On kindness and kinship

In the eighteen months since the collision, I have come to the conclusion that most people are generally kind.

I am probably repeating myself in order to keep up the "On [letter] and [letter]" sequence, but the fact of the matter is that I have only had to ask for a seat on the Metro once or twice, whereas I have had to turn down offers of seats dozens of times. I've been using taxi drivers enough that a number now know me and a usual destination. One of them drove me to the Montreal General early in the morning last Tuesday, for what should be the last procedure.

I'm not sure if it should be called an operation or not. It wasn't a big procedure but for pain control the easiest option was to put me under via relatively light sedation rather than do a spinal block which would take several hours to wear off. Also, a spinal block is itself a bit painful. During the pre-op briefing, I was asked twice if I had any piercings. The second time, I quipped that I had some, but I was there to have them removed! At least, I think I did. To be honest, I had slept badly that night and was justifiably tense. The Doctor talked to me in the hallway just outside the operating room and among other things, jokingly asked me which leg was he supposed to operate on. "The ugly one", I replied. I know he was asking the question partly out of standard practice as it has been known for surgeons to operate on the wrong limb. In this case, as the procedure was to remove the external fixation, it would take a very bad surgeon to get my two legs mixed up.

The operating table was surprisingly narrow with the result that I transferred myself from the gurney a bit too far, before shuffling myself to the center. I felt a bit chilly, but a mask was put on my mouth and I was quickly out of reality. When I came to, I was being moved by gurney and I had the urge to turn on my side to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, this put my left foot outside the edge of the gurney and it caught on something. In the recovery room, I waited as the effects of the gas went away. My cousin, Saint Micheal the Holy Mole, arrived having been phone twice by hospital, the first time to say all had gone well and the second to let him know it was about time for him to take me home.

There was a longish talk with a medical specialist whose name and even general job description escape me. She explained what I should and shouldn't do for the next two weeks. My leg was covered in a large bandage over which there was a removable brace. She repeated an earlier instruction of not putting more than 50% of my weight on my left leg. She also explained how and when to take off and put on the brace. Indeed, she had me take a video of her putting on the brace. The short version is that I am only to have the brace off while lying down on my back. As I tend to sleep on my side, I have to wear it at night. 

All this is a bit of metaphorical pain, as it is frustratingly hard to remember to use both crutches at home and difficult to move things from A to B while using both crutches. In all honestly, I know that from time to time I slip up and put too much weight on my left leg. I really hope that doesn't really make a difference! The why of not putting too much weight on my left leg I assume has to do with the holes left behind by the removal of the Taylor Spatial Frame. In theory, the holes could propagate cracks in my tibia if too much stress were put on them.

If I am lucky, then when I next meet the Ortho Doctor on the 13th, I will be allowed to shed the brace once and for all. To be followed by physio, for a certainty. 

While the brace is a metaphorical pain, it isn't a physical one. After a few days, I tapered off my prescription opioid. That is a relief as I had concerns about opioid dependency. 

Getting back to the day of the procedure, I was discharge into the care of the Mole. He got me a taxi and we drove to the Alexis Nihon Plaza to pick up a prescription and to have an early lunch. The Mole was his usual wonderful self. It was a very enjoyable meal. We later took a taxi back to my humble domicile where he escorted me up the stairs. In my living room, he noticed a slightly rusty old blue colander sitting upside down on a chair. He then asked "Is that your old uncle Henry's First World War helmet? Sure is shot up bad!" Knowing my cousin, I decided to play along, "No, it is from a peacekeeping mission that went wrong!" I really enjoyed the easy kinship and kidding of the Mole.

Before he left, I had him stand nearby as I tried to see how easily I could sit down and get up from the toilet. There were no issues and he was getting his boots on when I repaired to my front room to lie down on the futon for a nap. After I sat down, I called on him to wait a moment before leaving. I then made sure I could get up easily, which I could. I have since made much use of the futon.