Monday, March 5, 2007
jump pic
Hey, I found a picture of the jump I went off at the Waterville Valley web site, check it out.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
What's next?
I now have another cast, or at least another half cast with ace bandages. I have an appointment next Wednesday to remove the stitches and put on a real cast. I've included before & after pictures. Check out the evil condition of my hand in the 'before' shot. In these pictures they don't look all that much different, but there is at least 4 lbs & 30' of ace bandage separating them.
One other note: I've always heard how great Percaset is. I didn't like it at all, and didn't take it beyond one dose at home; I'd rather deal with the pain. It's been 48 hours since the operation and I still can't focus as well as usual and I blame the drugs. There are plenty of people who go through really serious stuff and I have little doubt that pharmaceuticals help them make it, I'm glad they are available; but I'll avoid them when I can, thank you very much.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
operating operationally
I've heard a complaint that my story is too long, so my previous entry is the executive summary; and I lived happily ever after, the end.
For anyone else still reading: it takes a long time to type this in one handed, I hope you read it slowly... I'm still woozy in a woozened sort of way, so let's see how this goes.
Allow me to doff my hat to the very competent staff at the NorthWest Regional hospital in Framingham. I have never met a nicer group of people or felt more cared for. With the exception of nurse Ratchet (not her real name), these people exude confidence. I m grateful for their care.
I arrived in the Day Surgery waiting room dressed in my sweats. I was only there a few minutes before being ushered into surgery prep. I was instructed to remove all of my clothing and put on a 'johnny'. I looked the nurse in the eye and pointed out that I was wearing sweats, so surely they would prefer me to keep them on to keep me warm. She explained an emergency procedure that would require access to a thigh, so they require all clothing to be removed when using anesthesia, except for socks. So much for my Jedi mind-trick powers.
My johnny would have been a perfect fit if I was 9 years old. On my 6' 2" frame it was a mini skirt. And of course with only one hand I couldn't tie it in the back, so it was a bit breezy. I doubt anyone would admit to designing the johnny, it is a monument to utility and bad taste. You can bet it was designed by a man. The nurse came in and tied it for me. I hope that these good nurses get Danger Pay for having to see the backsides of middle aged men on their way to surgery; that and free trauma counselling.
They put an IV in , and soon someone came over and shot some Versed into it. Why the Versed? To take the edge off. What edge? You know, The Edge. Let's pretend I have no idea what you are talking about, what edge? All good questions, and she wandered off.
So now there is Versed, antibiotics, and standard saline dripping into me and things are getting just a little surreal. I meet a nurse who has heard about the 'ski guy' and asks me for details of my accident; turns out she is also in a 'mixed marriage', although in her case she skis and her husband doesn't. A woman that looks like she could use some sleep sits down next to me and announces she is my anesthetist;
'I assume someone has talked to you about what we do?'
'No, no one has.'
'We put you to sleep.'
She looks at me expectantly, then gets up and wanders off. I'm not sure that went so well.
Dr Jurist comes by to say hello, and I'm glad he does! He's alert, jovial, and the right guy for the job. He marks my left arm with a pen. I pointed out that if he gets in there and doesn't remember which arm, do the one with two casts and 400 yards of Ace bandages. He thanks me for this insight. I also told him that I've been thinking about my x-rays, and it occurs to me that putting big screws into the bone is not the best way to fix this type of thing.
'Really?' he asked, 'do you have a better way?'
'Zip ties,' I respond. 'Put the plate in and zip it down.'
He's kinda taken back by this, his mouth is working like he's going to rebut the idea, but then he shakes his head. 'Medical grade zip ties, what a great idea!'
Next, a jovial fellow sits by me and announces he is my anesthetist. I told him I've already talked to an anesthetist, and she said she was going to put me to sleep. He seems surprised by this and asks if I remember her name. Nope. So, what's on the menu today? Protopol; it replaced Pentathol 10 years ago. Gas? No, strictly through the IV, although there is an oxygen mask.
