Author: hamishmacdonald

Yes, the surgery went well. I kept recalling these horror stories about doctors on the Island (e.g. “They used forceps to deliver the baby — and pulled its head off!”), but everyone I dealt with was as organized and professional as the Toronto teams, if not moreso, and there was an added layer of warm, caring friendliness. So it was a great experience — if that can be said of such a thing.

Now I’ve got yet another bandage-covered club on my right arm and can’t wait to get it all off and my stitches out on Friday. The arm is sore and stiff, but it’s such a relief to know that this is the end of that ordeal — though likely the beginning of a long recovery process. I’d pictured having that bar out and immediately getting back to drawing, but things are going slower than that.

I have, however, told work I’ll start again on January 3rd, and am going back on the payroll for the holidays. It’s a bit scary making that commitment before I’m absolutely sure I’ll be ready, but it seems very likely, and I need the income. Yes, the mortgage is much cheaper than our Toronto rent was, but I’d forgotten about factors of home ownership like heating oil. (My God, that furnace can burn through the stuff quickly! There’s a little plastic bubble indicator on top of the oil tank in the basement; I can’t help but check it every day, and am horrified to see it’s moved each time.)

Otherwise, though, the house is a dream. Craig was here for two weeks and managed to get everything unpacked and looking great. (His aunt passed away, so he went to Scotland when I came here, then joined me later.) Now he’s away to Scotland again until mid-January. I miss him, but we’re accustomed to being apart at this time of year so we can be with our families. Charlottetown is really pretty in the snow, but I’m most excited about getting to be here at the house next summer — and off for trips around the Island.

(P.S. This post is recycled from a letter to an old friend. Sorry, Glynis!)

I finally liberated my big black bag of old journals from the storage locker at my parents’ place.

Now the chronicles of all my former hopes and angsts are safely tucked away on a bookshelf in the basement of my home. There’s a certain feeling of wholeness to that.

Today I went with my mum to her church’s coffee morning. Those are great conversations I always enjoy, but today the youth minister went one further and volunteered to go to my house and unstack the boxes so I could start unpacking. Even better, once there, he also reassembled our couch.

The physical work was a huge help, but even more helpful was how it lightened my mindset to suddenly be able to make progress, when just yesterday I felt deflated and helpless.

Thank you, Nathan!

I’m finally back on Prince Edward Island!

I love our new house, and last night all our belongings arrived. Unfortunately, Craig’s in Scotland because his auntie passed away, and my arms are not back to normal yet, so setting up our furniture and unpacking the boxes will have to wait until Craig’s back.

I have a meeting Monday with a local surgeon, who I hope will be able to fit me in soon to remove the ‘dorsal bridge’ in my right arm. His secretary stressed that he has a six-month waiting list, but this thing is meant to come out early in December – and I need it out if I’m going to be able to start back to work in January. And I need to do that, because otherwise I’m going to be drifting into financial and career trouble.

Fingers crossed. (I can at least do that.)

For the first time since my second surgery, I sat down and had a drawing session.

At my request, the OT gave me a splint for my right arm. It just didn’t feel safe swinging it about while I know it’s still broken. Even though there’s a metal bar in there, I don’t want to run any risk at all of having to go through that surgery again.

Removing the dorsal bridge will hopefully be no big deal, though the OT suggested that there’ll be a lot of work to do once that happens. I’m just hoping that’s all to do with my wrist, and I’ll get to keep all the headway I’ve made with my fingers. I need to get back to work in January!

The splint is also to keep the bedsheets from rubbing against my arms, which has been driving me crazy.

Okay, I put some of the Tiger Balm cream on and my arms certainly feel… different. Like, burny different. I like the smell, though!

Today I stayed home — I guess that’s not unusual, since that’s where I’ve been for most of the last month, but at least I could choose to go out if I like, now that I have two arms that sort of work.

I wanted to go out to a coffee shop or something like that, but it’s still disheartening to try and draw, even though I’ve managed to stretch the tendons in my hand quite a bit over the past few days and can grip things a bit more.

Instead, I decided to stay home and cook things. I made granola, waffles, and a savoury pie! It’s easy to take normal activities as a given, or to be greedy for more, but I appreciate that the things I did today (I opened jars!) were each a little breakthrough.

Since I’m being transferred to PEI’s healthcare system, I’ve been given the notes about my treatment to take with me. They’re pretty gross.

We got our house. That’s a huge relief, and something to look forward to.

As for the arm saga, that’s a bit more of a challenge: I got the cast off both arms last week — right on Monday, left on Friday. Thank God, too, ’cause I was going crazy from the weight, the heat, and the itchiness of those stupid hunks of plaster strapped to my arms.

