower gone wrong" debacle, that I had staples in my toe.  We were not supposed to touch the dressing, but since my foot got soaked, Will was changing it for me. I'd already been warned about the pitfalls of infection, and quite frankly, I don't need that kind of drama, so against doctor's orders, we removed the bandage. My eyes got wide in horror as I saw the skin graph area and the toe incision area.  One of the staples was actually piercing that dressing on my toe, so when Will gave it a little tug, I gave a little scream.  We mutually agreed the bandage would have to stay until a doctor intervened.

Which brings us to today.  The nurse brings me in and starts unwrapping my toes.  She gets to the part where the bandage is stuck to the wound.  I advised her this was a sensitive area. I said, "do I need something to bite on to bear down or some sort of sedation?" She says, "No, it shouldn't be bad...you know what? I'm just going to leave that for the doctor."  And with that, she left the room.  Mom had brought me in to the doctor today and was sitting with me. She says, "it's probably going to hurt a little, your brother screamed when they took the staples out of his head."  Note to self, adjust thinking on her Mother's Day present. I knew it was going to hurt a little.  My money says it was going to hurt A LOT.  The doctor comes in and assures me it will be fine.  He uses the staple cutter thing-a-ma-bob and yeah, that first one hurt. Manageable, but yeah, felt that.  Now for staple number two.  Holy-love-of-ice-cream-and-My-Little-Ponies, THAT HURT!!!!  The doctor apologizes, it wasn't his intent to hurt me.  He digs at it again.  At this point, I'm panting, I'm crying, I'm gripping the table.  This just turned into natural child birth where a 15lb baby is coming out side-ways.  The doctor stopped and investigated.  It turns out the staple was bent/crooked up inside the toe.  Must have been a staple malfunction during the surgery, I guess.  The doctor says this is not normal and he's sorry, but this bad boy is coming out.  Mom volunteers to hold my hand, but then notices the death grip I have on the table and says, "never mind, I see your hand is already bright red from your grip on the table."  A few seconds longer and the staple is finally out.  Wow.  That was epic.  And we had two more to go.  At this point, the doctor is not a credible source of information about my anticipated pain level for the next two.  I kept my grip on the table firm and my breathing erratic.  I felt staples three and four, but luckily they lacked the punch of good 'ol staple number two.  If I were a smoker, I totally would have needed a cigarette or possibly some marijuana.  You know, the marijuana might have been a good idea before the staple removal.  Too bad I am not a smoker.  Now, "special brownies," that I could do.  If I would have  had a special brownie I would have been laughing and pissing myself the whole time the doctor was screwing around with that bitch, staple number two.

In the end, appointment survived.  I put my knee on my little knee scooter and off I went.  You know, that knee scooter is a great way to pick up geriatric men.  I had at least three different guys say, "hey, nice scooter, where did you get it?"  It was like I had a Corvette knee scooter.  One lady pulled her husband away and said, "YOU will NOT get one of those, you will fall off and break your neck!"  When my life story plays out on the Lifetime network someday, that scene is going to go down like this:  Hot Blonde enters hallway and her long blonde hair flows behind her as if the wind was in her face and the song Wild Thing plays in the background. She smiles and all the 50+ crowd starts drooling as their little blue pills start kicking in.  That's right, she was the hottest thing on a knee scooter they'd ever seen.  This was a day they would never forget...

Ok, that's enough for today, I think, this is getting scary.  More adventures with my My Little Pony coloring books and daytime TV are waiting for me on the couch...

Day Four of My Captivity...

Day four of my captivity, a recap of recent events.

Well, my toe surgery was done last Friday. I strolled into the waiting room in my pink pony pj's, my pony socks, flip-flops and a sweatshirt.  No make-up, no jewelry, no lotion, just squeaky clean.  I was a vision.  They said to dress comfortably, but as I walked into the waiting room, I don't think everyone else got the memo.  The room was packed and everyone looked at me like I had just escaped from the mental ward.  Whatever, haters. I guarantee no one else in that room was as comfortable as I was.

The surgery itself was the easiest thing ever.  I get on the table, Bob, the anesthesiologist guy, comes over and asks me why I'm here. At this point, at least 10 other people had asked me why I was here.  I even had to mark the toe with a marker that the doctor was supposed to fix.  I should have marked my boobs with specific instructions on what cup size I wanted to be, but they don't give you much time to mark yourself and put that gown on before you do your runway walk through the surgery center. Anyway, I start to tell Bob why I was there and then it was like, "Whoa."  I said, "Bob, that's some good stuff...." and that was the last thing I remember saying until I was in the recovery room trying to remember to swallow and lift my head up.  Holy crap, did anyone see the truck that hit me?  I didn't feel a thing, this was cake.

