![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Jan. 13th, 2015 07:28 amJust converted all journal entries back to public! Granted I haven't been writing much since I did the labral tear surgery, but somewhere between being stuck inside with only television and my health to talk about, and the other thing in my life being Veronica, everything is - frankly - either dull or private.
I took a couple pictures of my surgery damage - I should screen those by V and also get a picture of the brace to update. V's not all that possessive or anything, but in my last relationship there were some awkward moments of "Wait, that's your groin on the internet?" I'd rather avoid.
I'm returning to work and life, in stages, and will probably be running my mouth like an angsty tween or midwestern unemployed internet troll in no time flat.
Might as well do a quickie under-the-knife update:
I'm alive! I ditched the crutches a week early; which was 1 week after my surgery date. Un-fucking-real. I'm walking in the house (2 br flat condo) without the brace on, but for about a month I have to wear my brace.
The brace is a sad affair. It's like a waist-cinch with a metal bar, hinged at the hip, that reaches to my thigh which is clipped in with another cinch-like-device. I can walk mostly fine without it, though I get so used to walking unassisted I forget I am a tad stiff and sometimes feel weird in the hip. I have not yet tried exerting myself, and frankly I'm not allowed to yet. Funnier about the brace is at a glance it looks something like a weapon or holster. My favorite experience so far was shopping in TJ's, and seeing people react - both with a sort of alarm if they perceived a strap-on-weapon; but then hysterically falling over themselves with disability guilt when they "realized" I was an individual with a disability (which I'm not, but you could say short-term).
My mother came to stay with me to help when it was thought I'd be an invalid for 2 weeks or more. I love my mother - now I desperately need her the fuck outta my house. I didn't realize how compulsively clean I was until she visited, and now I'm scared to walk barefoot as when I do I find all the crumbs she's spewed everywhere. Were we always dirty, or did her standards change with time? Also, frankly I'm a 46 year old man and she's my mom.
I am borderline grumpy and very stir-crazy, but of course I start to get fussy until I realize at this time I was supposed to be lying in bed completely lost in a drug coma, trying to distract myself with simpson's / kith videos, from the pain and the sound of my own groans. Instead I'm driving my stick shift car, walking up and down stairs seemingly unassisted, and returning to work (from home via laptop).
I may yet return to talking about the tv at home experience, from archetypes such as the "salt and pepper confidant man" to lawyer lotteries.
I took a couple pictures of my surgery damage - I should screen those by V and also get a picture of the brace to update. V's not all that possessive or anything, but in my last relationship there were some awkward moments of "Wait, that's your groin on the internet?" I'd rather avoid.
I'm returning to work and life, in stages, and will probably be running my mouth like an angsty tween or midwestern unemployed internet troll in no time flat.
Might as well do a quickie under-the-knife update:
I'm alive! I ditched the crutches a week early; which was 1 week after my surgery date. Un-fucking-real. I'm walking in the house (2 br flat condo) without the brace on, but for about a month I have to wear my brace.
The brace is a sad affair. It's like a waist-cinch with a metal bar, hinged at the hip, that reaches to my thigh which is clipped in with another cinch-like-device. I can walk mostly fine without it, though I get so used to walking unassisted I forget I am a tad stiff and sometimes feel weird in the hip. I have not yet tried exerting myself, and frankly I'm not allowed to yet. Funnier about the brace is at a glance it looks something like a weapon or holster. My favorite experience so far was shopping in TJ's, and seeing people react - both with a sort of alarm if they perceived a strap-on-weapon; but then hysterically falling over themselves with disability guilt when they "realized" I was an individual with a disability (which I'm not, but you could say short-term).
My mother came to stay with me to help when it was thought I'd be an invalid for 2 weeks or more. I love my mother - now I desperately need her the fuck outta my house. I didn't realize how compulsively clean I was until she visited, and now I'm scared to walk barefoot as when I do I find all the crumbs she's spewed everywhere. Were we always dirty, or did her standards change with time? Also, frankly I'm a 46 year old man and she's my mom.
I am borderline grumpy and very stir-crazy, but of course I start to get fussy until I realize at this time I was supposed to be lying in bed completely lost in a drug coma, trying to distract myself with simpson's / kith videos, from the pain and the sound of my own groans. Instead I'm driving my stick shift car, walking up and down stairs seemingly unassisted, and returning to work (from home via laptop).
I may yet return to talking about the tv at home experience, from archetypes such as the "salt and pepper confidant man" to lawyer lotteries.