We are good to go, so a nurse wheels me in to the OR. On the way we stop at a cupboard and hot blankets are put on top of me, they feel glorious. It must be 15 degrees colder in the OR.
When we arrive inside I see Dr Jurist poring over a trail map for Alta. Kinda scary that I've skied there enough to recognize it by trails alone. I told the doc to come over with a pen and I'll tell him where my favorite runs are; he's got to hike up to The Apron, you can almost always find powder there, if you don't have an aneurysm hiking up in the thin air of 10,500'.
'So doc,' I begin, 'I've figured you orthos out. You re' just itching to put a cast on me, 'cause that's how you mark your territory.
He smiles wickedly and replies, 'Not me. I'm signing your body with a metal plate and a scar.'
Oo, good point!
I asked the doc what kind of metal he's going to put in me. Titanium, why? A friend's father is a doctor and has been campaigning against stainless steel because it corrodes in the body. He responds that could be true in a socket or something, but not in a simple structure plate.
'Let me level with you,' I say.
'What?'
'Adimantium. I want adimantium.'
'Hmm, and why is that?' He's humoring me.
'I want retractable claws like Wolverine,' I say with a straight face.
'I'll see what we can do.'
The anesthetist walks over and puts something in my IV. 'See you later, Steve.' I wait a few seconds and I'm still awake, so I say 'I'm still here, you guys need my help with anything?' The anesthetist puts a little more in the IV and says 'nighty night, Steve'. I wait a couple more seconds and say 'I think you'll have to carry on without me'.
Next thing I know someone is shaking my gently, telling me to wake up. My hand feels different, I can move my fingers without pain. And it doesn't feel so heavy, I must have a different cast. A nurse tells me to wiggle my fingers and toes, it will help me wake up. I comply.
The doc comes by and tells me things went really well, he is very pleased. Everything fit together perfectly and tightly, it is the best possible outcome! He'll call and speak to my wife.
A nurse comes by and asks how I'm doing, and I reply I'm fine. She comes by a couple more times and we have the same exchange. Then she asks how my wrist is doing and I tell her it really hurts, but I'm OK. She rolls her eyes and asks why men need everything spelled out all the time. I'm not sure what she is talking about. Someone gives me a pill and says it is Percadan, for the pain.
I'm wheeled out of recovery into post-op. The nurse wheeling me says 'check this out!' and shows me a long scar on her wrist. 'You had the same operation? I ask. She nods her head. 'Cool! We could start a club or a user group.'
Thus far, everyone I have met has been wonderful. But now they deposit me with Nurse Cratchet, and it isn't so nice. She moves me into bed roughly, then yanks one of the fingers on my broken hand and places a heart rate monitor on it such that it pinches. This really hurts. She comes at me with a cuff for blood pressure and I ask her to please put it on the arm that isn't bandaged, she rolls her eyes but does it. She asks if I want Coke or Sprite; neither, just some water please. No, she doesn't do water because people throw it up. And she sits down across the room. My throat is extremely parched.
Fortunately, it is the end of the shift for Cratchet and she leaves. Her replacement is nurse Linda, a self labelled eXtreme Talker. Linda is an angel and takes good care of me.
We talk about all kinds of things, although with the chemicals running through me I don't think I'm keeping up. Diane picks me up at 8:00 and we head home.
For anyone else still reading: it takes a long time to type this in one handed, I hope you read it slowly... I'm still woozy in a woozened sort of way, so let's see how this goes.
Allow me to doff my hat to the very competent staff at the NorthWest Regional hospital in Framingham. I have never met a nicer group of people or felt more cared for. With the exception of nurse Ratchet (not her real name), these people exude confidence. I m grateful for their care.
I arrived in the Day Surgery waiting room dressed in my sweats. I was only there a few minutes before being ushered into surgery prep. I was instructed to remove all of my clothing and put on a 'johnny'. I looked the nurse in the eye and pointed out that I was wearing sweats, so surely they would prefer me to keep them on to keep me warm. She explained an emergency procedure that would require access to a thigh, so they require all clothing to be removed when using anesthesia, except for socks. So much for my Jedi mind-trick powers.
