My world... and welcome to it!

The pattern of things going wrong in Tullahoma whenever I am in San Diego has taken a turn.  I hope all is well in San Diego, because everything HERE has gone to worms.

First off, my housekeeper Stephanie took a week off to be with her beautiful niece Amanda and I was left to my own devices taking care of the house.   I actually was doing semi-okay on my own, except that my hubby came up lame in a big way, and threw a spanner in the works.  His leg was so painful that I couldn’t share the bed with him, so I was sleeping on the couch or on the recliner.  That was the second can of worms- I am not a pleasant person when I am not rested.  And I am never a pleasant person when my hubby is unwell.  It scares and frustrates me when the man is ailing.

I have been dealing with fear and frustration since we got back from California two weeks ago.  Dave has had another in a series of leg “flare-ups”, attributed variously to arthritis, tendonitis, and a damaged (local) lymphatic system , a complication from the bite of a black widow spider.  Yes, he has been bitten by a black widow spider.  Don’t ask.  He doesn’t get sick or injured often – which is a good thing, because he will not take care of himself in either case- but when he does, it is always picturesque.

And this time is no different.  A limp became lameness became a horrendously swollen leg; an ache became a twinge that became raging pain.  Through it all, he went to work.  By the end of each day, he was barely able to walk.  When a week of raging pain finally drove him in to see his doctor, the doc barely recognized him, it had been so long.  Doc injected cortisone into the knee and sent Dave home with an appointment for later in the week, but no drugs other than OTC ibuprofen.  An additional week of suffering, and Dave was back in the doctor’s office.  This time, instead of driving something into his knee, Doc now tried to pull something out- the excess fluid that was making Dave’s right leg look like he had elephantiasis- but it couldn’t be done.  He prescribed some medications, at LAST, so the man could at least get some sleep and scheduled Dave for an MRI the next day.

And the results are in.  Turns out Dave has both a torn ligament AND torn cartilage in his right knee.  All this damage was caused by an old fracture to the tibial tubercle, (a large outcropping of bone at the head of the tibia).  As the bone remodeled over the fracture, it became a dense mass with spurs that shred ligaments and cartilages.  But here’s the kicker.  Dave cannot remember breaking his knee.  To the best of his knowledge, Dave has never broken his knee.  And here’s where my frustration comes in.  I can remember at least two instances over the years where he “hurt” his knee badly enough to have fractured it and refused to go to the doctor.  He just stayed off the leg for a few days- you know, like you do- and let nature take its course.  MEN!!!  Now he’s telling everyone that I knee-capped him while he was sleeping.    

Of course, Dave being laid low has upset Mama.  She manifests upset in unique and peculiar ways.  First, she goes into what I call “babble and shout” mode.  She wanders through the house, making bizarre noises- gobbling like a turkey, shouting “YEAH, YEAH, YEAH” at the top of her lungs… If that doesn’t get her some attention, she sings in her shrill tuneless voice… for hours…   and hours…  The latest expression of concern is to imagine she has been robbed.   She has been obsessed about losing a necklace I have never seen her wear, so we tore up the house looking for it.  She became convinced she lost it at church, but it wasn’t in the lost and found, and the altar guild is pretty thorough.  She thinks its been stolen.  She thought her wedding rings had been stolen about three years ago, and after filing a police report, she found them in her purse.  I’m guessing the necklace is either mythical or in her purse.

Today, as Dave remained sequestered in our bedroom keeping his leg elevated, she insisted that Stephanie and I search her bedroom for an 8 X 10 portrait of herself that has gone missing.  We have searched for this before.  I am fairly certain she sent it to her daughter, but what the hell?  My time has no value anymore, so I helped search.  We didn’t find it, of course, so now – don’t get ahead of me - she is convinced someone has stolen it.  Since the only people who come into the house are friends and family, it would seem that she suspects those nearest and dearest to her of being thieves.  YOU have NOT been robbed, I say firmly.  Why would anyone leave your cash and jewelry and steal your portrait ? I ask, being the damn fool I am.  

Because it ‘s beautiful, she replies.  

Kinda hard to respond to that.

Off to bed, me, to cap my hubby’s other knee.  I think I’ll use Mama’s cane.