The left arm is in a brace for the remainder of the healing period. That’s fine. The difficult part is that my right arm isn’t working normally because of the temporary “bridge” bar that’s attached to my radius and the back of my middle finger to hold it steady so the bones of my wrist can all heal in place (since they shifted after the first operation).

As a result — well, the occupational therapist I saw described it thus: “It’s like your hand is a marionette and your tendons are the strings, but right now they’re pinned to the playhouse wall.”

Still, somehow, the surgeon and she both expect that I can get back the full function of my hand. I’m doing the exercises, which make my hands stiff and tired, and any improvements are very slight. That’s scary, and I just hope there’ll be a big jump back toward normal when the bar comes out — though that won’t be for quite a while.

Meanwhile, the nerves under the skin of my right arm prickle anytime it touches anything, and I have this ongoing feeling like I’ve hit my funny-bone. This makes it next to impossible to sleep.

I did manage to draw something today, though, but it took me a long time and left me tired.

Sorry for moaning!

Meanwhile, I did a little bit of packing today, and Craig did a huge amount. Moving day is not far away! It’s hard to do justice to all my connections here with all this wrist-business going on.

This morning I had my follow-up with the orthopaedic surgeon. One of his team-folk cut the giant tree-stump of Tensor bandages off my right arm, then I was sent to get X-rays on both arms.

I had lots of time, while waiting for the X-rays, to look at the horror-show that is my dominant hand. And, hey, it’s Hallowe’en, so it was all thematically appropriate.

The middle two fingers don’t bend very well or much on their own. The surgeon told me that’s because they moved the tendons out of the way to make room for the bar that’s reinforcing the wrist. (Yes, rebar in my arm.) The three long scars — two on top, one underneath — were puckered around little black sutures, bleeding in spots after being separated from their crusty, old, mummy-ish dressings. And the skin was a sore desert of eczema, having been trapped in a damp, airless, dark, closed case again after the last surgery.

[I took pictures, but you really don’t want to see them.]

Every possible “Walk Like an Egyptian” pose on the X-ray table later, I was upstairs in the Hand Clinic again, worrying and hoping about what the scans might show.

Craig asked me this morning what I’d do if it turned out I needed another operation. I seriously thought for a moment that I might rather die. On second thought, I said that I’d want to be kept in overnight and sedated after the procedure.

Thankfully, none of that will be necessary: The left elbow is well lined-up and has formed a nice callus, which will later be replaced with bone. The tendons are a bit f#$*ed, as it seems they may have “evulsed” away from the bones on impact with the ground. I didn’t ask what that meant, ’cause as much as I could imagine was about as much as I wanted to deal with just now.

And the right arm? All the hardware was holding everything together perfectly, and nothing had moved since the operation. Doctor Furey kept getting me to try and make a fist, then spread my fingers out, but it just didn’t feel possible. He told me to keep trying, so I guess I may get that back before the bar comes out.

(In the X-ray, the bar looked like a ninja’s butterfly knife secreted underneath my skin.)

After an intern took my stitches out (which hurt!), they wrapped my arm up in gauze, and sent me off to make my next appointment — the last before I go to PEI.

I snapped (via e-mail) at my mum last night for stressing me out with her list and questions about which surgeon I’d be referred to in PEI. I said I didn’t suppose it was like going to the hairdresser, and doubted one had a choice. But when Doctor Furey brought up the subject of referring me on for the last procedure, I mentioned Mom’s list and he said he’d like to see it. “With the gossip?” I asked. “Well,” he replied, “if there’s someone in particular you want, I can refer you specifically to them.”

Whaddya know? Mom’s right again.

Speaking of PEI, at the end of last week, Craig and I filled out all our papers and had them notarized, and couriered them off. They reached the lawyer in Charlottetown this morning.

We’re soooo close, but I’m so scared the lender is going to ask again at this eleventh hour for more proof of income. I’ll be working again in short weeks, but right now it would not look good, me being off sick right when this is all going through.

My friend Lisa drove me to the hospital and hung out with me for a few minutes before my appointment, and she assured me this was no big deal. “People get sick. They still buy houses.” At least for a moment, I believed her, and that was a relief.

Finally, finally my kooky life fits nicely into form-field boxes, right up until this very last bit of the home-buying process. ACK!

By Thursday, this deal will be done. On Friday, I should get my other cast off.

I know in life it’s always something, but I really, really want these particular two things to be happily resolved.

On Monday the cocoons will open.

What will be born?

Two scrawny, scaly arms, one of them looking like it was chewed by a polar bear.