We are into a new year, 2018, and I’m still hanging on. Hobbling, to be more accurate, but still. Yeah, I ended up going to the urgent care to get my ankle checked out. It was still pretty swollen and in considerable pain from my fall down the stairs after Christmas, especially after Piper the Hyper Dog rammed into it running after her ball. Definitely dropped a real fudge bomb there. And it was so loud my son came running up from the basement to see what had happened. Both the kids were downstairs and heard it plain as day. I won’t even apologize for that one. That was some serious pain and with zero warning. Anyway, I didn’t break anything but it is sprained. I’m wearing a brace on it throughout the day to help keep me from bending it as I go up and down the stairs (which is all day long, ugh). The swelling has gone down, mostly, and the pain is not as bad, so I just have to ride this out. And remember to be a lot more careful on stairs from now on.
My husband says I get hurt more often than anyone he knows. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I certainly get hurt more than at least my immediate family. Christmas morning I burned my fingers. I was taking a pan of bacon out of the oven when I knocked off the oven thermometer. So of course I let my instinct to move it with my bare hand take over, and that lasted all of a half second before I dropped everything where I stood and proceeded to spew fudge words under my breath as I ran to the freezer to find cold things. Burns are the most painful things ever, y’all. All dern day I had to keep my fingers on ice or they would start screaming at me. So basically I was relieved of most of my planned kitchen duties, other than putting away clean dishes with my one good hand. Thank goodness my mother-in-law was there to save the day.
Then today I went to the hospital to have my monthly Tysabri infusion. All went well with the infusion, but then as I was rushing down the stairs to be sure my ride didn’t leave without me, I miscalculated the number of steps and fell down the last one or two. I’m not sure, it all happened so fast, but I think it must have been the last two steps that I missed because I twisted my ankle real good and I fell hard. I dropped everything I was holding as I went down, of course, and just laid there, afraid to move. I was looking up to see if anyone would come to help me get up. Two people across the way just stood and stared, but then eventually I was surrounded by employees from the building. A nurse offered to have me stay and get the ankle checked out, and a valet driver brought me a wheelchair. Even my paratransit driver came inside looking for me, and was able to help me into the van. I really wish I had the whole thing on tape because I think it would give everyone a good laugh. Graceful I am not.
It’s now several hours later and I’m wondering if I should have taken that nurse up on her offer to stay and get the ankle checked out. I kept my leg elevated the whole drive home and then I’ve iced the ankle periodically throughout the day, but my it is still pretty swollen and I can’t bend it. Ah, I guess I’ll just give it a little more time and rest and hopefully it will heal up on its own.
I’ve been starting to wear my contact lenses again. They don’t have the glare protection I have with my glasses so I don’t see quite as well with them, but it’s a worthy trade off. With my contacts I feel much less inhibited, which is of great value when you have low vision and hearing impairment. That and it kind of allows me to tuck my hair behind my ears, which is a habit I regretfully had to give up when I got my cochlear implants. Between the earpieces and my eyeglasses, there was just no room for my hair.
I recently went back to the eye doctor to update my prescription so I could order more contacts and I asked them if it would be a problem to just wear one contact. My visual field index in my right eye is 27%. Meaning out of an entire area normal eyes can see, I am unable to see 73% of it with that eye. Which makes it kind of a useless eye, in my opinion, so I don’t feel justified in paying for a contact for that eye. The 27% I do see has clearer vision anyway, and can get away without corrective lenses.
I wear colored contacts that pretty well match my eye color, and that is just to prevent me from losing the contacts altogether. I have a hard enough time seeing things without contrast, so when I drop a clear contact, it’s nearly impossible to find.
All that to say, if you see me out and about and I’m not wearing eyeglasses, take a real close look and see if you can tell which eye has the contact in it. The ladies at the eye doctor assured me it was a pretty close match (although one of them thought it would be “cool” to have two different colored eyes), so I’m trusting they were being honest. Because I’m fairly colorblind and can’t tell for myself.
