Envy and Resentment

I miss my car. I really miss my car. It wasn't perfect, but it was comfy and reliable and my color and had all sorts of bells and whistles: moon roof, heated leather seats, wood trim, automatic everything, a stereo that encompassed you in music when you turned it up loud (and I like my music loud). And it was stylish and made me feel hip. I never feel hip. 

James says he resents it every time he sees another Outback on the road. How come they get to keep theirs while ours is smashed? We parked next to one almost identical to ours the other day, and the woman was smoking inside. How could she defile "our" car like that?

I may envy other Subaru drivers, but I don't resent them. I resent those who drive big trucks. Sure, there are plenty of reasons to need a truck like this: towing a boat or trailer, hauling farm or construction equipment, maintaining off-road trails and such.

But really, how many big truck owners actually do any of those things? How often? And do they really need an urban assault vehicle to do it? Or are they driving it because it's tough and manly and makes them feel powerful? So powerful that they can drive too fast on a mountain road and not pay attention to where they're going? I get angry when I see them advertised on tv, when I see them on the road. Especially if the radio's too loud and the driver's hat is on backwards.

I know this is my problem, and like many things, I just need to get over it. But if you do happen to own one of these trucks, would you mind not driving it near me for a while? Thanks. 

The Latest Update

This morning I got  my contraption replaced with a cast. It holds my ankle in a slightly different position, so it's going to take some getting used to. I get to keep it for two weeks and then move on to a walking boot. Apparently the bones are mending well.

Here are my X-rays, the first from the side and the second from the top. I don't think these screws are ever coming out. I might have to carry these with me next time I try to board a plane.

In the meantime Atticus has done some fun things, and I promise to get some of those pictures posted. Just not today. I think it's time for a nap.

My Philosophy on Life

I love just about everything from this artist, and everything on this page. But this one pretty much sums up my attitude toward life right now. I had plans. I had goals. They were even S.M.A.R.T. goals. I was going to get the details of my life in order. I was going to be proactive.

Then I got hit by a truck. Literally. And everything changed. I still have the same goals, but I have to develop patience as I learn new ways to achieve them. And so much is out of my control right now. I know we'll receive a settlement from the accident, and that our car appraised for more than we owe on it. But when we receive that money and how much and if/when we'll be able to buy a new car is completely out of my hands. 

Now I have a growth on my pancreas, which the doctor says is most likely benign and probably won't require surgery, but this isn't related to the accident, so we'll be responsible for those costs. I just hope they get it taken care of this year, when we've already maxed out our insurance deductible. 

So today I just throw up my hands and say, Father, I'll do my part and trust You to take care of the rest. Please just remind me what my part is again?

Update

I got my stitches out yesterday, and found out that the funky stitching was not the work of a poorly trained resident but was rather the complicated "trauma stitch." They're supposed to be easier to remove, but it hurt like heck. Oh well, they're out now. I get two more weeks with the rods, then the doctor will decide whether to move to a cast or a walking boot. I've heard nasty things about walking boots. I already have pain in my knee and hip from compensating for the injured foot, and I can't imagine a boot will help much. Input? Suggestions?

Today was another lazy day. Right now I'm not-really-watching the news and finishing off a pint of gelato brought to me by a generous friend. Dark chocolate and lavender-honey. I normally don't like flower-flavored food, but this is divine. It doesn't taste like soap or air freshener, just a subtle fresh flavor that happens to balance out the dark chocolate perfectly. If you're local, this can be found at Dolcetti in the Avenues. I assume they'd carry the same flavors at the 9th & 9th location.

America's Birthday

Yesterday we celebrated the 4th in typical mellow style. And just as typically, I don't have any pictures. Sorry. James and Atticus went to the ward breakfast while I stayed home and slept. Atticus had a lot of fun and didn't want to leave, even after most everyone was gone. Except that one of the few stragglers was his friend Afton. Her mom thinks they're such good friends because Atticus is an older, male version of Afton. They're the kind of kids who like to randomly shout out made-up words and laugh. That reminded James of the time Atticus decided to call him "Dr. Poop Suzie." Atticus thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

Last night our friends Sharon and Larry had a party. (I like to call them "ShaLar", which is probably funny only to me and Susan, who lived in the ShaLar apartments.) Friends, homemade ice cream, sparklers and fountain rockets. Most of the kids left early, so Atticus was the only kid left for fireworks. He was soooo excited. A little scared of the sparklers at first, but he got into the swing of things soon enough, keeping up a steady chant of YEA YEA YEA YEA YEA YEA YEA! And then clapping after each round.