My johnny would have been a perfect fit if I was 9 years old. On my 6' 2" frame it was a mini skirt. And of course with only one hand I couldn't tie it in the back, so it was a bit breezy. I doubt anyone would admit to designing the johnny, it is a monument to utility and bad taste. You can bet it was designed by a man. The nurse came in and tied it for me. I hope that these good nurses get Danger Pay for having to see the backsides of middle aged men on their way to surgery; that and free trauma counselling.
They put an IV in , and soon someone came over and shot some Versed into it. Why the Versed? To take the edge off. What edge? You know, The Edge. Let's pretend I have no idea what you are talking about, what edge? All good questions, and she wandered off.
So now there is Versed, antibiotics, and standard saline dripping into me and things are getting just a little surreal. I meet a nurse who has heard about the 'ski guy' and asks me for details of my accident; turns out she is also in a 'mixed marriage', although in her case she skis and her husband doesn't. A woman that looks like she could use some sleep sits down next to me and announces she is my anesthetist;
'I assume someone has talked to you about what we do?'
'No, no one has.'
'We put you to sleep.'
She looks at me expectantly, then gets up and wanders off. I'm not sure that went so well.
Dr Jurist comes by to say hello, and I'm glad he does! He's alert, jovial, and the right guy for the job. He marks my left arm with a pen. I pointed out that if he gets in there and doesn't remember which arm, do the one with two casts and 400 yards of Ace bandages. He thanks me for this insight. I also told him that I've been thinking about my x-rays, and it occurs to me that putting big screws into the bone is not the best way to fix this type of thing.
'Really?' he asked, 'do you have a better way?'
'Zip ties,' I respond. 'Put the plate in and zip it down.'
He's kinda taken back by this, his mouth is working like he's going to rebut the idea, but then he shakes his head. 'Medical grade zip ties, what a great idea!'
Next, a jovial fellow sits by me and announces he is my anesthetist. I told him I've already talked to an anesthetist, and she said she was going to put me to sleep. He seems surprised by this and asks if I remember her name. Nope. So, what's on the menu today? Protopol; it replaced Pentathol 10 years ago. Gas? No, strictly through the IV, although there is an oxygen mask.
We are good to go, so a nurse wheels me in to the OR. On the way we stop at a cupboard and hot blankets are put on top of me, they feel glorious. It must be 15 degrees colder in the OR.
When we arrive inside I see Dr Jurist poring over a trail map for Alta. Kinda scary that I've skied there enough to recognize it by trails alone. I told the doc to come over with a pen and I'll tell him where my favorite runs are; he's got to hike up to The Apron, you can almost always find powder there, if you don't have an aneurysm hiking up in the thin air of 10,500'.
'So doc,' I begin, 'I've figured you orthos out. You re' just itching to put a cast on me, 'cause that's how you mark your territory.
He smiles wickedly and replies, 'Not me. I'm signing your body with a metal plate and a scar.'
Oo, good point!
I asked the doc what kind of metal he's going to put in me. Titanium, why? A friend's father is a doctor and has been campaigning against stainless steel because it corrodes in the body. He responds that could be true in a socket or something, but not in a simple structure plate.
'Let me level with you,' I say.
'What?'
'Adimantium. I want adimantium.'
'Hmm, and why is that?' He's humoring me.
'I want retractable claws like Wolverine,' I say with a straight face.
'I'll see what we can do.'
The anesthetist walks over and puts something in my IV. 'See you later, Steve.' I wait a few seconds and I'm still awake, so I say 'I'm still here, you guys need my help with anything?' The anesthetist puts a little more in the IV and says 'nighty night, Steve'. I wait a couple more seconds and say 'I think you'll have to carry on without me'.
