I am exactly 5 weeks post Achilles surgery, and try as I might, I cannot stop whining about how this enforced house arrest just sucks.
It isn't just that I am stuck here in my house for long days and long nights, for a week or more at a time... my local friends have come several times and hoisted me up and down steps for dinner, doctor's appointments, lunch.... a taste of freedom, much appreciated.
And it isn't that I am suffering malnutrition or the monotony of my own cooking. No, once again, my Tribe has feted me with everything from chicken soup and chicken salad to a huge roasted bird, chicken cacciatore, Italian Stuffed Olives, Halloween Treats, you name it.
Nor am I cut off from friends and family. My friends have stopped in a regular intervals to make sure I haven't killed the pups or burned the place down, or just to chat and catch up. Bring books from the library. Take them back when done or due.
And some of my best buddies, God knows, are looking down the tunnel at health circumstances more troublesome than me and my Achilles. And still, they come over, sit and chat and for those hours, all is simpatico.
My personal hell with all of this post-Achilles surgery recovery is the physical toll it has taken on my frame. The heel wound, not healing properly, which necessitates tedious contortions 2x a day to cleanse it, dry it, disinfect it and then dress it. A 3rd hand would come in so handy. Or maybe a hacksaw....?
Aside from wound care, everything that needs to get done, does get done... laundry, cooking, dog "walking,*" etc. But it gets done in 10X the normal time, with me wrangling my Knee Rover into tight spots, backing up, inching forward, backing up, turning, backing up, inching... or depending on my very short fuse, picked up and placed in the direction I need to go. Over. And over. And over. And over again, all day long, all night long.
Go sit on the couch to watch TV while having dinner...? oops, left my glasses in the bedroom. Want wine with dinner? Single trips for THE GLASS. Another for THE BOTTLE. Another for the DINNER PLATE. Don't forget salt and pepper, or do without it. And silverware! More tedious maddening maneuvering of the Knee Rover.
But perhaps the most frustrating aspect of this, all of this house-bound experience, is, I'M BEING FOLLOWED!
Every move I make, there is a presence in front of me, or behind me, and it is my aging Corgi, Fritty-Girl. Hip dysplasia has rendered her back legs useless, so I am intoning (some might call that SCREAMING) "MOVE, FRITTY!!!" seemingly all day and all night. Every move I make she positions herself, like a sphinx, guarding/blocking my path.
And her sad condition dictates her glacial pace at getting out of the way of the rubber tires of the Knee Rover. So we stop. We start. We Backup. Always on the move, haltingly...
By 11pm, I am mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted, my shoulders and hips are screaming at me from the daily overuse and my spirit is bruised from the various indignities of the day.
But this thing, it isn't life-threatening. It isn't terminal. This too shall pass. But not soon enough for me.