Thats the good news. That damnable lump of plaster that I have been dragging round for the last fortnight or so is finally gone. The bad news is that it has been replaced with a fearsome appliance constructed of padded black nylon & velcro that looks like it belongs in Madame Monique's House of Pain. Not that such an establishment either exists, or if it does, has ever been graced by my august presence you understand. The worse news is that this fearsome bit of bondage gear is designed to strap my right arm firmly to my tum & is supposed to stay there at all times unless showering or doing exercises. Fat chance of that happening. The even worse news is that if I don't wear it, I leave myself open to the possibility of corrective surgery later on. The absolutely calamatous news is that I haven't told Jude the last bit nor do I intend to.
You see I have a cunning plan. It isn't taking very long to figure out the range of motions that cause pain. Pain = damage. So if I don't do it, I'm not interrupting the healing process. Thats my theory & I'm sticking to it. I have to see the orthopedics department when we get home, so I guess time will tell. At least I will be home then & in the framework of the excellent support system that is already in place around Jude & myself.
So, we are going to carry on. We have come way too far to pull the plug on things at this point & it's important to me that Jude gets what I have promised her, so its onwards & upwards as of Saturday, although from the looks of the weather coming up, the Stewart Island trip might be problematical.
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1 comment:
Only now is your cautionary tale having the appropriate affect on me, now that I, too, am obliged to utilize Madame Monique's torture device.
It is one of life's crueler ironies that we tend to think such things only happen to other people.
Do we ever learn?
K
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