Posts Tagged ‘post-op recovery’

When I first carved out this little corner of the intarwebs with but a left hand tossing painkillers and shots of Jameson down the hatch, I was writing purely for my own sanity.  I would mock my own crippled ass, and marvel at how difficult some tasks could be with only one usable hand.  All in all, more of you read that shit than my rants and running commentary.

It’s ok, I understand that I was a better writer while shitfaced.  It’s been a trait that I’ve been aware of for about a decade.  That, however, has positively jack dick to do with this edition.  I think I may have killed Jill 2.0.

That which hath gimped me, sans sling.

Remember this?  Yeah, very real fear.

That’s right, my precious repaired hand has given me reason to worry enough to call a physician.  What genius move did I do to cause this, you ask?  What could I have possibly done that would do more damage than a Tough Mudder (let alone two?)  I’m almost embarrassed to say, and it actually didn’t involve a foray into my boxers.

I played dodgeball…  for five freaking hours.

That’s right.  It wasn’t catching a fridge, it wasn’t doing dumb shit at the gym, and it surely wasn’t a marathon fap session in front of the tube.   I was playing a game that fellow 80’s children know and love.  I hadn’t played since maybe high school, and I was being called in as a ringer for my wife’s company team…  I figured, “Hey, what’s the worst that could happen?  We’ll play three or four games, get eliminated, and it’ll be fun!  I can’t wait to see what this body of mine can do compared to runt me.”

Yeah, I'm saying the same damn thing.

Shut up, Jean Luc.

So here I am, two full weeks later, and my wrist is snapping in ways it hasn’t since the doctor fixed the initial injury.  Was an astounding third place ranking in the tournament worth it?  Maybe.  Would I do it again?  Maybe–  it was pretty funny seeing what this body can do when I’m listening to Amon Amarth and playing a game based upon agility and relentless hostility.  There’s a certain delectable joy that can be derived when you’re playing against a team of high school varsity athletes, you’re the last one standing, and you gun down the three remaining members of their team with extreme prejudice.

Then again, that might also be how I threw my hand off my wrist.  That’s all I can figure happened.  The arm hasn’t thrown full power in years, it’s a lot stronger than it used to be, and Jill 2.0 isn’t as durable as she was in yesteryear.

Tomorrow I get to find out where I go from here, and if I’m going to be able to tackle Tough Mudder #3….  if my last workout is any indication, I’m seriously worried.

Unplug.

 

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This is just rich.  I’ve been on the injured reserve at work since surgery.  I got a call last week from my nurse case manager, asking when I would be cleared for light duty at work.  Considering my current line of employ (see also:  the place paying my worker’s comp checks), involves a lot of awkward lifting and carrying– light duty would relegate me to being office bitch.

No biggie, with 50% strength back in Jill– and about 75% mobility– clerical work would be no issue.  Then again, I’d be put in close quarters with the boss for about 40 of my 50 hours in the week, but I’m not accounting for that blossom of “bliss.”   So after my rehab evaluation yesterday (never thought I’d be saying those words…), and getting the rough numbers above, I made a pit stop by work to let the boss know the good news.

Tell 'em Vlad

Even Putin wants to declare shenanigans…

The boss decided to inform me that they don’t want me back until I’m positively at 100%.  This is a complete 180 from company policy, let alone from the comp company’s standpoint last week.  If this shit was any more ass backwards, I’d swear I was dealing with a government office.

Seriously, the boss called me at least twice in the immediate two days after surgery.  I can’t be sure about the exact count, because I kept myself nicely buffered from both pain and reality.  That’s my explanation for the freak attack of CRS, and I’m sticking to it.  Regardless, they were up my ass in ways that would make a Thai hooker blush.

Now, when I’m able to perform most of my former duties, they want to keep me on the I.R. until my happy ass is up to tossing a couch on my shoulder and walking away with it.  You know what I have to say about that?

In the immortal words of DX

Don’t pretend that you don’t know the two words…

It would appear that something unusual is transpiring here, and I’m too much of a cynic to buy into the possibility that they’re looking out for my well being.  They didn’t care during the eight months that I worked with torn cartilage in Jill.

Something smells rotten, and I just took a shower this morning.

Unplug.

I know last time I sat down at my keyboard, I was a bit of a raging bastard.  Yes, I still stand by my words, and I still feel justified in every last one of them– it’s still posted, isn’t it?  Anyway, today’s been a perfect bookend to the deicidal  fury of Friday, and the subsequent smoldering up until yesterday’s tirade.

First off, I got an important phone call (neither from work, nor from the previously alluded-to company) and it freaking made my morning.  That was great, then I found out that the duster I’d bought for Halloween was at the UPS Hub.  Between these two levels of awesome, was a priceless bit of WTF.

Yes, I am pretty fluent in Text– just like my other written/spoken sub-languages: Sarcasm, Typo, Drunk, Condescending, Legal, Medical, and Psychotic.  Get used to it, but I digress.

Since I’ve been working on dropping the couch-poundage that I packed on during the whole Jill-in-cast period, it only makes sense that I work out as well as diet.  I don’t just work out, I kick my own ass.  Since Jill’s still recovering, I’m only working lower body (giggity), cardio, and core– the last being the only one I habitually used to work.  From the get-go, I know this is going feel pretty damn awkward– like the first time I started hitting the gym like a narcissistic perfectionist three years ago.

Holy crap, they DO have a sign for that!

It's not worth it if you didn't work for it.

Did I remember to add in that this is, like, the second time I’ve gone to this gym– ever– to use the membership that I signed up for before I had surgery?  If you’ve ever joined a gym, you know the whole new-gym feeling that I’m trying to work out.  On top of that, I’ve gotta watch what I do so as not to aggravate the wrist– but still hammering away at the flubber using exercises that I don’t normally do.

