I’ve been around a lot of doctors. All different kinds and specialties. Young, old, professional, unprofessional, humble and complete jackasses. I can tell from the moment they walk into the room whether or not they will be worth the co-pay. Of course, there are those who are so intelligent they can not communicate with you. And there are also doctors you cannot understand, because learning the English language is not required to get a medical license in the U.S.

My least favorite doctor was a general surgeon who helped fix my internal injuries. While in ICU they would do grand rounds 2-3 times a week and the entire medical team working on me would stand in my room and talk about me. After the first week I was fully awake and able to participate and ask questions. This older doctor did not believe I should be allowed to participate in the discussion of my own body and asked a nurse to give me a sedative before the next grand rounds - right in front of me. I was on a lot of drugs at the time and I remember telling him to go somewhere…not sure where? I just remember the nurse busted out laughing.

After the car accident I was assigned a new doctor in our area who was the chief orthopedic trauma surgeon at the hospital I was taken to. He was a good doctor and a nice man. His bedside manner was probably one of the best I have experienced and I was surprised, because given the life and death situations he’s faced over the years it had not hardened him.

In a small hospital waiting room he told my husband that my worst injury was to my elbow. His expectations were that I would never be able to feed myself with that arm or bend it, but he wasn’t giving up. While I was still in ICU unable to move anything from the waist down, he had a therapist in my room everyday working with that arm. Then, he had a special machine flown in that constantly moved my elbow back and forth to get the joint working. He didn’t accept his own diagnosis and because of that I am able to use that arm.

I spent many hours with him in the operating room during the first year of rehabilitation and many more office visits. (I’m pretty sure we made a few of his house payments as well!) It reached a point in my recovery that he explained there wasn’t much more he could do for me. It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it that made the sting burn a little less. He took the time in his busy schedule to offer me his apologies that modern medicine has only advanced so far. He went on to apologize for the circumstances that had led me to him.

I found it ironic that the man who had helped fix me was apologizing for why I was broken. He was gentle and he was sensitive, but more importantly he did not lie and promise me a full recovery. Instead he encouraged me to take advantage of any treatments available.

This week the ankle specialist he referred me to dropped me. He bluntly stated there was nothing more he do for me. This doctor offered no encouragement, but instead painted a rather bleak picture of what my life will be like. He offered no hope and only stated his view on what I will or won’t be capable of. Instead he sent me home with a glorified ice pack and said good luck.

His words stung and the fact he couldn’t look me in the eyes was even more piercing. Little does he know that I would never let his opinions define me, like his actions have defined him.

Many people have told me how blessed I am. I think they are trying to remind me in this time of frustration that although it’s been an uphill battle, it’s a battle I’m still here to fight. At times I wonder when the blessing will end.

My ankle is not healing. In fact, it’s much worse. It has gotten bad enough that since the weekend I cannot put much (if any) weight on it, even using crutches, without severe pain. Anyone who’s experienced pain knows how hard it is to count your blessings when you are hobbling around. Add a 15 pound bag with a tube constantly sucking your ankle, and you may reconsider what you define as a blessing.

To keep my sanity I have to make fun of people. Sometimes I find myself easily amused. Over the past few days I’ve endured some strange looks and a few odd comments. I think it’s the long tube coming from my waist that is attached to the my new best friend (the black pump purse).

So far this is what I’ve heard:

“Are you going to make it?”

[This was in a very serious tone from someone I didn’t know! Can you imagine their response if I’d broke down crying and said no? They might rethink their approach.]

“So, did they remove your colon?”

[No, it’s in the black bag.]

“I had a black fanny pack once that looked very similar to that style.”

[What? I’m fairly certain the lady who made this statement did not even realize it was a piece of medical equipment, not a fashion statement.]

After Christmas I found a vase at Lowe’s for less than $3 on clearance. I thought it would make a good decoration for our living room and I liked the warm color. It wasn’t until after I got it home and out of the box, that I noticed this little label on the bottom.

I’m fairly certain Lowe’s doesn’t sell lead paint right? So why are they selling home decorations with lead? Their web site gives you information on how to protect your family from unnecessary lead exposure and their stores sell lead testing kits. Never would I have imagined I’d need to break out a kit and test an item in their store BEFORE I purchased it!

But it’s all good. We don’t live in California. Apparently, that is the only state that lead can cause “reproductive harm” to consumers. It’s a damn good thing we live in Indiana. To be on the safe side though, I’ll try and keep my husband (and son) from licking the vase…just in case.

I don’t think love is as much a feeling, as it is an action.

Love just spent the last 2 hours trying to get a huge stain out of the carpet that I created. (Did you know that a paper plate can flip if it’s left on the edge of a table and you barely touch it?)

Love wishes we had hardwood floors. Thank God for love! It is what has held this marriage together for the past 6 weeks.

This is the Pizza Pie dish that I managed to totally flip onto our living room floor. Thus far we’ve used Oxy, Woolite and DeSolvit on the spot and cleaned it thoroughly with our Bissell Upright Steam Cleaner. (I say we, but I mean the guy in love with me.)

Any suggestions?

After a few recent posts, I’m trying to keep a better attitude. Mostly out of guilt. I know that my issues are minimal in comparison to others. I also know that I have a lot more love and support than many people dealing with much less. For both of those things I am thankful.

Despite the fact I’m now sporting an ugly black purse that is attached to my ankle via a tube 24/7, I am free of the PICC line! Yes, they removed it today. All 54 inches that they wound into my vein. (My mom almost passed out watching them take it out!)

My arm has been extremely sore, so I am hoping this will alleviate that pain. Now if I can just rid of the pain in my ankle when I walk, I’ll be even better.

Showering tonight with two hands was a dream. You can easily take for granted even the smallest things in life. For many of us it is our health.

I’ve gotten to know Dorothy at Grammology very well over the past year. She is going through her own health crisis and still finds time to give me an encouraging word. I enjoy reading her variety of topics, because she reminds me of a fountain of wisdom when it comes to families and relationships. She has started chemo (for Ovarian Cancer) and could use some support. Please head over there today and leave a her quick comment! (She has a few guest posters right now, but she’s reading her comments I’m sure!)