After coming fully awake, the nurses just really wanted me the heck out of there.  They kept saying, "you can  go home whenever you want to."  Okay nurse Betty, if this is the case, then take this damn IV out of me and could I have my pony PJ's back?  The nurse gets my pj's out and says, "oh, my granddaughter would love these...." Probably lucky for me her granddaughter wasn't fat, otherwise I would probably have had to go home half naked.  They emphasize how you are not supposed to wear anything of value.  Nurses must have a real problem with sticky fingers.  I guess. I feel like I got away with murder as my pink pony pj's are one of the most valuable and coveted items I own.   Anyway, as I am sitting there waiting to be sent on my way, they inform me that I cannot drive (duh), I cannot sign any important legal documents and I need to keep my foot above my heart for several days.  Oh, and I'm supposed to keep weight off my foot.  They ask me if I have crutches.  No, I don't.  I figured someone would provide me some if I needed them.  The nurse gave me a dirty look.  Perhaps someone could have advised me pre-surgery that I needed crutches, a walker or some sort of hover-round scooter. It wasn't a big deal during my pre-op appointment, but now, apparently, I get the dumb-ass of the year award.  Oh, I don't know, let's see, list of things to tell the patient pre-surgery, "tell her she could die, tell her she can't sue us, tell her she will be put under....tell her she will need some sort of support to walk after the fact...nah."  I didn't give it much thought because, hello, it's a bump on my toe, it isn't an amputation....well, it was for the bump, but not for my foot!

The nurse angrily rolled me outside to where Will had the truck waiting.  As I go to get up she says, "Now, no weight on that, hop, hop, hop..."  I turned and looked at Will's 4x4 truck with side rails to get in and then the nurse.  I wasn't hop, hop, hopping anywhere.  I stand up so I could attempt to get in the truck with the least amount of trauma.  I got in, but it wasn't pretty.  I hoist my foot up on Wills dashboard so I look like a soft flour tortilla  folded in half waiting for some taco filling.  Yeah, this is comfy.  So, off we go to get drugs and rent a little knee scooter thing so I don't have to put weight on my foot.  Fun times. 

I probably should have unfolded myself from the truck and tested the knee scooter because upon arriving at home and crawling up the stairs into the house like a drunk, I tried to use it and it hurts my knee.  I have bad knees, I should have known. I also have tendonitis in the shoulders, so thought crutches would be bad, a walker is kind of stupid, how is that going to help?  So, here I sit in my house realizing that my body is so broken that I am truly an invalid if I can't put weight on my foot.  A wheel chair seems extreme for a stupid toe surgery.  My Mom brought over all the stuff left over from Dad being ill.  I have his walker, his crutches, his cane and then the knee scooter we rented.  None of which are helpful in my shoebox size home.  I'm not even going to tell you how I get up the stairs at night to get to bed.  It's too traumatic. You add the heating pad, the ice packs and all the drugs, my home is now a convalescent home.  I just aged myself 40 years.

All this got me to thinking, this is how people give up and then end up 800 pounds and lying in bed with nothing other than a sheet over them and then their family and friends bring them McDonald's meals and then they end up on some sort of news program or health network. THIS is how that happens!  The drugs make me sleepy, I have to keep the foot up or it throbs in agony and I watch TV all day in between naps.  I'm going mad.  Mad I tell you.  And I want ice cream.  How long is this going to last?  How long before Oprah,  Jillian Michael's and Bob Harper show up and start having me do hand exercises so that I can attempt to lose weight?  How long before I can shower? Like a real person?  Sponge baths are severely over-rated and I almost got stuck in the splits position trying to shower with half my body in and half my body out of the shower.  It was just a toe surgery, it wasn't a knee replacement!!!  It was just my big toe, it wasn't a limb amputation and yet here I sit, an invalid.  A dirty, stinky, crabby, hungry invalid.  I may never walk again for all I know.  What if I don't?  Is this all I have to live for? Is it? 

I know, I know, calm down.  I think the Oxycontin is making me crazy, but I can't help but think that ice cream could be the antedote to craziness.  I mean, it can't hurt to try, right?  I better get back over to the couch and settle down.