The great thing about having a blog titled "yet another never updated blog" is that no one is the least concerned when your posting drops off for days or weeks or months. Hey, I warned you in the title, didn't I? But I've had several ideas stewing for a while, just no time to develop them. But at last, the time is at hand, so to speak.
So why haven't I had any time? Well, I've been moving. It has taken me a month to do it, packing boxes and taking them to the new place in my tiny little car. One Tercel load a day makes for slow going. I did get a big truck rented and two healthy male friends to load and unload the truck for me over Easter weekend. Then there was the dreaded deposit clean-up. Thanks to family and friends for what help they could give. I know I was an absolute grouch by the end of it. But it is all for the best now. I'm closer to work, and have a housemate to split living costs and do the heavy lifting. Eventually, all the boxes will be unpacked, and I'll know where my earrings are again.
Moving was complicated, as was rather expected, by the decision of my right shoulder to go AWOL. It made driving lots of fun, too. It first fell out while driving home from work with MD. She plaintively begged, "Why are you jerking the car?" as her joints were jolted every few moments. "My shoulder is dislocated. It hurts to steer." "Oh. I'll fix it for you when we get to your place." And she did. I'm ashamed that I can't reduce my own shoulder. It's a skill that would come in handy quite often. Especially once the darn thing slips out, because while MD could get it into place for me, we both knew it wouldn't stay. A dislocation is followed for a couple of weeks with subluxations. Over and over again, I had to get people to reduce my shoulder. MD, the SIL, and My Dad (hmmm. He'd be MD also if I keep up with my routine abbreviation pattern. OK, he's My Father). Alright, then. MD, SIL, and MF are the only ones I know who have a feel for where a shoulder ought to be, and aren't afraid to put things where they ought to be. Other people...well, let's just say other people are squeamish. Since even most doctors act like reducing a joint is a major operation, I shouldn't be surprised.
And I'm glad it was just the one shoulder. Glad and surprised. I only had the usual swelling of my legs and subsequent pain, but not even my arches subluxed. Not even when I went to the zoo for my parents' 50th wedding anniversary! Wise choices in footwear make a big difference. And with that affirmation, I now plan to make a foray into the orthopedic shoe store to buy more ugly but supportive shoes, what with the older shoes being not only ugly but downright decrepit.
The joint problems in the legs have waited until this week. Both feet have been playing their "how much of a sprain can we create just standing here" game. And yesterday, my right knee tried to make a break for the back of my leg. I took this as a sign that I haven't been sleeping with enough pillows, so I bought a new one to prop me up better. I still need a new knee wedge, though. My old one is less a wedge and more a pancake. A bright pink pancake with square sides. Okay, not so much a pancake as a layer cake with icing for a six year old girl's birthday party. But with a stingy mom who only made one layer of cake. Still, sleeping propped up properly let me sleep for nearly 12 hours, off and on, and that has done wonders for my wandering kneecap.
I've completely lost track of where I was going with this. But in the days to come, I will update my book review on Short Bus, and talk about euthanasia. So, if you only read this blog when you remember to occassionally check, then check it a couple more times over the next week. I may even have a new picture of Raaaahr! Monster to share.
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2 comments:
See, I know that for you kneecaps and shoulders dislocating and finding people to relocate them are normal and mundane but I have to put myself firmly in the "Probably not" camp since I thought very well what a bicycle looked like until I was asked to draw one - it was second grade and rather traumatic becuase I knew what finished was somehow not at all what bicycles look like - and I fear that I would make the same mistake with your shoulder only not with crayons, I would just keep schrunching things and going, "Does that look like a shoulder?"
I can't draw technical stuff from memory either. With some thought, I can actually draw specific plants. And I used to love to draw anatomical pictures.
But being able to visually picture a body isn't what is important, I think, in putting one together. It's more in the sense of touch, of being able to feel inwardly how things should be. Most people have very little awareness of their own bodies, so it is no wonder that the prospect of dealing with someone else's body can be disconcerting or even terrifying. And you have to be able to mesh your own sense of self with the other body, which is a kind of intimate thing that most people are hesitant to do. To really touch another person is a rare act in our society.
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