Next thing I know someone is shaking my gently, telling me to wake up. My hand feels different, I can move my fingers without pain. And it doesn't feel so heavy, I must have a different cast. A nurse tells me to wiggle my fingers and toes, it will help me wake up. I comply.
The doc comes by and tells me things went really well, he is very pleased. Everything fit together perfectly and tightly, it is the best possible outcome! He'll call and speak to my wife.
A nurse comes by and asks how I'm doing, and I reply I'm fine. She comes by a couple more times and we have the same exchange. Then she asks how my wrist is doing and I tell her it really hurts, but I'm OK. She rolls her eyes and asks why men need everything spelled out all the time. I'm not sure what she is talking about. Someone gives me a pill and says it is Percadan, for the pain.
I'm wheeled out of recovery into post-op. The nurse wheeling me says 'check this out!' and shows me a long scar on her wrist. 'You had the same operation? I ask. She nods her head. 'Cool! We could start a club or a user group.'
Thus far, everyone I have met has been wonderful. But now they deposit me with Nurse Cratchet, and it isn't so nice. She moves me into bed roughly, then yanks one of the fingers on my broken hand and places a heart rate monitor on it such that it pinches. This really hurts. She comes at me with a cuff for blood pressure and I ask her to please put it on the arm that isn't bandaged, she rolls her eyes but does it. She asks if I want Coke or Sprite; neither, just some water please. No, she doesn't do water because people throw it up. And she sits down across the room. My throat is extremely parched.
Fortunately, it is the end of the shift for Cratchet and she leaves. Her replacement is nurse Linda, a self labelled eXtreme Talker. Linda is an angel and takes good care of me.
We talk about all kinds of things, although with the chemicals running through me I don't think I'm keeping up. Diane picks me up at 8:00 and we head home.
Operational success
The operation was a success. Dr Jurist was very pleased and told me everything came together and lined up perfectly. I have a splint that is less than half the size of the previous. I'm still a bit woozy, I'll provide details later. And explain why the inventor of the hospital 'johnny' will never win a Nobel prize.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
FAQ
Several people have sent me questions about this little ordeal, so here is my pre-op Q&A:
Q: Are you going to quit skiing now?
A: I don't understand the question. You may as well ask if I am going to quit breathing. I don't think I can do that.
Q: Are you going to slow down more now?
A: See the previous answer.
Q: What does Diane think of all this?
A: Diane is the most supportive and loving person I know, I would be lost without her. But she has thought I am crazy ever since we met. You'll have to ask her yourself, but I suspect she will tell you about some Really stupid things I've done.
Q: Are you going to grow up?
A: And be what? I don't think I understand the question.
Q: Aren't you afraid you are going to get killed?
A: Um, a broken wrist is pretty far from life threatening. Even so, I love life a lot more than I fear death.
Q: They aren't going to replace your wrist bones with adimantium like Wolverine has.
A: That's not a question. And I'm not going to show you my retractable claws, just for that.
Q: How long until you can get back on a bike?
A: Don't know yet. Hopefully 8 weeks.
Q: Are you ever going to beat Chris in a sprint?
A: Hey! I beat him now, sometimes. During my recuperation I'm going to come up with a new strategy. Heh.
Q: Are you going to quit skiing now?
A: I don't understand the question. You may as well ask if I am going to quit breathing. I don't think I can do that.
Q: Are you going to slow down more now?
A: See the previous answer.
Q: What does Diane think of all this?
A: Diane is the most supportive and loving person I know, I would be lost without her. But she has thought I am crazy ever since we met. You'll have to ask her yourself, but I suspect she will tell you about some Really stupid things I've done.
Q: Are you going to grow up?
A: And be what? I don't think I understand the question.
Q: Aren't you afraid you are going to get killed?
A: Um, a broken wrist is pretty far from life threatening. Even so, I love life a lot more than I fear death.
Q: They aren't going to replace your wrist bones with adimantium like Wolverine has.
A: That's not a question. And I'm not going to show you my retractable claws, just for that.