When feeling out the new gym, you also get to see the scenery.  Compared to my old gym (which shall remain nameless because I’m not going to get hit with a libel/slander suit from those freaks), Nautilus is very different– and pretty bad ass on the level of equipment.  There’s a bunch of old dudes, a few really fit dudes, and a similar juxtaposition for the ladies.  Am I there for the scenery?  No, but I do have eyes.  Seriously.  Anyone who tries to claim otherwise is a hypocrite, and should be hit in the mouth with a tree branch.  Before anyone tries to throw the “pig” card out, one– you’re a hypocrite (see above) and two– my girlfriend and I have already had conversations about this and we had identical thoughts on the subject.

Anyway.

Peek a boo?

Yeah, people think they can surreptitiously stare. Most are really bad at it. The best part is, they're clueless.

I’d kicked my ass for the better part of an hour, throwing a small amount of core in between the bike and the elliptical.  First, I caught a few girls looking.  Cheers, apparently I hid my weight gain well.  In the middle of my bemusement, a guy ran past the elliptical on the track.

This is the point where I closed my eyes and focused on the DevilDriver blaring in my headphones– just to not crack up.  Flattery is sometimes funny, and it’s not like I’m a freaking phobe.  The funny part of this is, the size of the indoor track requires something like 16 laps to run a mile.  He.  Kept.  Passing.  By.  And.  Never.  Got.  Better.  At.  Staring.

Meanwhile, I’m sweating like a Steeler Fan in the Dog Pound– so I’m starting to wonder if I’m actually looking apocalyptic, and I’m having the trainwreck effect on this particular Takei (off topic: having a gay man as one of my closest friends for like six years has given me impeccable gaydar.  This one was a bottom.  Yeah, that precise.  Anyway.).  I figure that maybe a little eye contact might pass along the hint, “yeah, you’re busted, I’m feeling weird here.”  Yeah, he totally didn’t get the point– or couldn’t find a damn to give.  I will never know.

It didn’t stop me from putting in a solid hour and a half workout, put out 9 miles on the bike/elliptical, burned somewhere above 600 calories for the workout.  I say it wasn’t too bad of a second day back.  I am pretty stoked for this.

Hell, I got good news, and I got a chuckle in today.  I’d call today a win… but I’m not sure which way to look at the funny part.  I mean either I’m a hot mess, or things are going to get downright awkward once I get my bodyfat percentage down.

Unplug.

Well, several friends of mine have inquired about the kind of maniacal weight loss bullshit lurking in the back of my masochistic mind.  The way I see it, I have about 20-25lbs to drop before I even think about trying to get back to physical upgrades.

So, here we go.  Humor aside, take a glimpse into the “super cereal” way I’m viewing this undertaking.  Believe you me– this stage of post-op recovery is going to on an epic level of dedication.

Under each category is a choice, to keep the monotony away.

Totally symbolic, of course

It sounds more dedicated than "Crash Diet," don't you think? Exactly my thoughts.

The Kamikaze Diet
Not for the faint of heart.

Breakfast:

  1. One (1) banana, one (1) light yogurt
  2. One (1) banana, one (1) hard-boiled egg
  3. Small bowl of oatmeal, with cinnamon

Lunch:

  1. Tomato salad w/ diced mozzarella
  2. Tomato salad w/ diced avocado
  3. Baby spinach salad w/ diced tomato and 1 scoop cottage cheese
  4. Roasted pepper & spinach wrap

Dinner:

  1. Baked salmon/tilapia over baby spinach & diced tomato
  2. Tuna salad stuffed avocado
  3. Miso soup w/ 6 pcs of tilapia/salmon sushi
  4. Baked salmon/tilapia w/ side of roasted peppers/carrots
  5. Stir fry of peppers, broccoli, snow peas, tofu
  6. Arribiata Puttanesca (my recipe, my secret) sauce w/ tofu shirataki (instead of pasta)

Snackage (unlimited)

  1. Carrots (raw or roasted w/ cinnamon)
  2. Sugar snap peas, or snow peas
  3. Celery
  4. Cherry/Grape Tomatoes

Snackage (sparingly)

  1. Cheese
  2. Peanut butter or Nutella wrap
  3. Apples/Oranges/Clementines
  4. Tortilla Chips & Salsa  (can be subbed in slightly larger quantities for lunch)
  5. Raw almonds

Beverages

  1. Coffee (black or w/ splenda)
  2. Green Tea (hot or chilled) (can be doctored w/ honey, splenda, or crystal light)
  3. Other teas (same as above)
  4. Fruit Juices (must be 100% juice, drink sparingly)
  5. Water


That’s fairly complete, but then again– my friends also know me as a foodie as well as a… participant in the alcoholic arts.  I will be allowing myself one “F’ off” meal every two weeks, just to keep it interesting– to keep me dedicated– and to keep my body remembering what it’s like to crush a burger and wings.

As for the booze front, I’m sticking to Micky Ultra variants in small quantity, as well as straight (non sweetened) whiskeys and bourbons.  I’ll have to do some research, but now that I’m going to have an insanely high activity level–  drinking occasions will naturally be fewer.

As for supplements, well– here’s a quick list of what I take, some AM, some PM, some both.  If you want clarification (or have any questions), comment and I’ll respond.

  • Multivitamin
  • Chromium picolinate
  • Echinacea/goldenseal
  • Omega 3 w/ glucosamine
  • Green tea extract
  • Acai extract
  • Ginseng complex
  • Royal jelly
  • Multi-amino supplement
  • B complex
  • Milk thistle
  • Cranberry extract

…  Yes, I can down a fistful of pills without hesitation.  Don’t judge me.

Unplug.