Thursday, 31 March 2016

Broken bones and muscle memory

The last two months, life has been getting in the way of blogging. Not in a good way. First my mother died, and then was stress about fighting fees from her rest home and other financial issues, and now, after a moment's inattention at the top of some stairs, I've had surgery, ankle in a cast, and trying to learn to be comfortable on crutches. I've gone into more detail here on A Separate Life.

I had a few No Kidding thoughts. One was that I'd be completely helpless without my husband. Family and friends have children who are either adults or are old enough to be able to help. If I was single, I  simply wouldn't be able to live in this house. 

I have to give myself injections every evening, to avoid blood clots for the six weeks I will have my cast. The nurses were worried about me doing this myself. "No problem," I said. "I've done IVF." My first injection was last night. It's like riding a bike. It came automatically.

In X Ray, they still ask if there's any chance I'm pregnant. Apparently they are required to ask female patients up to 60 years old. One young woman apologised for asking. I cheerfully informed her I have no uterus. But said there wad a time that would have upset me. I remember well 13 years ago when I was sent for a chest x-ray to ensure my ectopic pregnancy wasn't in fact trophoblastic cancer. I was referred by the gynae ward, but the details didn't come through or were never read, And when asked if there was a chance I was pregnant, I dissolved into tears. Such a simple, necessary question had been so cruel then, and so unnecessary. This time, I didn't flinch. Or any flinching was purely habit, muscle memory, remembering the pain that no longer came.

Finally, I was never once asked if I had children. Three days of urgent clinics to the Emergency Department to the orthopaedic ward to operating theatre to recovery to physio to discharge, even with mention of IVF, I was treated as a human being first and foremost. That was what was important, not whether I had procreated or not. It was, frankly, a relief, given everything else that had been going on.


8 comments:

  1. dear Mali, I wish you a quick recovery!
    I am glad that DH is part of your life, so you don't have to go through healing process alone.
    Yes, who would thought that being an expert in IVF needles would be helpful one day.

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  2. I hope that you heal up quickly and that the surgery does the job! It gives me a great amount of hope that you weren't asked about progeny, because that's something that you really didn't need at that time.

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  3. Oh my goodness!!! I'm so sorry to hear about your ankle! Sending wishes of speedy recovery.

    I am glad the medical staff has been treating you so well. It's good that they are focusing on you and your health. Wishing the rest of society would learn the importance of this lesson.

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  4. I had noticed the online silence -- so sorry you're having to deal with this, especially so soon after losing your mother. :( As someone on your other blog said, hopefully these incidents don't come in threes. :p (((hugs)))

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  5. Oh no! I'm sorry to hear about your ankle. An injury like that is so distruptive. I do appreciate that you got out of there with your dignity in tact. Score one for modern medicine.

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  6. Oh, no! I hope you heal up soon. That must have felt like a little victory, to be asked the dreaded X-Ray question and not have it cause pain. I can't believe they asked that when you had the ectopic/cancer screening, that those records didn't come up before you did. How infuriating. I'm glad you have your husband to help you navigate your crutches, and that your medical staff is super sensitive and human. Beautiful. I hope recovery time goes fast!

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  7. O dear!
    ( I can't help but think that if you were single you would have handled it somehow) But ever so glad your husband is there for support!

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  8. Dear Mali,

    I hope this finds you healing a bit, or at least void of further complications. Interesting how after everything we've been through, being treated as a human being first becomes quite the vivid experience. So nice to hear.

    The needle thing always sends me into gales of laughter. I know I should be glad that my primary care dr is being sensitive with my flu shot, instead I roll my eyes when he tries to "distract" me. And I know, I know needles are like heights in a way (I'm afraid of heights), you can either tolerate them or not, and that's neither here nor there. But I just can't help chuckling at the wimp factor out there. If presented with a needle situation these days, I flash back to the ten cycles I did and our comprehensive drug protocol (which I'm sure is not that abnormal) and smirk. Uh, yeah. I think I'll be ok:-)

    You'll be in my thoughts.

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