Q: How long until you can get back on a bike?
A: Don't know yet. Hopefully 8 weeks.
Q: Are you ever going to beat Chris in a sprint?
A: Hey! I beat him now, sometimes. During my recuperation I'm going to come up with a new strategy. Heh.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Prepare to launch
Before I talk about the day I want point out that I put on a suit to go to church yesterday and tied a tie with one hand! I would not have thought it possible.
When I was young I took a small thrill when I exceeded expectations to the point of surprising my teachers and earning their admiration. I don't feel the same thing around doctors; not even a little bit.
When I was ushered into a room at Dr, Jurist's office, his nurse looked at my x-rays and immediately gave up an 'Oh wow!' When Dr. Jurist came in a minute later he turned on the viewing lamp for the x-rays and said the same thing, 'Oh wow!' He looked for another minute, then turned to me and said 'This is a spectacular break!'
Note to medical community: even if it looks bad, fake it. Yawn and stretch, and look like you've seen so many of these things just this morning that it is tediously mundane to fix it. Speaking on behalf of medical overachievers everywhere, we don't want heroics, and we especially don't want to be first.
'So how did you do this?' he inquired.
'Skiing,' I replied.
'I'm betting you didn't just fall down', he opined, 'I'm going to guess you did this in the terrain park...'
'Hey, you're pretty good!'
'...probably went off a big jump. Big Air. Yeah, were you catching big air when you did this?'
I was pretty impressed now. 'Yes, I was. But I botched a landing and my weight ended up on my wrist, cushioned by a ski pole.'
Turns out the good doc is a skier himself! He confided that he doesn't do jumps any more due to bad knees. He's even headed to Alta next week. He was kinda excited I was there at Snowbird just two weeks ago.
We now got down to business. It turns out that in this office 'spectacular' isn't necessarily 'bad'. He pointed out that there are lots of pieces, but they are all where they are supposed to be. If it was bad they would be separated out and mixed up.
He asked where I live and I told him, adding that Emerson hospital has my preferred operating room. He responded that his next stop at Emerson is in two weeks, and this really wants to be set right before then. I agreed, and asked what his schedule looked like this afternoon, let's just do it! He smiled and countered with tomorrow. Sold, I know a bargain when I see it!
He explained that it will never be as good as it was. It may hurt once in a while, it might get arthritis as I get older, and the range of motion will not be as good as before. I asked if there was bad news too...
I then made a good case for saving the hand. I explained that I rock climb and needed my hand strength and dexterity. He thought I should be able to do that in less than 6 months, no problem. Excellent.
He had me take off my jacket to take a look. He asked if this was the same cast they put on at the resort. I explained the current two cast system and assured him that I don't need a third. I've figured out the 'cast system' used by orthos, it's how they mark their territory. He looked at this log of ace bandages and casts and decided it would be OK until tomorrow. I could see that he really wanted to put another cast on there.
A couple of phone calls by his able assistants and I'm expected at the hospital tomorrow at 12:45. I am impressed. They sent me over to pre-op at the hospital so they can look at me.
The MetroWest hospital is a bit confusing the first time you go there. I found it just fine, and entered the building under a big sign that says 'MetroWest Hospital'. Once inside, it doesn't look anything like a hospital, not even like a medical building. I stood there confused for a second when a nice lady pulling a cart asked if she could help me. I said I was told to go to pre-op at MetroWest Hospital. She rolled her eyes and said this happens all the time, she didn't know why people thought THIS was the hospital. I helpfully suggested it might have something to do with the huge sign above the door; she considered there might be something to that.
I found my way to pre-op and met a really nice nurse who knew I was coming. She had me fill out a form to verify I am not pregnant. I wonder if this is the new gender equality, they check males for pregnancy so they don't appear to discriminate. Puh-leeze! I handed the form back and asked if that was all.
'No, this is going to take about two hours', she said with a smile.
'You're kidding me, right?'
