On steaks, docs and cogs

Unlike one of my brothers, I am not given to the “best something ever” hyperbole. In fact, I find my brother’s usage of the trope to be annoying. However, I must confess having employed a similar hyperbole recently with reason. Now, it may be partly because I have recently been released from 8 months of hospital food, but I have to say that Mummy was also raving about the meal in question.

On Friday, she had come into Montreal with Joey to pick me up and to buy some things for the store. On the trip to North Hatley, Mummy told me we were invited to Elliott’s for supper. Mummy would be bringing various desserts. So around six, we went down River Street to Elliott’s house, where I had a bit of trouble with his front door step. We were greeted by the family, viz. Elliott, Xiaofung, Aiden, Orran and Luke. Joey was also there. We were ushered out onto the porch where I was seated and given Luke to hold, while Elliott fussed over the charcoal barbecue and a pair of tomahawk steaks. Unfortunately, Luke wasn’t happy being held by me for long so he was handed over to more experienced baby holders. Aiden and Orran ran about while the adults chatted and tried to put Luke to sleep.

Elliott applied liberal amounts of Montreal steak seasoning to the steaks while keeping a careful watch on the timing of this and that including pausing the cooking of the steaks. All this was worth it as the end result was the best steak that I have eaten. Period. Tender and flavourful, and OMG delicious.

It may be that Elliott’s cooking success rate is considered “normal” by his sons, but Aiden surprised us by wanting to eat straight Dijon mustard! Pretty surprising for five-year old. Then again, he has grown up around LeBaron’s store!

Earlier in the week, I had gone into the General for check up with my orthopaedic surgeon. After presenting my cards at the reception, I hobbled over to waiting area. On the way, I saw a woman with a baby stroller with the hood partially up. I politely asked if I might admire her child. She was happy to oblige and pushed back the hood so that I might gaze upon the happy, chubby infant within. It made me happy for a bit.

The doctor was full of enthusiasm and said my leg was doing fine. I asked if I might start returning to work? He indicated there would be no problem. Unfortunately, he didn’t offer to give me a note to that effect. When I emailed the Library about a gradual return to work, I was told that I needed such a document. So now, I am trying to get in contact with his secretary to get the blasted piece of paper. *Grumble*

The next day, I met my physio again who gave a some new exercises. From there, I hobbled to the Home Depot get some small hooks and then back to my condo. Probably a record distance for me.

I had thought that I might use my leg as an excuse to indulge in a small bucket list item this weekend, namely taking the cog railways up and down Mount Washington. However, the one way driving distance is about the same as Montreal to North Hatley and I was exhausted by the end of night on Friday. My energy levels aren’t what they used to be. So I think I’ll put that one on back burner. I hope I’ll be up to it before the summer is out, or else it might be another four years before I will be able to do it.

Time to do my exercises.

On the last week

Last week saw Montreal and me swelter under a heat and humidity wave. It was rather miserable, and the large bandage around my left leg didn't help. 

On Wednesday, I went to have breakfast a certain distance away after a short visit to the local CLSC. I tried to think of somewhere where I might quiet sit in a comfy chair and read a book in an air conditioned environment. Then it struck me: the Library where I work. So, I got a cab and visited the workplace. I chatted with various co-workers. The latter included the director of the Library with whom I touched on possibly returning to work.

After reading for a couple of hours, I hobbled across the street to the movie theater where I saw Inside out 2, the most recent Pixar movie. As with the previous one, it touched on various psychological issues. I'm not afraid to say that it had me crying by the end of it.

Coming home, I lucked out by getting a very nice taxi driver. He was chatty and got me out of my tearing mood.

On Friday, the heatwave broke. Also, my new SAAQ agent phoned. The talk we had was quietly productive and reassuring.

