I took a bath today. Not my first one since the accident, mind you. I've been keeping regular hygiene habits though all this. I might be laid up for two months, but i don't have to look like it. Or smell like it, for that matter. I've managed to get in the tub all on my own from the very beginning. Filling up our claw-foot and pouring in the epsom salts. Washing my hair and submerging to rinse. I'd just pretend I was in a Jane Austen novel or Little House on the Prairie. Where the entire family shares one tub of hot water. This was luxury in comparison. And the few showers I have taken, perched atop a milk crate, padded with a folded towel, because I couldn't yet submerge my incision site, felt oddly extravagant. Steaming water streaming over my entire body. Close my eyes. Soak up the sensation. Makes me grateful. This is how I picture a shower to feel after a summer of camping in the woods. I'm great at bathing in a bucket, but there's something soulfully calming about a hot shower. I have definitely taken that for granted.
This bath marks a special occasion, though. I saw my new orthopaedic surgeon for the first time today. Dr. White. I've never been one for going to doctors and now I find myself with two professional orthopaedic surgeons in as many states. Ball-ahh. Dr. White had x-rays taken and we compared them to my last films. (P.S. Phil -the donor bone- is doing fine and his "touretts" has been under control, minus the first evening I spent in Chicago, when my legs muscles seized so violently I silently considered an exorcism). I realized, as the nurse moved me and positioned me, that this horizontal modeling had been performed on me before, right after my surgery. While I was still under anesthesia. I have amazing copies of x-rays as proof, but no recollection to correspond with the event. And that makes me feel weird for a minute. Like I'd been time traveling again. Only instead of waking up cold and confused, and still inside the Sheridan Bar, I came to in a cotton gown (read: half naked) newly armed with titanium pins and plates. Bionic Audrey. But she still can't hold her liquor.
The fist x-rays I had taken were on the day of the accident. These were awkward in a different way. My knee was eight times its original size and the odd angles the technician attempted to photograph me from sent shooting pain through my body. I remember laying on the cold, hard table holding my breath, wincing in pain. Dollar signs flashed across my anxious mind. As I lay motionless, it became suddenly clear I had two tasks ahead of me: (1) Cancel my reservation for Valentine's Day at 221 and hope my hot date would take a rain check. And (2) Email AhHaa for a refund and let Sasha know how disappointed I was that I wouldn't be able to take her burlesque class after all. (I am still proud to say I was the very first student to sign up). Hey, everyone has priorities, people. Mine just happened to be a bit off kilter that day. I blame the endorphins and the exhaust from the snow mobile ride.
While my return to the dance floor may still be a ways off, Dr. White informed me that he was very pleased with my progress and on the time line for my recovery I was definitely advanced. I didn't jump off the exam table and break it down in his office, but my heart and my head did a little tango at the thought of bluegrass tunes and the Jud Wiebe trail. I couldn't bring myself to ask him where I stand in terms of hiking potential this summer. Trying not to get ahead of myself. I have my first physical therapy appointment tomorrow morning (first one since the surgery) and I am anxious to regain the mobility I have lost. But the doctor is confident I will be back to normal in no time. And despite the atrophied muscle and joint stiffness I am doing great. I would love to hike another 14er this season, but right now, walking across the room would serve as an equally rewarding accomplishment. Weird how that happens. Perspective. Everything looks different depending on where you're standing.
So, bandage free-staples out-tape removed-compression sock retired-I sink down into the warm bath water, and do what I have been dying to do for weeks: shave those pesky little hairs growing along my incision line. Sexy. I might even celebrate this good news by painting my toenails. Hey, it's sunny and 49 degrees (that counts as warm in these here parts)and if this weather keeps up I might be able to wear a dress and my flip-flops...some time in June.
And word of advice - packing for a two month "vacation" in Maine should be added to the warning labels for all major narcotics. (Read: May cause drowsiness and/or dizziness. Use caution when operating a car or dangerous machinery. Do not attempt to make any practical or purposeful clothing decisions) Ladies and gentlemen, the new Spring fashion...Percocet Eclectic.
Here's to healing and hoping...that my mom will let me raid her closet.
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