'No, I'm not,' she said sheepishly, 'didn't they tell you?'
They seemed to have overlooked that small bit of data. Rats.
The first woman I spoke to was incredulous that I wasn't taking pain medication. She was sure I must be. She asked me to rate my pain on a scale of 1 - 10, 10 being excruciating. I told her it really didn't hurt at all at the moment, as long as it isn't moving it is fine. She didn't believe me, and explained it again as you would to a child. I assured her I understood the scale, it just didn't hurt. Finally she just looked at me and said that a break like that really hurts, so she put me down for a 4-5 pain level. OK, we'll go with that. She was really pleasant to speak with, as was everyone I met.
I next met with a nurse and she took my vitals. She said she could see good veins from across the room, no problems with an IV. I didn't know the hospital drill, but I was sitting in a chair in a room for drawing blood; but she told me they didn't need any blood today, which sort of surprised me. We had a good chat about physical therapy, but she made me a little uncomfortable by repeatedly saying things like 'athletes like you'. When I walked back into the waiting room I saw a lot of people in frightful physical condition, so maybe I was the first guy today that actually goes for a run once in a while.
As I understand it, I'll show up tomorrow, they'll take my clothes, knock me out, slit my wrist, jam metal into me, and pump me full of drugs for a day or so; but I'll go home tomorrow night.
I still need to talk to the doctor about being able to resume my career as a concert pianist; or at least that I have ambitions to get high score on Guitar Hero. And if they are putting metal into my bones, maybe they could do something like Wolverine?
When I was young I took a small thrill when I exceeded expectations to the point of surprising my teachers and earning their admiration. I don't feel the same thing around doctors; not even a little bit.
When I was ushered into a room at Dr, Jurist's office, his nurse looked at my x-rays and immediately gave up an 'Oh wow!' When Dr. Jurist came in a minute later he turned on the viewing lamp for the x-rays and said the same thing, 'Oh wow!' He looked for another minute, then turned to me and said 'This is a spectacular break!'
Note to medical community: even if it looks bad, fake it. Yawn and stretch, and look like you've seen so many of these things just this morning that it is tediously mundane to fix it. Speaking on behalf of medical overachievers everywhere, we don't want heroics, and we especially don't want to be first.
'So how did you do this?' he inquired.
'Skiing,' I replied.
'I'm betting you didn't just fall down', he opined, 'I'm going to guess you did this in the terrain park...'
'Hey, you're pretty good!'
'...probably went off a big jump. Big Air. Yeah, were you catching big air when you did this?'
I was pretty impressed now. 'Yes, I was. But I botched a landing and my weight ended up on my wrist, cushioned by a ski pole.'
Turns out the good doc is a skier himself! He confided that he doesn't do jumps any more due to bad knees. He's even headed to Alta next week. He was kinda excited I was there at Snowbird just two weeks ago.
We now got down to business. It turns out that in this office 'spectacular' isn't necessarily 'bad'. He pointed out that there are lots of pieces, but they are all where they are supposed to be. If it was bad they would be separated out and mixed up.
He asked where I live and I told him, adding that Emerson hospital has my preferred operating room. He responded that his next stop at Emerson is in two weeks, and this really wants to be set right before then. I agreed, and asked what his schedule looked like this afternoon, let's just do it! He smiled and countered with tomorrow. Sold, I know a bargain when I see it!
He explained that it will never be as good as it was. It may hurt once in a while, it might get arthritis as I get older, and the range of motion will not be as good as before. I asked if there was bad news too...
I then made a good case for saving the hand. I explained that I rock climb and needed my hand strength and dexterity. He thought I should be able to do that in less than 6 months, no problem. Excellent.
He had me take off my jacket to take a look. He asked if this was the same cast they put on at the resort. I explained the current two cast system and assured him that I don't need a third. I've figured out the 'cast system' used by orthos, it's how they mark their territory. He looked at this log of ace bandages and casts and decided it would be OK until tomorrow. I could see that he really wanted to put another cast on there.
