Grab bars and butt width

The continuing adventure of bathroom safety while partially incapacitated keeps our family occupied in more ways than one.

Since crutches are helpful only to a point, there are some things that are, of necessity, required to ensure both safety and the ability to remain upright in areas that are prone to being damp or downright soggy. Turning the crutches into a teepee shape to push up from various surfaces such as the bed or a chair works pretty soundly most of the time, other times, grab bars would be a big plus since flooring surfaces vary and slickness of same becomes an issue.

Nothing like trying to keep upright while on one foot (barely) and trying to keep the ever sliding crutches from getting away from you or from jamming your armpits into your ears.

Trust me, it's funny... or not.

So, to ensure that another hospital trip isn't in my immediate future, grab bars have been installed in the master bathroom and will be installed in Jared's bathroom both in the barrier-free shower stall and in the commode area for easy grasp and purchase of a secure footing through sound hand holds. That's the idea anyway.

So while the two eldest menfolks of the household were apparently having cart races in Lowe's while looking at all the "man candy" in the various aisles of the store (I say this because Rick called me and was out of breath - the man only gets that way when looking at hardware and tools...), they were discussing the relative merits of various types of appliances and grips that could aid me in my pitiful and semi tragical circumstances.

Thomas called me to ask about the photo sent to me... I can only imagine who received that photo since it NEVER came to my cell phone. It was of a toilet surround that had hand holds for lowering and elevating one to the throne.

Yeah... whomever got that picture is gonna be offended or curious as to why they are being sent the photo. Is this some kind of hint that they are "old" or is it a veiled threat of what damage is heading their way? I snicker because that's the kind of evil mind I have.

But, and that is a big BUTT... the phone call to me was asking not so gently just how wide my butt is and would it fit.

I didn't know whether to laugh or be offended.

It isn't part of a normal woman's life to share her "numbers" in that way to begin with and no one wants to consider measuring the width of their buttocks as a measure of just how worthy any particular household help would be. That just ain't cool.

I insisted they just get the wall mounted grab bars.

I do have my pride.

Plus, I don't even want to know the dreaded 'butt width' number. I'm afraid I'd have a heart attack and die. Which would leave them with kinda of an odd "Weekend With Bernie" moment... do they take me along or leave me at home with another squirt of Fe-breeze for good measure? EIther way, the air freshener will be a requirement, but perhaps they don't feel like answering questions about why I am still wearing the same clothes for an entire month or have the same strange expression on my face and what is that god-awful smell that is a mixture of Fe-breeze, moth balls and that cheap cologne I bought on impulse from the sale rack at the dollar store?

Fortunately, I'll be dead and won't be able to help them stammer their way through that particular mess. And when I'm dead they can measure me for butt width all the want to. I imagine it would shrink over time as I dessicated into a shriveled raisin. At least I could eventually be buried in a smaller dress size.

But I digress...

Back to the bathroom grab bars.

Aren't we all glad that I have pretty awesome 'guns' and can heave a bull elephant out the bathroom window with them? Truth is, I may look a little flabby in the bod, but beneath the flab is some serious muscle. Don't be jealous. You only get this kind of muscle the hard way. Lifting Jared, lifting me, lifting elephants...

I do actually lift weights. It's the only way I keep up. It's also the only way I have a bust line. But again, I digress...

The grab bars are being installed today, I am assured.

The only thing that concerns me is the fact that they are, at my tender age, required at all. Aren't grab bars and toilet lifts for the elderly and disabled? And I hate the fact that either description might apply. I want to see myself as that young gal who enjoyed the freedom to go and do without the constraints of crutches, casts, wheelchairs and grab bars.

That kind of sucks lemons...

I console myself with the thought that perhaps this experience is helping me to better understand the plight of those for whom this condition isn't temporary and is bringing me a heightened sensitivity to the needs of those who struggle every day for the rest of their mortal lives just to get out of bed.

Truly, it is a cautionary tale.

But I am relying on the promise of the Word of Wisdom and praying that one day not too far down the road of life that I can "run and not be weary, and walk and not faint". I only hope I am deserving of that blessing. Plus, it would really be a good thing because, oddly enough, people DO depend upon me. Strange, but true.

Oh well... better sign off on this since it is nearly time to take a hike into the bathroom and I dare not wait until I HAVE to go... otherwise there may be a greater than 90% chance of dampness and mopping in a most unpleasant fashion.

God bless grab bars... they certainly do come in handy.

Naps wanted

Nightime is alleged to be sleep time. The television is filled with advertising for products that are guaranteed to give us a good night's rest that promise to be non-habit forming and non-addictive.

Naps will fill this role pretty well for me right now.

Tossing and turning and rolling around trying to find a position of relative comfort for sleeping is an exercise in nocturnal futility. Even my sweet baby dog Gypsy has baggy eyes. As my constant companion, she feels honor bound to stay by my side throughout this process and as a result, her normal 20+ hour a day sleep routine is being interrupted because I'm not sleeping.

She looks up at me in the twilight glow of the bathroom bulb through the crack in the door as if to say, "Can't we just make three turns and curl up for the entire night? Must you disturb my rest?"

Trust me, little girl, I would sleep if I could sleep. Sadly, sleep is a catch as catch can proposition right now.

Casts are not fun and they are not for the faint of heart. I'd love to sedate and cast up a few people who think this is just a hilarious moment. Then we'd all see how funny it was for them to be a prisoner of circumstance, even when that circumstance is supposed to result in an improvement down the road.

