Dangerspouse Rides Again

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Garage - Track




Jun. 28, 2014 - 5:07 a.m.

To arms! To arms!

Or rather, "Two arms! Two arms!"

I have two arms! The cast is off.

Oh my god, I can't believe I'm really free of that fucking cage. I mean, look at me: I'm typing with both hands again! That means you can read this faster now, right? Right!

Of course having my entire right arm in a cast for 6 weeks has left me looking like this. It's staggering how much my muscles atrophied in a month and a half. There's hardly any difference in diameter between my wrist, my shoulder, and everything in between. Thank god all the weight training and boxing I did for years let me start with pretty massive guns. If I'd had a puny (ie: normal American) arm going in, it would have shriveled and detached like a Doberman's tail in a rubber band.

I'm sure the mass will come back once all the PT is over and I can start lifting again, but in the meantime I remain weak as a kitten on that side. I spent much of yesterday testing the limits of what I could do...and I quickly found I couldn't do much. I knew twist-tops were gonna be a problem, but even on a tube of toothpaste? That was humbling. As was not being able to lift an empty 8" aluminum saute pan off the stove. There was one up-side to having near-zero grip strength, though: porn. It felt like I was getting a hand job from a 3 year old. Again.

Disturbingly thrilling as that was, I need my grip back. Like, by tomorrow. I go back to work Monday morning, and to get there I need my car. Which has a stick shift. Right now all I can do is start it (by reaching my left hand across and turning the key) and sit helplessly in neutral until it runs out of gas in my driveway. I'm not sure my boss is going to be very understanding about that.

Oh, in addition to my grip, I NEED MY FUCKING VOICE BACK. I hadn't mentioned it previously, but I'm dealing with a banged up pair of vocal chords here. I know normally after an operation where you're completely knocked out you can expect some soreness in your throat for a few days. They just slid a length of PVC pipe in there to keep you alive while you were on the slab, after all. Small price to pay. But I started getting alarmed when after 2 weeks I still sounded like the Dark Lord speaking Parseltongue.

I called the anesthesiologist who sounded very surprised that such a thing was even possible, but then recommended I see an E.N.T. specialist. So I did, and that E.N.T. specialist - after telling me that the anesthesiologist was covering her ass - ran a scope up my nose and down my throat and took a look.

It buuuuuuuuuuuurned. Wow! I thought he grabbed the wrong tube and coated the scope with Capzasin cream instead of KY by mistake. But no. Apparently it's SUPPOSED to buuuuuurn.

"You got a problem" he said. "Only one side of your vocal chords are vibrating. The breathing tube they stuck down your throat must have knocked the muscle or surrounding cartilage. It's swollen and inflamed, and you're not gonna be able to speak right until it heals."

Not speak right?

I'm a RADIO ANNOUNCER. Speaking is all I got!

Of all the freakin' people to have this happen to. Why couldn't they have hit the mute button on James Porter, or Dick Cheney, or anyone else we'd all be grateful to never hear from again? Why sweet, innocent, POOR me, whom people need to hear??

Shit.

Anyway, so the E.N.T. has given me a course of steroids and strict instructions to shut the fuck up as much as possible. Hopefully then the swelling will go down enough for me to be at least marginally airworthy by 0430 Monday morning. We shall see. (In the meantime, of course, NewWifey(tm) is taking full advantage of the situation. Knowing I can't complain or retaliate, she's done everything from stick her big toe up my nose while I was taking a nap on the couch to holding a 24-hour Hugh Grant film festival in the living room. She better watch out. Once I get strength back in my arm, none of her orifices will be safe.)

Ok, that's enough for now. A certain 3 year is looking for a date, and I don't want to keep (her? him? it?) waiting. Plus, I still have to brush my teeth....

Ciao!

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