Here it is, June 9, four days since “the accident” that has left me with a fractured femur, which has been surgically put together, notice I didn’t say, repaired, only when I am fully functional will I say repaired. Getting home was fun, struggling into the seats of our Rav, having to deal with the wonderfully maintained Massachusetts highways and roads, then getting into the house using crutches. Last evening I came upstairs, it’s where the bathroom is, you know a pretty necessary part of life, and where I sleep. Now, and this shouldn’t be that surprising to those of you who know me, I think I was being a tad optimistic about being back at it this Sunday, according to my visiting nurse, “that ain’t gonna happen.” Great, now I am stuck, upstairs in my house, without a good pair of binoculars, so there goes my opportunity to do my own version of Rear Window. That being said, looks like I will use some of my blog to document my thoughts, feelings and just general musings and throw them out there for your, or whoever reads this dribble, entertainment. As I said, VNA, Visiting Nurse, came by to check up on me and to lay out my course of treatment. I got all sorts of freebies, a thermometer, one of those huge pill boxes, a nifty plastic cup and a fridge door magnet with their phone numbers on it, just in case we need them. All of their brochures have pictures of nurses and patients with the patients looking a bit older that yours truly, but here I am, broken and needing this kind of help. It’s a humbling experience and one that makes you appreciate the folks who do their best to help us get well when things go really bad.
The toughest part in all if this are the bouts of depression that come in unexpected waves. Suddenly I feel so lonely, I can’t put a finger to it, there really is no logic, but it’s there lurking in the shadowy parts ready to pour it’s blackness into my heart and soul. I can’t let it defeat me, I can’t let it overwhelm my resolve to fight this and get better, too many people succumb and find themselves living miserably or just dying, sometimes not physically but also emotionally. Now wasn’t that a cheerful message. Hope you’re not reading this so that you can get some kind of warm, Walton’s moment, there ain’t no John-Boy here, just me, an iPad and my copy of Wolf Hall. Now if I could write like that, well let’s just say I’d be a happy camper.