Cruel Wife found our kitties, Jill and Jack, lying on my side of the bed on top of one of my shirts bestowing Catsmus blessings upon the Holy Chicken of Christmas while I was in the hospital. High Priestess Cruel Wife delivered the HC^2 to the altar next to my bed. Now, if you are squeamish, just be content with the kitties and do not scroll down.
Here I have been blessed with the HC^2’s Anointment of Anonymity. Yes, that gash looks like something that Aggie of Sith would bestow using her Machete of Zombie Filleting +4. Correction, that is what it would look like if Aggie used a machete and lots of Wound Sealant compound instead of sutures. Apparently this doc is not a fan of catgut and rarely uses a knot where a squirt of something else will do.
Below is what the x-ray showed once the plate was installed. Disc taken out, piece of my sternum popped in, and plate and screws from a door hinge from Lowe’s. (I asked that they use the Redneck Grab-bag Special rather than the fancy-schmancy Ti6Al4V golden-child formulations)
My. Head. Is. Being. Held. On. Using. Two. Screws.
I suspect that the vertical wire is for the longer-range antennae that is connected to the fish-hooks the government installed in my brain years ago. Mind control. It’s all about mind control.
I can’t even feel the piece of sternum that they stole. Can’t feel the screws all that much. Can feel the incision and the sore neck ligaments that got stretched out.
I have some problems swallowing, which puts a damper on my food intake, but that’s not such a bad thing. I chew my food much more thoroughly and enjoy each bite more because taking a big huge swallow isn’t really all that much fun.
This morning the doc chastised me for babying my neck. He said “Tip your head all the way to the right. No, you can move it more than that. Ok, now the left… uh huh… tip it all the way back…. forward now… more… more…”
I said “But… but… ok, the physical and occupational therapists came in and told me all these things that I have to do in a certain way, how to hold my head, how to move to get out of bed…”
He looks at me with this “I pity you” look and says “Who are you going to listen to? Them or me? Listen to ME. I’ve done lots of these. Your bones are more solid than 99% of the other people’s out there† – you have very strong bones. You could get in a car accident and you’d be fine. Don’t baby it.”
I shook his hand for like the tenth time today, able to feel his hand with all five fingers and said “Thanks Doc, really.”
† There is independent corroboration on the bone toughness thing. Years ago when I had my arm mangled in the machine at the plywood plant the orthopedic surgeon (we’ll call her Dr. Frigide) had to enlist the help of a family friend, also a doctor (we’ll call him Doc Peter Relief). Apparently they were having a horrible time getting the screws installed properly even with oversized holes in the arm bones. Dr. Frigide wasn’t the largest gal in the world but she was a physical anomaly – she was a blackbody radiator hovering around 2-3K. The room would drop by 10-15 degrees when she walked in. She was straining to get them in my even a few turns and Doc PR was sweating profusely by the time the deed was done even with her there to cool things off. They could only figure that years of lifting heavy weights and draining cows of their daily output (plus genetics) led to some strong bones and kept them from being shattered much worse than they were. Osteoporosis is likely not going to be one of the things I’ll be afflicted with when I grow older.
I’ll have a more in-depth recounting of the day tomorrow.
Update: Perhaps the fingers-sensation-free-of-tinglies tingly feeling that I was getting was a bit premature. I suppose good days and bad days exist here, too. But, there’s been no neck and arm pain still. I’ve got no complaints there.