Been, been, been there, Ish. Definitely odd, and trying. It's what got me on line, and into stocks (could have done without that), and what led me to have a cyberlife, which will hopefully lead to having a life life, and then the afterlife of Thutmoses.
I had to have my friends, the bow maker and artist and Norton and MJ, come over and stretcher me down the hill through the slippery garden to the house, upon my triumphant return from NM and the hospitals. We had to build the stretcher out of plywood and 2x4's. They did. Flat on my back, looking up at the sky. Total IQ there was pretty massive, if you leave out Norton; and still, manipulating 185 pounds through the obs-tickle course was scary. They had some learning humps. We passed right over them. I didn't want to be dropped, because I had already done that, and it hurt. I was very uhm e-d-g-e-y about "contact." Like, ready to scream. Then inside we built a special bed out of parts from the lumber yard and foam stuff and blanket and pillow stockpiles.
I had "pain", and I can tell you there's a secret to drugs ~ don't run out.
They are stored off-premises.
Breaking into a pharmacy in the middle of the night is a bad idea.
The neat part was that I had been off prednisone for a long while, and was completely undepressed, and not a thing bothered me. Really. I was particularly floating because it had been so long since I had been able to talk to myself (and have it take), and take care of myself, mentally. Even the prospect of being in a wheelchair, indefinitely, was just a thing that needed done. (Actually, I would have just had an artificial leg, it turned out.) Later, I got back on prednisone, and came to my senses. You know; "E-gads. What the fuk is this shit."
People in bed-recovery often get depressed. Watch out. I mean the clinical one. Can be hard not to, because you're not exercising and experiencing normally, and not getting a lot of sunshine (especially here.)
I had giant special-order mechanical boots; like big as a NASA space suit. Made me feel important. (Hee hee. Who would think. Well, I guess you guys, would.) I got good at scooting around and up to the car, on my butt, with my giant knee-high steel cages on. I even did some yard work, scooting. But that was like after three or four months. When the pain was do-able. It was fun. I didn't care. I will do anything I feel I can, when I feel good. That's the key. Keep people feeling good. If you've got your fukking mind, you've got everything.
Need to keep possession of the mental football. Prop it up. like a Salvador Dali, if you have to. Go places. We traveled. Locally. Go to Penni's house. (Hee hee.) But I could move, which she may not. I could be in a wheelchair, and we did. Folded it up and stuck it in the back.
<<<She can't go to work or even work on her dockable from bed for 6 months.>>>
How the hell are you going to keep her off a computer? I don't think that's gonna work, dood. Not unless you flip circuit breakers and such. Break her arms. Poke her eyes out.
A person can only watch so much TV. For me, that would be none, I think. I can never seem to get PBS on the thing when there's something on.
I guess I could learn to read. |
