One Week; Big Days

Last Thursday, February 9 was kind of a big day for me. I had my first follow-up/post-surgery visit with Dr. Widmer. He had new x-rays done and I got to see the pin in my elbow; it looks pretty interesting. And then, after three weeks of splints and slings, the doctor unwrapped my arm, exposed it to the air, made it visible.

It actually looked pretty terrible, but it felt great—although a little scary— to have it freed.

He had me bend it and straighten it as far as I could (after an unnecessary warning that I should not straighten it completely—to 180°—or it will dislocate again. No chance of that happening; just sayin'.). And then he sent me to Physical Therapy (PT) to be fitted for a hinged brace.

While I was waiting they had me fill out and sign another couple of forms —with my left hand, of course. (I think they just think it's funny to see grown-ups concentrating as hard as they can, with their tongues poking out, to write their names. ;-)) And then the fun began:

They measured my range of motion using a tool like this one:

It looks like this person's arm is bent at 90°. That was my starting point for all my measurements.

So I was able to bend my arm up to 95°, and straighten it down to 67°. Or maybe it was the other way around? Hm. At any rate, I had about a 30° range of motion. They also measured how far I can rotate my hand—palm up or palm down (and they compared all my measurements with my normal left hand). My left palm-down rotation was 79°; my right was also in the high 70's. Not bad! But my left palm-up rotation was 81° while my right was only 3°.  :-(  Obviously I have some work to do there. My exercises are to bend and straighten my arm as far as I can, holding it for 3 seconds each of  ten reps, three times a day. And to rotate my palm up and down, same number of reps. I am amazed at how much hard work this is! But I'm doing it every day—I want my arm and hand!

After my 5-minute workout and the instruction session, they gave me my Darth Vader elbow brace. (Well, Bruce says Darth Vader; I don't know...) The brace keeps my arm at 90° so I won't inadvertently hurt myself, but it also unlocks so I can wear it while I do my bending and straightening exercises.

My bionic arm.
Bruce took better pictures than this one last week, but they are still on his phone. (And yes, I reversed the photo so it would be as you see me, rather than how I look in the mirror.)

Friday, February 10 was a big day for me because Bruce came back to Salt Lake to take me home! Melanie teased that every time she saw us we were hugging, or kissing, or dancing, or I was sitting on Bruce's lap... Well, I had just spent the first week after my surgery recovering without the comfort of having my husband with me. And, anyway, we really like each other!

Saturday, February 11 was a big day for me because we packed up all my things and went home. At least we tried to... What really happened was that Bruce's car worked beautifully all day long until we got about a mile up Parley's Canyon. Then it died and wouldn't start again. By 5 p.m. we finally ended up calling a tow-truck to haul it to a mechanic, and Bruce's dad to take us to his house where we spent the night.

Sunday, February 12 was a big day for me because we really did go home! It is nice to be with my family again.

Monday, February 13 was a big day because I discovered just how much I can and can't really do for myself. And the rest of the days this week have all been pretty much the same. (Except for Wednesday, which was a big day because we found out how many, many things are wrong with the car: the repairs would cost  four to five times the value of the car. :-/ )

I can shower now, but my right hand is very little help; I can't touch my face with it (which is really aggravating when I have an itchy nose), or use it to wash my hair. I can write with it, but not anything lengthy—that is too tiring. I can't lift, push, or pull things with my right hand and arm—at least nothing bigger than a phone. I can't do laundry, dishes, or really clean house much (which is not as great as it might sound). I can hold the phone in my right hand, but I can't put it up to my face. I can pick up and use sewing pins, but not my big scissors. This week I have sewn one entire costume all by myself, finished two, and started two more.

the costume I started and finished all by myself this week
There's a hat and knee-breeches that go with it.

Last week I was sleeping on the couch, in one position all night; this week I have found three different, comfortable positions to sleep in, in my bed. Last week I was shedding a snowstorm of arm-dandruff (three weeks of dead skin that accumulated under all my bandaging); this week, after lots of washing, rubbing—even using a soft brush on it—and lotioning, my skin is back to normal. (Except for the pretty green bruises.)

More importantly, last week I could extend my arm about 13° (down from 90°); today I can extend it 25°. Last week I could flex my arm about 5° (up from 90°); today I can go up 15°. This means that now I have about a 40° range of motion. Last week when I tried to rotate my palm up I couldn't even see my thumb-pad; today I can turn my palm so it's parallel to the wall.

