My visit yesterday to the doctor did nothing to cheer me up. I found out the up-until-now-unknown-fact that I have two screws in my shoulder bone to which “fishing line” is tied to keep my ligament attached to my rotator cuff. I am to start passive physical therapy (someone moves my arm for me) with a physical therapist as soon as I can get an appointment. In the meantime I have 3 more weeks left in the DonJoy UltraSling Shoulder Brace (oh boy, oh boy, the soft gray color harmonizes with so many outfits!), then 2 more weeks after that of self-directed physical therapy (moving my arm myself). This means we won’t be able to drive back to Santa Rosalia until July 2. I am having serious cat and beach withdrawal! This is certainly different than the two-days-in-the-sling-expectations with which I went into this surgery. As we were coming out of one of our favorite Denver restaurants yesterday, Osaka Sushi, a man coming in said, oh what kind of surgery did you have? the newscaster was wearing the same sling just last night! Boy, talk about popular surgeries! I must admit I personally know of four other people that could be candidates for just the same operation that I just had.
Esperando leaves on Tuesday and my mother and sister come to babysit me for the next week until he comes back for a bit. I must admit I feel a little helpless with the use of just one arm. Now I know how that poor one-armed man that murdered Dr. Richard Kimble's wife in The Fugitive, must have felt. And see, that was a medical conspiracy just like what’s happened to me. Getting a hold of the physical therapy people was the worst. Yesterday when we left the doctor’s office, the doctor gave me a prescription form with their phone number and the written instructions on how they are to torture me. It says “Evaluate & Treat”, if that is not a wide instruction for torture, then I don’t know what one is. When I called them, there was no answer. This place has four offices scattered around the Denver metro area, open M-F 7 am to 7 pm (ha ha, like not.). We decided to drop by the Stapleton office (the one circled on my form) which is just a 5 minute drive from our house. When we got to it at 3 pm, their office it was closed, lights out, with a sign posted on the door indicating to call their Thornton office to make an appointment. Jason answered and after several times being put on hold told me that he would call back regarding our insurance. After a couple of hours with no response I called again. Oh, so sorry he said, I went to the gym, but we don’t take your insurance. Flaaa-aky. What does the doc see in these guys, is he part owner like he is of the orthopedic center where I had my surgery? Over the course of the last two days I have finally gotten it sorted out and have an appointment for next Tuesday.
Which brings me to my last issue—the strange dreams that plague me every night. My Mother turned 101 this last May. No kidding-she really did. Well I dreamt last night that she was pregnant. I briefly wondered how someone of those advanced years could get pregnant, but chalked it up to medical science. Then I decided that giving birth at her advanced age would be a serious hazard to her health. Finally, I was really furious. It isn’t fair I said to Esperando in my dream, she will be gone and we will have this child to raise. How could she do this? Boy I don’t know where that one came from. This sling is altering my whole sleep pattern. I wonder if I will ever sleep like a normal person once I am through with this whole thing.
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