House Arrest

Or at least my version of it...Like Sam Jackson in Unbreakable, I am an accident waiting to happen. On a good day, it's usually small like scraping my knee, acquiring a few new bruises, or falling down a stair case (often as I try to run up it, since I'm late for a meeting...the stairwell to 2-900 is my nemesis...) However, there are those odd times where the stars, or whatever, align and I'm destined to get some serious amounts of hurt. Be it illness, surgery, or breaking bones, I become bound to a bed for an undetermined period of time.

On this particular occasion, it happens to be a combination of all three aforementioned catastrophy causers. As some may know, I went in for an interesting procedure last Friday- core needle aspiration therapy...it's like a biopsy done with a needle instead of a scapel. See, they found yet another fun little cluster of cells that looked a whole lot of bad in me- thankfully, all is good and benign in the land of Zita's body. However, I have to run the gauntlet of tests to determine this, due to prior history.

All I can really say about it is that it HURTS. Yup, that's right- I'm a wuss. I KNOW that it's a just minor...I KNOW that I've been through worse...I KNOW that at the end of the day, it's just a stupid bruise. BUT IT HURTS! And I really can't move my arm a whole lot since my pec muscles feel like fire. So massive body mouvement= out. In fact, even typing isn't all that pleasant, but I need something to keep my brain occupied.

Now, this weekend was also the legendary drinking camp- Two nights spent at Mr. Paul Welke's lovely girlfriend's parents' cabin. Always a fantastic time, it is, nonetheless, a weekend of utter debauchery. Now, OF COURSE common sense would dictate that I should not tempt the fates: Who goes drinking the day of her surgical procedure??? That's right ladies and gents- I do...Why? Cause I'm stupid and stubborn...and I figured that either way I would be in pain- might as well be in pain with Rye and Benitos (though the Benitos didn't happen this year...sadness!).

So, Off to drinking camp I went... Where I very quickly proceeded to break my foot. Of course, I had no idea that the foot was broken when I did it. I knew that I had seriously screwed up my little toe since it was hanging off of my sandle in a rather bizarre, and certainly unatural, way. Plus, it was kinda bouncy...like it wasn't really attached anymore. But I figured that it was just dislocated, so in a drunken stupor, I just "popped" it back into place. (I say "popped" cause it kinda made that sound...Bones are funny that way. And when I actually broke it, I distinctly remember hearing a "snap"...but that might be my imagination or the liquor talking)

Anyway, a bunch of Des' (Paul's Wife) friends, fellow nurses, were along for the Drinking Camp ride and informed me that, generally, there is very little that can be done for a broken toe. You kinda have to suck it up. So I did. But by this point I was in SERIOUS amounts of pain...so much so that drinking didn't help. So I basically stopped drinking altogether...(Breaking a cardinal drinking camp rule).

By Sunday morning, my foot looked like a football- actually, scratch that...it was more a of blueberry with all the bruising. Des looked at it, and seriously advised me to have it checked out. Of course, given my luck, not only did I break TWO of my toes (one of which was actually a compound break- which I didn't realize since the nail was all bloody too and I was drunk when I popped it back together- but i ALSO damaged the part of my foot that keeps my toes attached to the rest of it. The X-ray was fun...the doctor and I had to count the fissures...total of 5 breaks if I recall correctly. BOOURNS! No wonder it hurt so much. After some sweet talk, I convinced the doctor to not cast my foot (I really can't afford a cast at this point- too much to do in the next month) and that I would just wrap it really well every morning and not walk on it for two weeks solid. Then I go back in for x-rays and if it's not better, I get the big C. However, the surgery wounds are, like the broken foot, on the LEFT side of my body. So I can't use my crutches properly because of the muscle pain in my upper body, can't use the left one at all because of the needle's war wound and the right one is pretty useless since I hurt the opposite foot.

So, for at least a few more days, I am quarantined to my house unless someone comes to pick me up and take me somewhere. I am getting around by pushing my rolly chair across my hard wood floor and I've moved, on a semi-permanent basis- my living quarters into my living room.

Given that I have this extra time on my hands- I am content to watch a serious Star Trek Marathon. I'm already on Insurrection (movie #9 out of 10) and starting to wonder what the hell I'm going to do with myself tomorrow. Maybe it's time for Ruben and I to start of our "Top 200 Movies of All Time" list since he's not working. Maybe I'll try to pack (which I already know wont go well). Maybe I'll re-watch some of my old movies. I don't know...either way, here's one thing I can say for sure...I'M BORED AS HELL.

Patrick Stewart is my only company. What else could possibly go wrong???

Livin', Lovin' (But just barely)
Zita