Last Week (left) and This Week (right)
(I am not great at the selfie thing.)

It has been one big week!

Keeping You All in Stitches

I'm not going to lie. It is really hard to do everything one-handed. I'm not about talking suddenly going from being right-handed to being left-handed; I am talking about being one-handed. Because my C-3PO hand and arm are fairly useless these days. And you would be amazed at how many, many things you use both hands for, all the time.  So eating is harder, getting dressed is harder, bathing is harder, potty-breaks are a lot harder. (And, just to make things more fun, my old granny is visiting this week. Really?) Nevertheless, I feel like I have done pretty well.

Me and my twin. Too bad I couldn't have shiny, gold wrappings on my arm.

I have been doing so well that tonight I thought I could handle making a baked-potato bar (of sorts) for dinner. I washed, buttered-up, and put two nice spuds into the oven for Mom and me. I had pre-shredded cheese, pre-chopped onions, sour cream, butter, and even a can of chili with a pop-top. Things were rolling along just fine—until I got to the chili. Guess what? You need two hands to open a pop-top can. Well, maybe you actually don't... The potatoes were all baked and lovely, and I was trying to get that can opened, and it wasn't really cooperating. Just as I was going to give up and call Mom for help, the can opened—quite suddenly—and the lid opened my left ring finger. :-/

Don't worry; my arm is still attached.

I was angry, and frustrated, and sad, and feeling stupid, and bleeding like crazy. I called Mom for help. She thought I would need stitches. I kind of thought so too, but I didn't want to believe it, because I really didn't want to get stitches, and I really need the use of at least one of my hands! I called Marilyn because I knew she would come help we two car-less women, and because she has a little medical knowledge. She thought I would need stitches too.

The doctor at the Insta-Care thought so too.

And a tetanus shot, to boot. So the nurse came in and gave me my tetanus-booster in my right arm while the doctor was stitching my left hand. I don't like to watch any of this kind of stuff, so I'm sitting there wondering just where I should look. Straight up at the ceiling. Yes.

Fan-tastic!

Well, it was all over quickly; I have four stitches in my finger. I'm not supposed to let it get wet for twenty-four hours. Which is a bummer because I'd really like to bathe—or at least wash my hair tomorrow morning before I go to my follow-up appointment with Dr. Widmer. Too darn bad for me!

multiple traumas

I did manage to brush my teeth and change into my pajamas all by myself tonight—and keep my finger dry. And I'm even able to type about as well as I have been for the last few weeks. But no more of these stupid, stupid accidents! No more, please!

What If...

I have been overwhelmingly sad today.

Bruce went home yesterday so he could go to work—they kind of want him to keep doing that. And I stayed here because I have a follow-up appointment this Thursday, and it made the most sense for me to be here, just in case I needed to talk to the doctor or anything. So that is sad for me.

And I have been hurting, so I have to take those drugs that put me in a dizzy, sleepy stupor, and then give me a hangover when they wear off. I take them as infrequently as I can stand to, but I have had to take a few over the last two days. That is also kind of sad for me.

And then, last night I woke up at 2:30 and couldn't get back to sleep for a couple of hours. By the end of my too-awake time it was really bothering me that my fingers don't work right and that my arm feels too tight inside the bandages. (Yes, I know that it's only been five days, and that it will take time for everything to heal and work right. I may be Dopey and Sleepy, but I'm not Stupid.)

While I can move my forefinger and pinkie sort of all right, my two middle fingers don't want to do anything at all; they just kind of hang there. So here I am, in the wee hours of the morning, and I'm thinking, "What if my fingers never work right again? What if I can never play the piano again? What if I can never sit down with Bruce and play a duet on the piano with him? What if my arm always hurts?"  And I cried and cried until I was worn out and fell asleep.

Those thoughts, accompanied by my longing for my husband, have recurred, and bothered me to tears all day long. Because everything I do well, everything that I know I am really good at—cooking, sewing, photo editing, writing, drawing, playing piano and organ... even cleaning house— Those things that I have always used to define myself all require the use of both of my hands.
And, "What if...
And, "What then?"

Getting Better

I'm doing all right. Good enough to sit down and write a blog-post anyway. So here's how it all went down:

On Thursday, January 19 I went down. They tried to twist my arm off in the ER and then sent me home in pain and a splint.