On Saturday, I hobbled over to my breakfast place. It was quite busy on account of the holiday weekend and the fact it had just reopened as the owner had been away on vacation. In fact, when I came in, there wasn't a table available. However, the owner asked a group of three young women if they wouldn't mind concentrating themselves on to one table so there would be a table for me. This was a sign to me that I am in the valued but temporarily disabled customer category. 

Later in the day, a pair of gaming buddies came over. We had an enjoyable session of Unmatched using the Slings and Arrows expansion. This meant playing William Shakespeare or some of his creations, viz Hamlet, Titania or the Wayward Sister (a.k.a. the Weird Sisters).

This morning, I hobbled back to the breakfast place where I noticed a pair of touring bikes parked outside. I happened to sit next to the owners, a pair of young Americans who were trying to figure out how to get from Quebec City to either Montreal or Toronto on Via Rail with their bikes. I offered my knowledge on the subject. As they were planning on going to Quebec City, I proposed giving them an old copy of the Guide de la Route Verte. They turned down the latter. However, it felt good to talk about bike touring.

On yesterday's operation

Oh, the life of a neurotic accident victim.

On Tuesday, I got a phone call from the Montreal General saying my operation was scheduled for the next day. It was a little less than a week after the "two to three weeks" the doctor had said it would be. The woman said that she would phone back with exact time and place I was to be in the hospital. I started preparations including social media ones.

An hour or so later, the woman phoned back to tell me to be at the hospital at 6 AM and at room such-and-such. Also, I should have someone to take me home.

At that point, my mental train jumped off the rails. Going home the same day? That seemed to imply that it would not be "The Operation" which would reconstruct my tibia. I asked for details but all she had was mumbo-jumbo about my Taylor Spatial Frame, a.k.a., the shackle around my left leg. My best theory was the surgeon was going to take off the frame to let my skin heal a bit before doing "The Big Operation". The disappointment and anxiety had me crying for much of the day. However, Mummy heroically volunteer to bring me back from the hospital. I prepped a short stay backpack and a long stay duffle. I left the latter at home just in case.

I failed to sleep on Tuesday night, so I got up early enough to make the hospital before 6. After waiting a certain amount of time, the preoperative preparations began. Eventually, a junior orthopedic surgeon identified himself. I asked him if he knew what exactly my surgery was going to be. He said: "Oh, yes." 

I replied: "Good, I'm glad that one of use does, because I don't! But I would really like to know!" 

He demurred at that point as he didn't want to give me incorrect information, but he did summon the senior surgeon. The latter explained that he would reconstruct my tibia with bone grafts from my pelvis but without putting "a nail" inside my tibia. This would be The Final Operation. *touch wood* There would be a few of relatively minor procedures including the removal of the Taylor Spatial Frame somewhere down the road. But with luck, I shouldn't have to undergo another big operation.

This put me in such a good mood that when the surgeon pointed out that I hadn't signed the line on the form for allowing anesthesia, I quipped: "How do you know I'm not a masochist?"

Anyway, several hours later I awoke in the recovery room in the company of a friendly nurse who watched over me for several hours as I regained sensation in and usage of my legs (I'd had something like an epidural.). I also had come to terms with an intermittent and intense pain in my lower left side caused by the extraction of bone from my pelvis. The pain was not helped by the presence of a drain at the site of the extraction. One of the worrying bits was the pain could be triggered by using the muscles near the site. This made most types movement as something to be avoided if possible.

Mummy came in and out as requested by the nurse. I was eventually deemed fit enough to be released. Mummy drove me home. I had a snooze followed by a supper of leftover stir-fry and rice. I went back to bed and slept uneasily for a long time.

Today, I awoke relatively late and sent Mummy to get some breakfast sandwiches at a nearby restaurant. We then went to the Alexis Nihon Plaza for some medications and groceries. I was startled that the increased dosage of the pain killer came with an antidote kit. Thankfully, the pain from the drain has dropped off. 

Tomorrow, the drain will be removed which will reduce the mental load.

