Yup, it is broken. Very, very broken.

Went to the orthopedic clinic today and confirmed that Wheeler does indeed have a broken arm, a very broken arm to be exact. And I don't have a broken arm. I know this because when he gets an x-ray, I get an x-ray. I have to hold him up! Actually, I wasn't on the film and got to wear a nifty lead vest, but it reminds me of when he is hospitalized ... he when is hospitalized, so am I. All those who deal with high level quadness know exactly what I mean. 

He has an oblique fracuture of the left humerus - it is a diagonal break, it is completely in two pieces and then just for fun, dislocated too. The treatment is just to wait for it to heal itself. They put him in a "functional brace", which is just a hard piece of plastic that protects the upper arm. The problem is that regular people can feel when the hard brace is pinching just a little wrong and can shift around. He can't feel it and so I'm terrified that his skin will pinch and cause a nasty pressure sore, which would truly be disastrous. 

I can't dress him because to dress him I have to roll him side to side to dress him, so I went and bought a bunch of sweat pants to slide - gently - onto him. I can't use our overhead lift to move him because of his arm, and so we have to do stand and pivot transfers, which is a fancy way of saying picking him up by brute force. Can't shower him, can't can't can't.... 

I'm sure this will seem more manageable in the morning, but I am truly getting overwhelmed. And panicky. Then I feel guilty on top of it all because he is the one with the broken arm for goodness sake. But it does affect me - alot - and I am trying to remember that its ok for me to feel overwhelmed too. Right? Something about being at the clinic, seeing the actual xray, hearing that it will take at least 8 weeks to heal under the best of circumstances (e.g. he wasn't a holey boned quad and had something crazy like, say, senasation) made it just all come crashing down on me. :(

And just to top it all off, the very expensive Lionel train that we bought for Offspring has a bad transformer. So I have to box it up, mail it back, etc etc. That just seems insurmountable. 

Things will seem better in the morning. 

Right? 

Sigh.

Ho ho ho, merry Christmas 2007

Merry Christmas!

Here is the giant mistletoe growing in our front yard tree.


When the big day arrived yesterday, we kicked into high gear. We had our 3-decade (really) tradition and had soups at my parent's house. Then we went to church, and on the way home from church, Offspring saw Santa!!! It was overcast and cloudy, but there was a huge bright big moon that lit up the sky. As a result, Offspring suddenly spied Rudolph's nose bright against the sky. He went bonkers, absolutely nuts - he screamed to my dad "GRAMPA!!! DRIVE FASTER GRAMPA!! SPEEEEEEEEED! I DON'T CARE IF YOU GET A TICKET, SPEED GRAMPA, SPEED!!!!". He almost launched himself out of the window of the car despite being buckled into a car seat. When we got to the driveway of the house, he burst out of the car and flew into the house where Santa had brought all of us some amazing gifts.

First, Santa brought Offspring his much (much!!) coveted Lego Mars Mission Command base.


Next, Santa-blogauthors-parents brought Wheeler a Panasonic 42 inch plasma 1080p television (<-- Wheeler had to feed me this information, its just a really cool TV to me). Its freakin' awesome. He has been talking about getting one of these TVs for months and months and months. It had actually been making me nutso, 'cause as far as I'm concerned, two HD televisions were just fine. Particularly since the one in the living room is turned on every few months at best. But he ha been going on and on- blah blah blah blah blah about a new TV. In fact, we were at Sears a couple of days ago and he spent the entire time in the TV section. I browsed everything else in the store, sheets, knick knacks, kids clothes, appliances, even tools!, bored to tears when I returned to find him still drooling over the televisions. Well, now those days are over because we have a (insert above) television in our bedroom. And I have to admit that he was right, it is freakin' awesome.

But perhaps the most exciting event of the day was the present that Santa brought early to Wheeler. As-seen-on-Tv-but-not-available-in-stores ....

a broken arm!!

Yes, you heard that right, a broken arm - for the low, low price of FREE!, delivered straight to your bedroom. Never before available, but in a special offering only for quadriplegics with weak bones due to 20 years of non-weight-bearing activity.

Yup, a broken arm.

