The sickbed diaries V

All quiet on the western front. Well, a couple of minor issues. Today was the day for the removal of the vast quantities of shoulder padding which have enveloped me for the past three days. Ok, so we almost removed the wound dressing too, but thought to check how far we were meant to go – and that come off in a week. The wound dressing is thick with blood in two areas, areas now hard to the touch … I’m not convinced that next Weds will be at all fun.

I spend the day and most of the night trying to negotiate my way around various physical things. Emptying a Dyson bug-style vacuum cleaner is, well … interesting don’t cover it. I have got to the stage where I’m frustrated with my shoulder. This, as with anything, is a dangerous time. When you get frustrated you do things you didn’t oughta. Sneezing. Ouch. Trying to catch things. Ouch. Walking into things. Ouch.

The physio is scary. It’s not the pain, but the fear of pain, the fear of going too far, and also of going not far enough. The removal of the bandages has allowed more freedom of movement … but this is a double-edged sword. What kind of pain ought I tolerate? How much of what kind of pain? When ought I press harder … how do I know? Come to think of it, what exactly has happened?

Well, a slap lesion is where the glenoid labrum is ripped. The Glenoid labrum is a piece of goo at the apex of the shoulder cuff. Mine is a type 6 lesion, which means that it’s the biceps tendon that’s the issue … basically, everything’s hanging out and chilling where it oughtn’t be chilling.

So they done stitched it all back together, and sort of stapled it back into place.

The pain, such it is, seems to be centred around the wounds … the skin pinching and pulling as I move. Occasionally, like when I cough, sneeze, or move too quickly, I feel an internal jolt. This is more shock than pain, perhaps sharp discomfort describes it best.

The physio is designed to prevent joint stiffening and frozen shoulder – the latter common in Parkinson’s sufferers at the best of times. It’s gentle. And scary.

On the plus side, I’m not worrying about the PD at the mo. And I’m being visited by lots of people.

On the minus side, full recovery will take up to a year.



A series of unusual events

Well, now that was a strange and rather stressful series of events. I am trying to buy a house for myself and my ginger cat. Because my good friend Si Fenton (see his blog here) has decided for some reason that making a new life in Senegal is altogether more attractive than continuing to live in Brighton, attending to the needs of some of the more unfortunate of our society. Good luck to him, though he has his gris-gris, so he’ll be just fine. Well, that and the fact that he’s a thoroughly good bloke … he will make a real go of anything he does, and will make friends anywhere. Dammit, he even made friends with me, an I’m a cantankerous fucker at the best of times.

So. The house. At the last minute a problem appears, and I mean at the last minute, and I mean a problem. I revise my offer to take it into account … I won’t go into the negotiating process because it wasn’t a negotiation.

Suffice to say that at three yesterday I wished the vendor luck, and realised that I’d be homeless in a week. Oops. This was problematic. And stressful. I viewed another property, but no. I managed to find somewhere for myself and the mog, and that was that. I was looking at imposing myself on a friend (and imposing the mog, too) for longer than would be comfortable. I slept poorly, and irritatingly (apparently). At times like this the PD does seem to get worse.

This morning I woke, got on with stuff. Noted that the fridge had vanished, sold (as expected) and continued to transcribe the interview I’m currently writing up with King Mob, the new band of Chris Spedding, Glen Matlock and Steve Parsons.

The plumber appeared, and the heating came back on. The house I was buying came back on the market. Then, out of the blue came a mail asking if I was still interested at the price I had moved to. Excited, trepidatious, I checked with my builder and a friend … the answer was yes. So, suddenly I have a house again. Barring last minute madness, I’ll move in on Friday.

But if all looked rosy, I received a call from the hospital. My MRI scan revealed a slap lesion and a labial tear in my left shoulder (Googlers beware). No wonder it’s sore! No wonder my average has reduced … could I make an appointment on Friday? I laughed … Friday week, yes … So. I see the specialist. Within six weeks of this they’ll do some arthroscopy. Then I’ll spend six weeks, maybe more, with my left shoulder in a sling. Then a month or three of rehab. Good lord. I’ll be a mutant by the end.

But … I’ll have a fantastic house, my shoulder will work, I’ll have finished my novel, my play. Life will go on. And I’ll be right in the thick of it.