A couple of phone calls by his able assistants and I'm expected at the hospital tomorrow at 12:45. I am impressed. They sent me over to pre-op at the hospital so they can look at me.
The MetroWest hospital is a bit confusing the first time you go there. I found it just fine, and entered the building under a big sign that says 'MetroWest Hospital'. Once inside, it doesn't look anything like a hospital, not even like a medical building. I stood there confused for a second when a nice lady pulling a cart asked if she could help me. I said I was told to go to pre-op at MetroWest Hospital. She rolled her eyes and said this happens all the time, she didn't know why people thought THIS was the hospital. I helpfully suggested it might have something to do with the huge sign above the door; she considered there might be something to that.
I found my way to pre-op and met a really nice nurse who knew I was coming. She had me fill out a form to verify I am not pregnant. I wonder if this is the new gender equality, they check males for pregnancy so they don't appear to discriminate. Puh-leeze! I handed the form back and asked if that was all.
'No, this is going to take about two hours', she said with a smile.
'You're kidding me, right?'
'No, I'm not,' she said sheepishly, 'didn't they tell you?'
They seemed to have overlooked that small bit of data. Rats.
The first woman I spoke to was incredulous that I wasn't taking pain medication. She was sure I must be. She asked me to rate my pain on a scale of 1 - 10, 10 being excruciating. I told her it really didn't hurt at all at the moment, as long as it isn't moving it is fine. She didn't believe me, and explained it again as you would to a child. I assured her I understood the scale, it just didn't hurt. Finally she just looked at me and said that a break like that really hurts, so she put me down for a 4-5 pain level. OK, we'll go with that. She was really pleasant to speak with, as was everyone I met.
I next met with a nurse and she took my vitals. She said she could see good veins from across the room, no problems with an IV. I didn't know the hospital drill, but I was sitting in a chair in a room for drawing blood; but she told me they didn't need any blood today, which sort of surprised me. We had a good chat about physical therapy, but she made me a little uncomfortable by repeatedly saying things like 'athletes like you'. When I walked back into the waiting room I saw a lot of people in frightful physical condition, so maybe I was the first guy today that actually goes for a run once in a while.
As I understand it, I'll show up tomorrow, they'll take my clothes, knock me out, slit my wrist, jam metal into me, and pump me full of drugs for a day or so; but I'll go home tomorrow night.
I still need to talk to the doctor about being able to resume my career as a concert pianist; or at least that I have ambitions to get high score on Guitar Hero. And if they are putting metal into my bones, maybe they could do something like Wolverine?
Saturday, February 24, 2007
2nd look
If you've read this far you may have realized it has all been typed with one hand. It doesn't work out to be half the speed of two hands, in fact it's closer to 10%.
I didn't realize the extent of the break until I used Google to find an x-ray of a good hand and compared it to my pictures (below). It is educational.
See a good x-ray here.
It's the commonplace things that make you appreciate the use of your body. Take undressing, for instance; no can do. I was stinky from skiing all day and determined to take a shower. Diane had to undress me. I was bare chested so she could wrap my arm with Saran wrap and shivering uncontrollably; partly from the cold, partly from shock. But a hot shower felt so good! I have spent extended amounts of time in the wilderness and long ago realized that hot water on demand is pretty much the pinnacle of achievement for our civilization.
Friday, February 23
It snowed overnight and caused some delay in the opening of doctors offices. I had torn up my calf a couple years ago and been referred to an ortho in the same office as my primary physician, Dr. Martin Kafina. Dr. Kafina's office got me in to see Dr. Driscoll as soon as I could come in, sweet!
Dr, Driscoll exudes confidence. After shaking his hand you get the impression he knows his stuff. So I wasn't exactly inspired to see him shaking his head while looking at my x-rays. He pointed to the picture with the hand flat and traced the line of the break in the radius. If this is the only break, he explained, they can put in a screw or two and put it back together. But looking at the hand in the edge orientation you can see several pieces of bone floating around, so this isn't a simple break at all. It will require a plate and some new high tech stuff to put it back together.