On Friday, January 20 the search for a specialist who can repair a Terrible Triad begins, and ends—or so we think.

On Sunday, January 22 Bruce and I drive to Salt Lake. We hope to consult with the specialist on Monday, have surgery on Tuesday, and go back home to Vernal that afternoon—or maybe go home on Wednesday. We will learn later that have no idea what we're even talking/thinking about.

On Monday, January 23 Dr. Dechet tells us, "There are elbows, and then there are elbows..." She can't repair a Terrible Triad, but she finds us someone who can. Unfortunately we won't be able to consult with Dr. Widmer until next Monday, the 30th. We console ourselves with dinner and a movie, and head back home on Tuesday.

Between Tuesday, the 24th and Monday, the 30th, I get better at doing some things entirely left-handed—basic things like feeding myself, getting dressed (including singlehandedly putting on—and hooking up—my bra!), bathing, and sewing two shirts. Just the necessities...

Here I am, drawing a pattern. The plaid sleeve-roll is holding my ruler down so I can draw a line with my left hand. The blackness in the center-back is my sling; you can kind of see my fingers poking out of the end of it.

On Saturday, the 28th we drove back to Salt Lake. We went and saw Ryan and Ruth Ann sing with the State Honor Choir at Abravanel Hall. We spent the night at my mom's house; Bruce was planning to go home Sunday morning, work Monday and Tuesday, and then come back to Salt Lake for my surgery on Wednesday. But the best-laid plans, and all that... His car would. not. start. on Sunday. We finally decided that this must mean Bruce was supposed to go to my consultation with me on Monday—and he did!

On Monday morning Bruce and my mom and I looked at the cd we got from the ER—the one with my x-rays and CT-scan pictures on it. A little grisly, but pretty cool.

Dr. Widmer was very nice. He confirmed that I have a really, really bad injury, but assured me that he could get my arm to work again. Not "as good as new" because that's not possible, but as good as it can be. He said I would regain most of the movement in my right arm, although I may never be able to completely straighten it again. I will be able to cook, sew, and play the piano again, in time. I am so extremely fortunate to be where—and when—I am. A couple hundred years ago, and in some places even now, the best care I might have gotten was that splint and sling; I might have had a useless arm for the rest of my life!

Bruce posted this photo on facebook as "pre-surgery." Actually this was pre-Bruce-is-leaving, and I was pretty sad.

Well, we got me all pre-registered for surgery and then Bruce borrowed his dad's car and headed home to Vernal, to miss as little work as possible. I stayed behind at my mom's house to wait for My Big Day. While I waited on Tuesday I occupied myself by tracing sewing patterns. I talked to the pre-op nurse, I called to find out what time I should arrive at the hospital (11 a.m.), and I filled out paperwork. My mom could—and would—have filled in the papers for me, but I figured I could write X's into boxes, even with my left hand. And by the time I filled out all the medical history, I figured I'd try writing my own name, too.

It looks like a third-grader wrote it, but it just might be more legible than my regular signature.

Had a nice dinner Tuesday evening, had a Dolly Madison Zinger around 9:00, then brushed my teeth and went to bed. Nothing more to eat or drink until after my operation. (So of course I woke up hungry at 4 a.m.)

At last My Big Day had arrived! Melanie decided to take the day off so she could take me and my mom; they would wait around at the hospital while the medical staff did mean things to me. We three had a fine, jokey time while I waited for my surgery. We even stopped at the store on the way to the hospital to buy Brandon a new tie.

modeling the designer outfit they gave me for the show

This is the real pre-surgery pic. I am giving a thumbs-up–one of the few things I could do with that hand. :-)

Around 1:00 they took me into the O.R.—a freezing cold room, brightly lit, and done up in lovely stainless-steel and white. They got me situated on a slightly padded board, and then shot something into my I.V. that would "make [me] dizzy in about ten seconds." Or less. The last thing I remember about that room was watching the ceiling lights spinning around.

The next thing I remember is a man's voice softly calling, "Loralee, wake up." The second I opened my eyes my right arm was washed in unbearable pain; I started crying. So they started putting pain-killers through the I.V.  I heard them talking about adding one drug at least three times (upping the dose?), plus two other drugs, at least once each, before I felt better. While they worked on controlling my pain, I asked the nurse what time it was.  >3:32.<  I asked again a few minutes later because I couldn't remember if she'd said it was closer to 3:00 or 3:30.  (I guess I really needed to know the time.) Later, as the pain dissipated, the nurses and I got talking about LipSense lip colors, and how nice they are.