Wheeler was being ranged, which is to say, stretched around so that his muscles stay supple and flexible since he can't do it himself. The person who was ranging him had his arm stretched over his head when suddenly there was a very loud CRACK! She came out to fetch me to check it out. I came in and it was crunchy and crackling when moving it around. And the arm had already started swelling. Within 30 minutes his upper arm was swelled such that it looked like a softball under his skin. So, now he is in a sling and gulgping ibuprofen. And I can't figure out how to get him up because I can't roll him side to side to get his pants on since I would roll him right onto that arm. What was it I was saying about drawing the short stick in life?!! In the spirit of our usual you-gotta-laugh-or-you'll-cry we know refer to this event as "The Christmas Crack".

Despite that, we had a great, great Christmas. I got brave and we made a gingerbread house. I used gluten free flour and damn if it wasn't good. As in actually good, not just a reasonable facsimile of something good.

Even Dog got into the spirit of the holiday ...

Broken wheelchair and things I said at dinner

Offspring and I are bachin' it because Wheeler is stuck in bed again. The infection? Nope. That's pretty closed to being healed and definitely close enough for him to get up, which he is very eager to do after being stuck in bed. But, his wheelchair has mysteriously died. 

The control panel / computer thingy-dingy screen started flickering like mad yesterday. I've never ever seen it do that before and neither had Wheeler in nearly 20 years of wheelin'. It wasn't clear if the chair was even on or off; I couldn't get it to stop flickering but I also could not turn it on. It continued flickering all night; I had to throw a shirt over it because it was so damn annoying in the dark. By morning, it was barely alive but still flickering. By early afternoon it was flat dead with no flickering and the battery charger won't charge/help/nothing. I am a really clever wheelchair repairwoman. Seriously, I am, you cannot believe how much time I've spent flat on my back under his chair in various contortions trying to fix one problem or another. Once I was even on the phone with the actual Permobil tech in Sweden trying to fix something. That time, incidentally, I fixed it. In fact, only once have I failed to fix it. But now it's twice. 

I called the medical supply place through which we bought the chair and left a message last night that we needed a service call asap. They called this morning and said they were really busy and they could 'probably' come tomorrow. I told them that 'probably tomorrow' was just not an option, that he needed his chair, and now. So they arrived today. But the service guy couldn't fix it either, so Wheeler's stuck for the time being. 

That's the long winded version of why Offspring and I were sitting out at the table tonight eating without Wheeler. My end of the conversation went approximately like this:

Eat.

Eat.

EAT!

Offspring!! What do you say for goodness sake!?

No, you say "excuse me" after farting and it is not funny to fart at the dinner table.

Yeah, you're right, they are actually pretty funny ... but not at the dinner table.

Hey! Neither are burps. What do you say?

What do you SAY?

Thank you.

Leave the dogs alone.

They are carrots.

Carrots.

Not parrots, carrots silly goose!

You're right, I hate parrots, so sure, eat your parrots.

Stop playing with Dogette.

It's corn.

You're right, they do look like teeth now that you mention it.

Fine - eat your parrots, eat the teeth, just eat please.

Eat.

Stop leaning back on the legs of your chair.

Now!

It's grilled cheese.

Yes you do like grilled cheese.

Eat.

Eat!

Leave the dog alone!

EAT!

Drink your milk.

Do not blow bubbles in your milk please (remembers here not to say please)

Do not blow bubbles in your milk goofapotamus.

Do NOT lean back on your chair legs!! How many times have I told you that?

No, its been more than 6 times - unless you mean in the last 15 minutes.

Eat your carrots.

Fine, parrots!

Stop making that squawking noise and eat.

Yes, I know it the sound of a parrot being eaten, but eat without making the noise of a parrot dying.

Sit down.

Sit down.

Sit down.

OFFSPRING!

Don't what me. SIT. DOWN.

Eat.

Eat.

Please eat.

How was school today besides center time?

Sit down.

Stuff. You did stuff? What stuff.

Just stuff?

DO NOT LEAN BACK ON YOUR CHAIR LEGS!

I finished my dinner ten minutes ago, that's why I'm not eating.

Stop leaning back on your chair legs or your legos are going in time out.

Yes, even the Mars Mission legos. Actually, especially the Mars Mission legos.

Thank you. Now please eat.

EAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After twenty more riveting minutes of conversation such as the above, I gave up and put his half eaten dinner in the fridge. I remember back when I used to have a regular life. At least I think I do.