If anyone is really interested in this visual field index stuff and knows how to do the math, maybe you could tell me how much total vision I have with both eyes combined. Left eye sees 51%, right eye sees 27%, so with that means… what? That it’s a good thing they don’t let me drive anymore? That’s all I can say for sure!
I was gonna end the post there, but I just remembered a funny thing I did today, to give you a glimpse of life with me and my crummy eyes (my family is unnervingly unphased by it by now). Tonight I was making scrambled eggs for the family and I grabbed an almost empty carton from the fridge to add milk to the egg mixture. I knew as soon as I started pouring that I had grabbed the wrong carton. What I thought was the last of the milk was actually the last of the apple cider. Oy. I went with it though, cuz I didn’t figure it was going to hurt anyone, and I don’t think I poured enough to really alter the flavor. Crap like this seems to happen to me on a fairly regular basis, but I have to laugh or else I would cry. Life goes on, right?
So thanks to my poor vision, I guess, I ran head first into my daughter’s loft bed. Again. This time super duper hard. So I think I’m gonna have a major goose egg on my forehead by morning. We need to put up a sign that says in bold, high contrast colors, “DUCK!!” Which, coincidentally, rhymes with the word I would have said had my daughter not been right there to witness my stupidity.
Can we just start over now?
Okay, it’s not a garden. I just use that word for alliteration’s sake. The boys are away at a baseball game and the girls opted to stay home. When Natalie asked if she could go next door to help her friend pull weeds, it reminded me that I had been wanting to trim the front bushes. And since it’s evening, and the sun sets on the back of the house, I decided now was a good time. But halfway through she came back over to help me finish up, so I had to get a photo! Cuz that’s a good way to help make the memory stick.
Speaking of memory, and as a sidenote, I met with my neurologist earlier this week. She addressed my concerns and asked if I had anything else to discuss or ask about. I said no. Later that day, it occurred to me that there was one concern I forgot to mention: the fact that I occasionally have trouble with my short term memory. Ha! The irony there, l tell ya. Can’t take me anywhere, is what I say.
Anyhoo, hope y’all are enjoying the summer so far. Stay cool!
Our dog loves loves loves to play fetch. I’m pretty sure it’s all she ever thinks about. Sometimes when I go back inside the house she anxiously awaits my return. Only I think she doesn’t want me to know that’s what she’s doing, because she will hide, ever so cleverly, behind the grill. She just sits there with the ball, Peking around the corner. And of course she thinks I can’t see her, with the screen door blocking my view, you know?
We stayed overnight at my mother-in-law’s house for Christmas, and the next morning she was showing me how to make biscuits. (My daughter was given a cookie cutter set for Christmas that included a biscuit cutter.) Well, I was excited to learn how to make biscuits, because I can really appreciate the quality of a fresh homemade biscuit – topped with homemade sausage gravy, of course. But then she started describing the part where you roll it in the flour or something, and that’s when she lost me. “Oh no, I can’t do this. I’m not gonna be able to make these.” I’m standing in the kitchen, trying my very best at hiding my discomfort, but ultimately giving up and just moving away.
I just can’t do flour. It makes a small sound when it touches things that only freaks like me can detect. It sends shivers running down my spine. Even the thought of the sound creeps me out. I don’t know why, but it does. It’s been like that for me for as long as I can remember. I met someone once who understood this, only it was not flour that got him – it was the color teal (The 80’s must have been torture for him). My dear mother-in-law, shocked into disbelief at my reaction, asked my husband, “Did you know about this?”
“Yep” he offers, “she also hates sand.” And chalk and powdered sugar. Oddly, the brown and white sugars don’t bother me too much. We’ll call those tolerable.
It’s funny that my mother-in-law has known me for 18 years and she’s just now hearing about this quirky aversion of mine. A well-kept secret, I suppose. I guess the cat’s out of the bag now. Just hopefully not the flour bag.