Another Lucky Break

I have broken a variety of bones in my life, this is the second time I can call it lucky.

The first was on Emma’s birthday in 2009. I did not know the door I was exiting through had a two foot drop, and stepped out while turning (probably to see someone warning me). I broke my left elbow and damaged a knee. I was placed on disability for three months. Right around Emma’s surgery. My right arm was still good and I could take care of her and be with her in the month before the surgery and help her with recovery. I also missed a public transportation strike.

This time is a longer story.

When I “had my accident” (the euphemism I use for breaking my brain) other parts of my body were damaged in the fall.

My right arm was obvious, my girlfriend who found me said it was “bent in a way arms are not supposed to be bent.” It was so bad I had to wait for parts. Two days later when the parts arrived, I had healed enough they didn’t need all of them. I have the nicest scar. When I extend my arm (which they told me I would never do again) there is a perfectly straight line from about two inches above my elbow to about two inches below it.

My brain was the main focus of attention. I had wonderful rehab, but they never promise you will be as you were. I visited a Neurologist who had no interest in the numbness in my foot, he just wanted to get me to take something for my Multiple Sclerosis. So I took Tysabri for a few months until it made me sick, like all the other meds I have taken for MS. Then when I moved to Pennsylvania a year later, I saw another Neurologist who had no interest in my foot, but wanted me to try the latest drug for MS. Neither asked about the Traumatic Brain Injury. This is part of why I don’t bother with Neurologists anymore.

I had physical rehab to work on my sense of balance and help my gait. They saw the difficulty I had walking and assigned it to my TBI. Months, years, passed; I just can’t move the toes on my foot, and the outer side is numb.

Then, as the quarantines started to lift Janice and I went to a party in Atlantic City. It was a Disco theme put on by Grown Folks Gatherings, a group for people over forty. Janice had a blast putting together our costumes.

We had planned to spend the night and were enjoying drinks when Janice asked me to dance. Nothing fancy, we both carry canes to walk, but we made our way to the dance floor. Janice managed to slam her cane onto my foot. It hurt. The next morning, along with the cute circular bruise, my toes weren’t all pointing in the same direction.

When we got home I taped the toes together and decided to wait before going to a doctor. After maybe a week it didn’t hurt, my toes all pointed the same direction, and I could move them! They were no longer numb.

I believe my foot was broken in my accident, and healed improperly, pinching a nerve. When Janice broke it, she freed up the fused bones and freed the nerve. No proof, but it certainly looks as if that is what happened. Someday I’ll have it X-Rayed, it will be interesting to see what’s in there.

It took Janice a bit to get used to me saying “Thank you for breaking my foot.” She had felt bad about it at first, but the foot wasn’t working properly before, there was no real damage to do.

We’ve been looking at some rather dark days recently, fires, floods, storms, the Delta variant, the fall of Kabul. I’m just happy to have my toes back.

What am I doing?

I’ve been writing this blog for a bit over eight years, sometime I look at old articles and wonder who wrote them. I have lost any sense of direction, and mostly just rant about things here. I still get a few viewings every day from all over the world, so I won’t delete it, I just don’t know about adding to it.

I recognize my abilities are withering. My memory is jumbled and I lose track of what I’m talking about mid sentence. And another all important item; I am completely out of touch with everyone. I can try to say something pleasant and have it misinterpreted as an insult, so now I’m never sure if I’m insulting people.

To expand on the out of touch theme:

I am Queer, a title that many people of the LGBTQ community find insulting.

I am Bisexual, another title challenged by LGBTQ young people who somehow believe it to be discriminatory.

I grew up uninterested in race, I always took people as individuals, but now due to my race alone I am considered racist.

I am a veteran, proud of my accomplishments, now watching them turn to dust. I am easily irritated by folks who say “Pray for the people of Afghanistan” but upon seeing a C-17 packed with refugees say “They’re not coming here are they?” For crying out loud, that plane was full of American citizens! Then the same moron says “This is because of an intelligence failure.” Yes. Their own. That intel is ignored or delayed is not the source’s failure.

I was born in 1958, and for some reason being an elder is no longer respected, my thoughts are discarded as old.

I learn these things through conversations with younger people. Like every generation before me I think they are going to destroy civilization.

I learned long ago that I don’t fit in any pigeonhole, I am unique, and it frustrates the hell out of some people. People who latch on to one element of a personality and expect everything else about that person to conform to their stereotypes. Just don’t call me a “Free thinker,” that title has been stolen by a group with absolutely no free thoughts.

So this little rant just lets you know I didn’t die of Covid (vaccinated and always masked) and intend to continue adding to this blog as time goes by.

It’s just that now is not a good time.