Sigh....

I'm sure this will be funny someday, but it really really wasn't when it happened. And I'm still struggling to find the humor in it.

I duly started cleaning the house. I was doing great - I even emptied out two dressers in our bedroom and emptied the closet from clothes so I can organize clothes into (a) throw away (b) give away and (c) keep. My guess is that it should be about 30/50/20 split between those three categories. After I dumped everything out, my dad came over and the neighbor from across the treet came over and helped me move one dresser to the other side of the room, which frees up alot more space for Wheeler's wheelchair. We moved the other dresser down the wall, and moved the television to be centered on that dresser (finally, its been askance for 2 years!). To do all of this, I had to unhook all of the sterero components completely and then put them all back together. Somehow, it all worked - my dad hooked all the components up for me (so as to save me and Wheeler from filing for divorce - recall the 'just put that thing right there' conversation recently).

I started piling clothes into categories (a) and (b) together and then the (c) keep pile. As I was tossing something on one of the piles .... phssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhttttttttttt!!!! Suddenly yellow fog was blowing everywhere. I couldn't figure out the source and kept yelling 'what the hell? what the hell?' and I finally figured out that the fire extinguisher was under the clothing pile I was making and the lever had depressed. Which caused it to put out the fire that didn't exist. After I figured it out I shouted SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! Which caused Offspring to say "why are you saying shit mommy?".

Sigh.

There were yellow piles of anti-fire stuff everywhere. On the bed, on the floor, on the clothes, in the bathroom, everywhere. I'm glad it was in the toss/donate pile because that stuff doesn't come out at all. I rolled a giant trash bin in the house and tossed all of the clothes in the trash. Then I vacuumed for a long, long time - I even had to get out various attachments to get it sucked up. Then I cleaned up with a rag. Over and over again. Changed the bed sheets, mopped the bathroom floor, washed the windows, vacuumed again. Then I quit, it was so demoralizing, I just could not get back to cleaning/organizing. And I had to give the do what I say not what I do talk to Offpsring about all the swearing. Mother of the year I am.

And now I have a half ripped apart house that looks horrible. This is very depressing. 

Gimp awareness day

Offspring's chic haircut salon was in downtown Raleigh. Its an unexciting downtown generally speaking and really run down with the exception of one street that was renovated. But this was not the street we were on. The contrast between the new construction area where we live and downtown Raleigh was rather stark - not just in look and feel, but most importantly to us, in accessability.

First, we parked in a parking lot where there was no sidewalk connecting the lot where we parked to the salon entrance; I undershot it by one parking lot. So Wheeler had to wheel it out in the street. That wasn't so bad. Then after we left the salon we wanted to find a place to eat. In looking for a place to eat, we encountered:

• Run down broken up sidewalks that posed hazards for man and beast - especially the man in the large, heavy powerchair and the beast attached to the side of said chair.
• Curb cuts that were rudimentary at best, but then ramped up onto sidewalks with an up or down angle so steep that his wheelchair would not go up them, which forced him into the street instead.
• A rough and bumpy railroad track crossing that freaked me out because I was (likely irrationally) afraid that his wheel would get caught in the big rough divots of the tracks.
• A restaurant that put out chairs and tables on the sidewalk such that it took up the entire sidewalk - meaning, he could not roll through. Able bodied pedestrians could squeeze around the chairs by skirting around the tree between the sidewalk and the road, but wheelchairs don't skirt. I moved all of the chairs, pushed the tables in and moved their velvet rope type enclosure that was meant to block off the tables and chairs to let him and Dog through. Then I left all of the tables and chairs there 'cause it really annoyed me they blocked the entire sidewalk.
• There were places where the sidewalk was closed, which meant we had to either cross the street to use the (run down, narrow, obstacled) sidewalk on the other side of the road, or he had to wheel out in the street where a car could easily sideswipe Dog or them both. I absloutely insisted that he cross and use the sidewalk on the other side of the street and then he was peeved at me because (as he said) he's been gimpy for 19 years and knows how to roll around safely .... but I don't want him dead! It's not him that I worry about, its the idiots behind the wheel who don't expect a wheelchair and a dog on the street. So I chose his temporary ire to a possible car vs. wheelchair/dog problem.
• Most stores/restaurants had a handicapped entrance somewhere, but it was in a funny place or was a really circuitous route to get in. That wasn't so bad in and of itself, we've had to do that before, but never at every single place we went to. After about the third time, I began to feel sorta excluded, I guess is the way to say it. Even though we could get in. It's hard to explain without sounding like a crip with a chip, as Wheeler puts it. It was separate but equal. Except it didn't feel equal. I'm really not sure how else to explain that.
• Then to top it all off, when we left the restaurant and looped back around the block to where we parked, there was no sidewalk (again). It was actually a wide road, and very lightly traveled, so I wasn't worried that we'd be maimed, and us walking there didn't impinge on the roadway at all because the shoulder was very wide. But a kindly gentlemen in a brand new Camry drove past us, accelerated as he did, and laid on his horn while making a gesture at us of "what the hell are you doing on the road, get out of my way!". Oh, ok. Soooooooooo sorry that his WHEELCHAIR and broken neck inconvenienced you in some unknown way. I was torn because running up to him at the stopsign a half block up from us and inform him that Wheeler's wheel cost more than his brand new shiny car and feeling like I'd been socked in the stomach.