Because of the damage he is referring me to a specialist for hands, wrists, & elbows. He provides me with the card of Dr. Jurist, and one of his assistants made an appointment for Monday. I hope Dr. Juris can do the job and doesn't refer me to someone who only works on the radius!
Dr. Driscoll asked about my occupation. And then he asked what sports I participate in. Of course, in my hubris I thought he wanted a guage of my fitness level, perhaps as an indicator of my ability to heal. Then he asked if I played any musical instruments. It finally dawned on me that he was really asking How Much Do You Love Your Left Hand! I could be a concert pianist if they fix me right, I REALLY love this hand!
To further stabilize the wrist they put a cast on the front part of my arm. They don't even take off the old bandages, just lay new stuff on top of the old. This actually makes it feel more comfortable as it moves even less. But my arm is huge with 2 casts and who-knows how many yards of ace bandage. I told the nurse that I was leery of visiting another doctor because if I get one more cast I won't be able to lift my arm!
For now the arm is stable. If I don't move, it doesn't hurt. Car rides are bad, I move a lot. I don't have any pain medication because I don't usually need it. The most painful thing is that it is a beautiful day and I'm stuck inside. And I'm not healing, I'm in a waiting pattern until they can put in some metal.
I didn't realize the extent of the break until I used Google to find an x-ray of a good hand and compared it to my pictures (below). It is educational.
See a good x-ray here.
It's the commonplace things that make you appreciate the use of your body. Take undressing, for instance; no can do. I was stinky from skiing all day and determined to take a shower. Diane had to undress me. I was bare chested so she could wrap my arm with Saran wrap and shivering uncontrollably; partly from the cold, partly from shock. But a hot shower felt so good! I have spent extended amounts of time in the wilderness and long ago realized that hot water on demand is pretty much the pinnacle of achievement for our civilization.
Friday, February 23
It snowed overnight and caused some delay in the opening of doctors offices. I had torn up my calf a couple years ago and been referred to an ortho in the same office as my primary physician, Dr. Martin Kafina. Dr. Kafina's office got me in to see Dr. Driscoll as soon as I could come in, sweet!
Dr, Driscoll exudes confidence. After shaking his hand you get the impression he knows his stuff. So I wasn't exactly inspired to see him shaking his head while looking at my x-rays. He pointed to the picture with the hand flat and traced the line of the break in the radius. If this is the only break, he explained, they can put in a screw or two and put it back together. But looking at the hand in the edge orientation you can see several pieces of bone floating around, so this isn't a simple break at all. It will require a plate and some new high tech stuff to put it back together.
Because of the damage he is referring me to a specialist for hands, wrists, & elbows. He provides me with the card of Dr. Jurist, and one of his assistants made an appointment for Monday. I hope Dr. Juris can do the job and doesn't refer me to someone who only works on the radius!
Dr. Driscoll asked about my occupation. And then he asked what sports I participate in. Of course, in my hubris I thought he wanted a guage of my fitness level, perhaps as an indicator of my ability to heal. Then he asked if I played any musical instruments. It finally dawned on me that he was really asking How Much Do You Love Your Left Hand! I could be a concert pianist if they fix me right, I REALLY love this hand!
To further stabilize the wrist they put a cast on the front part of my arm. They don't even take off the old bandages, just lay new stuff on top of the old. This actually makes it feel more comfortable as it moves even less. But my arm is huge with 2 casts and who-knows how many yards of ace bandage. I told the nurse that I was leery of visiting another doctor because if I get one more cast I won't be able to lift my arm!
For now the arm is stable. If I don't move, it doesn't hurt. Car rides are bad, I move a lot. I don't have any pain medication because I don't usually need it. The most painful thing is that it is a beautiful day and I'm stuck inside. And I'm not healing, I'm in a waiting pattern until they can put in some metal.
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