By the end of the night my leg was getting pretty sore, and we came home and all fell into bed. Slept in until 9:00, and to be honest, I haven't gotten out of bed yet (it's 1:20). I told James I felt a little guilty for being so lazy, and he just told me to take a look at my leg. I can live with that. Outside is a gentle rain, the windows are open. Atticus is singing a song he made up. Today is a good day.

The gory pictures

I don't have a copy of my x-rays, so I'll try my best to describe what happened to my ankle. We're still trying to figure out how exactly it happened, but it appears that my foot moved and my ankle didn't. The tibia (the big bone) didn't break but got dislocated and broke through the skin. That's what I saw when I looked down at my leg in the accident. There was surprisingly little blood. I guess none of the major vessels were damaged. All sorts of ligaments, however, and possibly some tendons got damaged in the process, and the lower part of my fibula (the small bone) pretty much shattered. It also broke in a couple places higher up, but those breaks are in good alignment and don't need further support. On Thursday I felt that higher break go "pop" and had more pain there, so on Friday we went in to have it checked it out.

They took x-rays that looked fine, but my dressings were pretty grody, so she changed them. This was my first good look at the contraption holding my leg together, officially called an "external fixator." James likes to call it the Eiffel Tower. One night as my meds were wearing off, I was confused to have a pinching pain in my shin. Then I remembered that I have a screw in my shinbone. Oh yeah.

The stitches that go across the front of my leg are the original wound. I didn't look too closely at the time, but it seems bigger than I expected. Maybe they opened it further during surgery.

 Yes, that's a rod going through my heel bone. And yes, I do feel like a kebab.

This is where they cut me open to put a plate and a bunch of pins to hold my shattered fibula together. I have to say this is the messiest incision/stitches I've ever seen. I hope it's not an indication of the surgeon's overall skill. I'm not impressed with his general demeanor and customer service. But I'll take what I can get.

And here's what I get to look at for the next little while. I have an appointment Friday to have the stitches removed and to determine when the rods come out. The next step is a cast, and then maybe a boot. The physical therapist said today that it might be three months before I can put enough weight on the ankle to walk on it. I should be able to drive again when I'm no longer taking narcotic pain meds, and once I get a cast I can get a knee scooter that will allow me to be more mobile.

This ankle will always be stiff and prone to soreness. I will never be a runner or a ballerina. But I will be able to hike and bike and do all the other normal things I want to do. I think I'll start with water aerobics. Maybe around Christmas. That reminds me--our handicapped parking pass expires on Christmas, so let me know if you want a good parking spot at the mall. We'll give you a lift. :)

Surreality

James and Atticus stuck around for a while after the ambulance took me away. (The had to wait for the police to be done before they could get a ride.) The force of the crash knocked one of Atticus's shoes off, and James couldn't find his hat or glasses for half an hour. The Luke Skywalker figure Atticus was holding lost his head, which we've still not found. 

They sedated me to set and splint my leg. Everything was a bit fuzzy after that. I came to while getting a CAT scan The cervical collar was a lot more uncomfortable than the contraption on my leg. (More leg contraption photos to come.)

They kept me pretty well drugged up for the first couple days. Man, I love morphine. I'd have intense dreams as I drifted in and out of consciousness in which this whole situation was part of some greater plot or operation. I'd never remember the details, but I had a sense of importance. At one point I "drunk-texted" James (on opiates and with double vision): "I keep forgetting what I'm doing here and wh3 whenwdid I start drikiu?" I sent him a photo of my bruised chest with the message: "I figured as long as I'm drunk texting--please confirm the following: I am the only known operative in gntne ... in the hospital at this time."

It took a while for that feeling to pass. Sometimes I still wonder.

James walked away with relatively minor injuries, with abrasions and chemical burns from the airbags on his hands and massive bruising from the seat belt. I still have a hard bruise ridge across my belly from the seat belt, too, but I must say it's much better than the alternative.

These photos still blow me away. James and Atticus went to get the last of our belongings from our car (still no sign of Luke's head), and the car looks even more surreal out of the context of the accident. But this last picture will make me a Subaru owner for life: as messed up as the engine block is, all damage ends where the passenger cabin starts. This car saved our lives. 

I can hardly bear to consider how differently this whole situation could have ended. It keeps me from feeling too sorry for myself.