By the time we left, I felt really disillusioned and kinda down. The thing is that I am famously oblivious to Wheeler's disability - I guess its part of why I answered his personal ad, which led to our courtship and marriage. Chair shmair, who cares. I wear shoes he wears wheels. After a week of meeting each other, he asked me "are you sure you don't mind that I can't move my arms and legs?". I looked at him quizzically then said "does it bother you that I can move mine?".

But when the obstacles of disability were so in-my-face all afternoon, it just sucked. I was glad to come home to our new construction snooty suburb with brand new sidewalks, curb cuts everywhere and businesses with accessible entrances.

You see things with new eyes when you look at the world from that of a seated position.

So much for a teachable moment and sleeping at the movies

I am a good mother. A really good mother actually. But ya know, sometimes it just don' work all the time. Like throwing a dart at a moving (5 year old) target. Yesterday was "caring" day at the Y. He was supposed to dress in red to symbolize caring. Not sure what the connection is between red and caring but that's neither here nor there. Tuesday is honesty day it is green day. Not the band. So anyway. Like a good mom, I dressed him in a red shirt and red socks (his race car socks, his favorite). First of all, finding two MATCHING socks, particularly designed matching socks is an accomplishment of the highest order in this house. Several people can attest to the fact that our house eats socks. As in munches them up and swallows. I'm convinced if I went under the house in the crawl space I would find gads of undigested socks. I also put him in his red shoes - very snazzy - slip ons from LL Bean. But alas, they were too small so we went with bright blue and white. Mama is a shoe horse and is trying to teach her son to be one too. This boy has more shoes than any kid, well boy, I guarantee.

As a good mother, I decide that on the way to the Y, we'll have bonding time and learning time all rolled into one and talk about caring. I told him that I cared about him, that was a very important trait to have and he answered me with all of the people he cared about, starting with MOI!

Full stop. The last sentence was a complete fabrication. Oh wait, the last sentence was full stop. ... well, you know what I mean. I said what I said and as I said it the whole time he was saying "HMMMM!" in that snotty little boy way. Huffing and harumphing his way through my little "teachable moment" to show me he was NOT interested in what I had to say. When I asked him if he cared about anyone, he said "NO! NOBODY! And not you!". Hmmmmm. One of those mothering dilemmas. Do I said "well young man, if you don't START caring about me, I'm going wup ya until you CARE about me stoppin!"# (a version of the beating will continue until morale improves ... a sign I had in my swank corporate office when I did swank corporate things). But no, of course I don't say that - I just thinked it really really loud.

I just said "hmmmmm. Is there anyone you care about?". Small Boy: "NO! And I don't wanna talk about caring!" So much for bonding, teachable moments, etc. Instead we rode in silence with Small Boy opening and closing the window the rest of the way.