This is post-op (a few hours). I actually look a lot better than I was feeling. Just imagine how great I would have looked if I'd been wearing LipSense!  ;-)

Well, Melanie and Mom were waiting for me in my room. I was hungry and pretty wiped out. But I guess we talked a little; I nibbled some toast and sipped water. The nurse brought me some dinner, which I thought I wanted, but felt too icky to eat. Mom and Melanie went home around 5:30...after they knew that Bruce was on his way and would arrive in about an hour. Bruce was The One Person I wanted to see—the one I could cry all over, you know.

The rest of that evening was a blur of aching, sharp pains, extreme nausea, and having to get up and go to the bathroom way too many times. And it turned out that my pain meds made my body so relaxed that my breathing slowed down too much every time I drifted off to sleep. So then my oxygen-level monitor would start beeping and wake me up. Eventually they just kept me on oxygen so I could sleep (in between bathroom breaks and vitals checks. Not much sleep.)

In the morning I finally was able to eat a nice breakfast—Huzzah! I was on schedule with my pain-killers, which made me very sleepy (and still needing to be on oxygen). One medical person after another kept coming in to either check on me or to give me information or instructions (which I was too tired to really pay attention to). I couldn't really sleep. The most interesting person was Dr. Widmer, who told me what he did to my arm. He said he actually told me in post-op, but that I was crying and might not remember. He got that right! I don't remember him being in that room at all—unless he was the guy who woke me up.

So here's what happened: My radial head (the elbow-end of the bone that rotates in your forearm) was shattered into eight to ten pieces, plus a few that just got loose from the whole mess. So he got rid of all that broken stuff and replaced it with a metal piece—a piece about the size of my thumbnail, attached to a pin that will hold it in place.

I found this graphic online. The elbow on the far-right is the most like my elbow was.

The coronoid process of my ulna was broken. This is the little piece that cups around the humerus (upper-arm bone) and holds it in place. He fixed that.

Another picture I found online; the green part is the coronoid process. Hold your hand up so it looks like this picture; now extend your thumb out as far as it goes. That is how Dr. Widmer demonstrated what was wrong there. With that bit out of place, nothing was holding the humerus where it belongs.

And he reattached the tendon and the ligament that had come loose—the ones that let me bend and straighten my elbow. Phew! That was a lot of work! In fact, Dr. Widmer's assistant, Dr. Stephany, said they only do a surgery like mine two or three times a year—compared to as many as six rotator-cuffs in a day. It was kind of a big deal.

We spent the day getting ready to go home, but just as we were ready to leave poor Bruce got one of his heavy-duty nosebleeds. So we waited for that to finish before we went home—to my father-in-law's house. (I had planned to spend the week at my mom's house, but her basement flooded.) I was pretty miserable by the time we did arrive at the house, and was watching the clock for my next dose of pain-killer. A nice man came over to get me set up on oxygen so that my meds won't kill me in my sleep. We had a yummy dinner. I slept all night, only waking up about 45 minutes before it was time for me to take more meds throughout the night. And I felt so good yesterday morning that I thought I might be able to decrease my dose of meds, and maybe even go visit Mom and Melanie. But, on second thought...not quite. (We actually did go on a short trip to Walmart later in the afternoon. I did OK for about an hour, when I was very glad to go home again.)

While all of my trauma/drama has been going on, we've had friends going to my mom's house, trying to fix Bruce's car for us. People really are amazing!

Bruce has been taking great care of me. Because he is awesome! Seriously, I don't have words to express how good he is to me, and how much I love him, and how glad I am that he's been with me through this. Sadly for me, he will have to go back home again tomorrow and work through the week. I am going to stay here through Friday so I can keep working on feeling better, and go to my first follow-up appointment on Thursday.

Anyway, that is my big, long update. Last night I decided to try using only one pain pill instead of two, and it's been fine (although I'll still use the oxygen when I sleep). I'm feeling very, very good—all things considered. If you feel the urge, you could probably come visit me at Dad's house some time this week. You could even bring dinner, or lunch. ;-)  Or a movie for me to watch.

I'll be here, getting better.