Another week in a sling

Well, it’s interesting, this eight week (from my lips to God’s ear) side trip, life in a sling. When I played silly games with my brothers we would pretend to be blind, or roll an arm up in our tee shirts to immobilize it, and pretend how well we could function, handicapped. Ha! Double Ha for my brothers, one of whom broke a leg and the other an arm (twice!). I don’t recall having sympathy for them.

The worst is the clothing. Even without appearing in public, it is mental humiliation to look like a bag lady. From bottom to top, I cannot tie my shoes, though I can put on socks. I can pull up both my underwear and my “petite ladies’ jogging pants”. The pants are not S or M, they are XL, with a drawstring. With only a moderate struggle, they come up.

No bra since the one I removed to go to bed in the infamous cozy flannel gown that snatched the legs from under me three weeks ago. As vain as I am about size ten trousers, front zip, I am more vain about arranging my over sized chest. Oh, the humiliation of appearing to be contained in a camisole, or, worse yet, a men’s undershirt.

Every morning my sister, or a granddaughter removes the sling, then the nightshirt, gets me into a soft and warm oversized denim shirt I’ve had for years. We reverse the process at night. So much for the TMI intro, unless it convinces you to shorten your cozy flannel gown to knee length.

To drive my car (yes, in public), I have the seat enough forward to use my knee as my left hand on the steering wheel. Joe was disbelieving the first time, and I could feel him mentally steering. Two weeks later he simply is distraught over the continuing post season winning streak. Last night’s team was the only team considered able to beat them, and it failed. Poor Joe.

The first two weeks I limited myself to driving around town. There is plenty of that, between work and schlepping children four times a week. Yesterday I elected to drive myself to the doctor. I went over the route mentally, planning on being a sedate old granny driver who would endanger no one with one handed driving.

It is far easier to cruise the freeway with one hand than city streets. I had my nerve back at the first merge and soon could mutter, “Get your damn BMW up to speed, old man; don’t make me pass you! Oh, well, you were warned. Hasta la vista.”

I stopped at the bird seed store. If I bought two seed cylinders, the feeder was free. The cylinder has meal worms in it. I bought two, so Laura could say "Ewwee" when she put them up.

Our old cylinder feeder. Laura won't give them a new cylinder until the old one is cleared away.

The new suet feeder with a tail paddle board to make woodpeckers feel like they have a tree under them. The feeder has been discovered, though I've seen neither a bird or a squirrel on it.

It is such a cold and dreary day. But, many inches of snow are falling on my friend Ann, in Wisconsin. No complaining, Joanne. Only five weeks to go.