On a trio of events at the mall

After a bad night, I got up late and called my friendly taxi driver to go to the Alexis Nihon Plaza. I did a few errands including mailing a parcel to Alice. I then had something to return at Canadian Tire. As the latter is in the basement level, I used the elevator.

There was a relatively long wait for the elevator during which time a middle-aged woman joined my vigil. I was vaguely annoyed at her for not taking the stairs. When the elevator came we got on. She made some vague comment about my injured status, then asked if I spoke English or French. This set off an alarm bell in my head and I noticed she was wielding pamphlets with the dread initials JW on them. I wasn't in the best of moods, so I replied with a question I have long wanted to ask a Jehovah's witness. "Do you keep kosher?" 

This is not an entirely random question as the New Testament passage they use to justify their stand against blood products is very likely a reference to Jewish dietary laws. If A then why not B? Furthermore, if you then follow modern Jewish thinking, then blood transfusions are entirely acceptable.

The woman misinterpreted my statement as being indicative that I was Jewish and tried to back out of the conversation. I then said that giving blood is giving life and that the only reason I am here today is because of living-giving blood transfusions. She retreated from my irritation in the hopes of easier prey.

After Canadian Tire, I went to the gym to do a few exercises for a bit too long as I next had to do some grocery shopping. As I left the IGA, I noticed that my right shoelace was untied. I looked around for a handy chair, but the nearest one seemed to be very far away. I walked slowly towards a bench which seemed to get further away. Then suddenly, someone asked me if I would like my shoelace tied. I nearly cried with relief.

My friendly taxi driver was unavailable for the trip home so I headed out to the cab rank in front the mall. The driver of first cab was an older man who quietly fussed over me as I maneuvered into the back seat. He then got into the taxi and pulled out into traffic before putting on his seat belt. It was unfortunate that he did so right in front of a police officer who flashed his SUV's lights and told him to pull over with his loudhailer. The officer got out and reprimanded the taxi driver for not putting on his seat belt before pulling out. The taxi driver tried to use me as an excuse, but the peace officer was not interested and firmly warned him to always put on his seat belt before putting the vehicle in motion.

I wasn't terribly impressed with that driver given that incident and having to navigate for him. To be fair, my neck of the woods has gotten more complicated today with Saint-Antoine street having been changed to East-bound between Rose-de-Lima and Atwater. 

I put my groceries away, then collapsed on guest room sofa for a doze.

On a decent week

Well, I did something this week that I have been meaning to do for about twenty years: replace my shower head with one on a hose. I bought it at Canadian Tire and got my neighbor Jacques to install it. It didn't require complicated tools or knowledge but it did require someone able to stand up and carry out a task carefully over his head.

I also took the Metro for the first time since the accident. I was at the McGill station which has elevator access and wanted some groceries which could be bought at the Atwater station which doesn't have elevator access at the present time. The only hiccup was that I found it hard to get up from my seat.

In addition, I finally got around to submitting my income tax papers to my financial services providers. I also got a haircut, bought some birthday presents and arranged for a cleaning lady to come by the condo.

The call for the next operation is now officially overdue, but I'm feeling much better than last week.

On it being nine months on

 It is nine months since my life was changed. Nine months of operations, waiting for operations and of pain both physical and mental. 

I had brunch with Mummy, Joey and Griffin at the local breakfast place. They had temporarily left the Tour de l'Île to eat. As if to mock me the Tour went within blocks of my condo, only adding to confusion caused by construction related street closures in the neighborhood.

Jacques, my neighbor, came up to help me put fresh sheets on my bed. We fell to talking and I showed him my photograph album of my trip to New Zealand in 2002. I was disturbed at how dark my beard was. At times, I found it hard to recognize myself.

I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of worrying about whether I will be able to ride a bike again. A little over two weeks ago, the Ortho said I'd have another operation in two to three weeks, so I hope this week will be the one. Yet I'm afraid of hoping.