Last night I got talking to someone about the Da Vinci code movie and I was reminded of Wheeler's high degree of interest in it. He was keen to see a movie, we go to the movies annually (this is not an exaggeration unfortunately!). So Da Vinci code it was. After the first 10 mins of the movie in which there is tons of action and excitement, to my horror, I hear REALLY LOUD snoring coming from the man in a wheelchair next to me. As I had of course no idea who this person could possibly be, I could not know such a creature, I merely socked the poor soul in the shoulder to wake him up. It didn't work, but the next snore did. SNNNOORRRRRRTTTTTTTT! It was so loud that Wheeler (ok, OK! I knew the guy, it was my husband) woke himself up. The whole theatre was consumed with quiet giggles, laughs of people trying not the laugh. Meanwhile I shrunk down in my chair in sheer and total embarrassment whilst Wheeler looks around confused saying "what?". Blogauthor sinks lower into seat ..... Next time we go I'm adminstering caffeine to him by IV before and throughout the show.

Things that make me laugh

• Finding a plumber who has a "service 4 toilets get one free" coupon. As it happens, I have 5 toilets with SERIOUS issues, so I guess I'll only pay for four.
• The song "Milkshake". And I know it also amuses at least one other reader here.
• My kid when he puts his hands on his hips and says "uhhh, mom! Like that is soooo last week" whilst rolling his eyes looking evah so cool. I have, of course, no earthly idea where he got that from.
• When said plumber calls me and says "what brand are your toilets?" and I reply "uhhhhhhhh. white?"
• Wheeler falling asleep in his chair with his head rolling forth and back hitting the button that goes BEEP! and makes his chair drive, watch him wake up in a panic and stop the chair. Repeat. About 18 times in succession. (I took pity today and turned his chair off when he fell asleep ... note to self: be sure to turn chair on again at some point ...)
• Wallace and Gromit
• The frenzy and panic whipped up 'round here when one flake of snow is predicted.

The absurdity of life never ceases to amaze me!

The Seven Circles of Hell

If you know me, you know what that means. Yes, I went there. There-there. The first circle of hell was driving there realizing what an ethical breach I was making by shopping there. The 2nd and 3rd circles were literal - trying to park while fighting to get away from people who fervently believed that the 79th -from-the-front and 83rd-from-the-front parking spaces were exceptionally worth crashing one's car over. So after I parked about 1.3 miles away in another parking lot altogether (somehow it made me feel less dirty about it all), I approached it. It-it. Wwww. No, I can't say it yet.

As I enter (name here), the 4th circle appeared. I see this woman right in front of me wearing super extra duper super tight leggings. They showed every single jiggle, jangle and wiggle waggle of her ummm, "ample" thighs and legs. Over this was a very old and ripped plaid shirt that obviously belonged to her husband about 2 decades ago. He was next to her wearing an equally appalling outfit. Their kid then promptly ran me down on those godforsaken things called heelies. I wanted to shout "I HAVE A HEAD INJURY, GET AWAY YE DEVIL, AWAY!!"

I then go in, get my items quickly - of which the primary one I had to get, an Rx prescription, was not attainable because the pharmacy was closed (the 5th circle, I had gone here in vain). WTF? If there is any place on earth where a pharmacy would be open on say, Christmas Day at 3 am, it would be .. wahhh. wwww... no, can't do it yet.

Taking a deep breath, I approached the 6th circle of hell (I think 5-1/2 was somewhere around the guy elbowing me out of the way to get cold medicine, who then promptly turned around and *sneezed* on me. thankyousomuchsir). The checkouts. There were 21 regular ones, 8 express and 8 self checkouts. Of those that were open, there were a minimum of 4 giant carts awaiting their turns to be rung up. So I waited patiently, browsing impulse items, seeing HOW STARS LOSE 10 POUNDS IN TWO DAYS!! and finally it was my turn. $53 later (how can bandages cost this much?) I started to leave, much to my relief.

Then, the 7th circle appeared right in front of me. The security guy. Wearing some faux intimidating stupid ass wannabe police type outfit (I am sooooooo not fooled), he asked me for my receipt. I replied "why? do you think I stole something?". And he said "Policy ma'am". I said "it's a bad one" and waltzed right out as he shouted after me. I figured he could tackle me to the ground and check my receipt to find that I am, indeed, an upstanding non-thieving citizen or he could just kiss my ass. He chose the latter.

Alright then, I think I'm ready to say it. Big breath. Please don't hate me. I am ashamed, really, I am.

Preview

I went to Wal Mart