Patience is a virtue. I've heard that all my life.

But I'm not too good at the skill and virtue of patience. My time-to-time microwave mentality makes that a tough sell. I WANT to be patient. I just am not.

I had my surgery just over 2+ weeks ago and have entered the third week of the endurance phase of the recovery process. I'm trying to tell myself that I am doing well. Yesterday, I felt a little stir crazy, but in the haze of all of this, I'm becoming uncertain if stir crazy and regular crazy are not getting muddled in the middle.

Is there a difference? Probably a fine line between the two, but I've jumped the fence and gone loco, I'm certain.

Trying to be careful to not put any pressure at all on one leg and foot is harder than it looks. Trying to keep from slipping while doing this is also harder than it looks. And if I happen to slip, it might look comical, but it doesn't feel to funny when I hit the ground.

There are some benighted souls who think it's hilarious to make fun of all of this.

Because I try to be compassionate, I hope they NEVER have to deal with anything like unto this. It's not a barrel of monkeys and no one has a good time having to accomodate their lives around a person who is personally and socially inconvenienced by it all.

Sadly, the tiresome and wearing effects of being so incapacitated make me feel like I need a nap all the time. It also makes me feel so very tender toward Jared, who never gets a break from his disability issues. How draining it must be for him to always have the 24 hour presence of his incapacity bearing down upon him!

No wonder he takes naps whenever and wherever he can!

Time to kick back in the office chair and prop up the ol' leggy bones and see if I can catch a few winks before Jared's bath aide comes to help him get sorted out this morning.

Nighty-night... even if it is broad daylight.

♫ Can you feel the love tonight? ♫

I think I am destined to die in one of the bathrooms in my home. That seems to be the locale for most of the personal tragedies I have to endure. The most recent adventure in plumbing seems to revolve around the installation of a grab bar and the relocation of the toilet paper holder for said grab bar.

With a cast on the foot keeping my toes in a ballerina position while my Achilles tendon heals up after this most recent surgical intervention, I can't put weight on the left foot at all. None. Nada. Zip.

Not to be graphic, but when was the last time (or the first time) that you attempted to lower and subsequently lift yourself from the porcelain throne on one leg? Most people don't have a whole lot of practice doing that particular manuever.

I'm here to tell you that it is an exercise in brute strength to keep that left leg aloft enough to keep the casted foot from making touchdown while attempting to raise up from the toilet seat and try to dress yourself while keeping in a relatively vertical postion as the muscles on the right leg begin to shake like there is no tomorrow.

Crutches are a help, but only to a point because if you angle them the wrong way, you can't reach your pants to pull them up from around your ankles or knees or wherever you have placed them. The cold, hard truth is, they don't stay at the knees, because the trembling makes them slide down your legs so you risk hitting your head on the wall in front of you as you bend down to pull them back up and keep from falling into the tiny space between the wall and the toilet.

And wouldn't that be an embarrassing photo in the local paper? "Rescue from toiletside entrapment" doesn't have the ring of success that winning the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes does. And being identified as 'that lady who got trapped in her bathroom' doesn't inspire confidence in others.

So, the brilliant and loving husband of mine installed a grab bar in my master bathroom by the toilet to help me and any others so afflicted with the realities of life gain that precious ability to rise from the toilet and pull up their pants.

It's a little thing that means so much...

During all of this installation and relocation of various things in the home, the original porcelain TP holder was removed from the wall. The new two piece wooden structures with their little spring loaded plastic roll holder were in place and looked so inviting. That is, until the assassin roll holder snapped from the wall and scared the pee out of me as I was struggling to grasp the newly installed grab bar when I lost my balance. Good thing I was in the bathroom already. The sharp metalic ping from the holder smacking into said new grab bar was enough to send Thomas from his room into mine to see if I was okay.

When I assured him that I was indeed fine and told him the problem, he was relieved... and filled with glee. Sure, yuck it up! Hilarity, hilarity. But it wasn't you that it happened to, kiddo! Thankfully, though my arms are sore from the impromptu gymnsatic moves I pulled to get steadied in my stance and my shoulders are a daily reminder that I need to drop roughly another gazillion pounds for my troubles, they haven't left me hanging in the limbo of toiletside ignomy quite yet.

It is my hope that one day, I can get out of all of the various crutches, scooters, wheelchairs and braces and be able to 'walk and not be weary and run and not faint' once again.

Until that time, I just have to sing to myself as I remember that sometimes, being laid up has consequences that are just downright funny to people who aren't going through them and make a mental note never to grab onto a toilet paper holder in the hopes it might keep me from hitting the floor...

Paint the Town Red

Okay, so it isn't the ENTIRE town... just the portion of town that surrounds my ankle and foot... but it's RED!

This particular cast stays on for a couple of weeks as healing continues, then we will determine what color comes next.

The swelling comes and goes as as the process of trying to heal and find a position to put my leg in that doesn't hurt varies from moment to moment. I'm also trying to learn to navigate with the knee scooter without tumbling into a wall or other object while I'm in a drugged stupor.

I need the pain killers, but they do strange things to my sleep cycle, my dreams and my wake time comprehension. They make me loopy ... loopier... loopiest... and alter my perceptions of how things are coming along.

I'm getting a little throbbing in my ankle, so I guess it's time to head back to the ice filled fun, fun world of putting my ankle up on pillows.