I met KC Duffy of Pixie Place at a local restaurant for breakfast on Thursday last. She was on her way to lovely Pensacola to rejoin her husband. She looked all happy and rested, although she was a little stressed about whether she had forgotten any household items to take with her. My hair was limp and wild at the same time, a style that could be best described as Neo-Yeti. My skin was dry. My eyes had bags under the bags and looked serial killerish. It was my first foray out of the house to meet an actual person that was not a relative or SwampMan in several weeks, and it felt a bit strange. Did I have on clean clothes? Did I have on matching shoes? Was I still in pajamas? I dunno!
We did not have our usual two hour (or three hour) breakfast as she had to get on the road, but it was sure nice to see a friendly face that did not blame me because they were in pain and somehow it was All My Fault.
Which brings us to SwampMan. He returned to work 4 weeks after his surgery. It was
probably too early to return to work, but he has to get his other knee done, too, and can only take off so much time per semester. That’s why he is complaining about pain. He’s not keeping his knee elevated and iced, and it swells and gets achy. The school chairs are not built for comfort. He complains about pain, and I tell him he needs to elevate his knee, ice it, and do his physical therapy. This does not go over well. He would rather take a pill. It is a difficult time for both of us. I know that he needs to do his therapy and continue with his leg elevation and icing for swelling (which causes the achy pain). He alternately gets mad at me for telling him what to do and for NOT telling him what to do.
After weaning off the pain medication, he went from sleeping 18 hours plus per day to sleeping four hours or less per night. Yikes. When SwampMan can’t sleep, he makes sure I don’t, either! He wanders from his lazy chair to my lazy chair to the living room lazy chair to daughter’s old double bed to the waterbed. I follow him around carrying blankets, pillows, CPAP machine, clock, ice packs, etc. I feel like a sleepy pack mule.
I think he’s doing pretty well. His knee flexion during his last physical therapy session, which was over a week ago, was 123 degrees. (He’s supposed to be doing outpatient physical therapy, but his paperwork hasn’t gone through yet. The insurance companies are all screwed up due to Obamacare, I suppose, even for the people that aren’t Obamacare patients.) At this point, I’m worried that he’s going to be going in for his six-week postsurgical checkup and physical therapy review sans physical therapy! He can walk around the house without support or with just a cane but, for longer distances, he still needs a walker because his left knee has gotten so much worse since his right knee was operated on.
I’m not sure how much longer he is going to survive waking me up to tell me he can’t sleep, though. He’s not sure how long I am going to survive telling him that he’s using his cane incorrectly, and he needs to wrap his pain up in a box with a pretty red bow and shove it in an imaginary closet and just deal with it. He tells me where I can shove my pain theories and that I don’t know what pain is, anyway. *sigh*
In six weeks, we do this all over again with his left knee.