Give a little whistle

My list of “ideas” for things to write about is growing – the Post-It I stuck on the wall some time ago is suddenly filling up. This is good. This is very good. It means that although I may not be writing again yet, at least not the way I think I should be, I’m thinking again, and I can’t help but feel like I haven’t been thinking for some time.

And when I’m writing again, I’ll be sure to avoid sentences that are as convoluted as that one was.

The girl with the Knee, she is home. An expected day’s stay in the hospital turned into four, but finally, after taking her first steps in a month and climbing FOUR stairs twice (up and down), they loaded her up with prescriptions and encouragement and sent her on out the door.

The ten-block drive home from the hospital was painful. The climbing of five stairs into the house was EXCRUTIATING. I know how much it hurt to watch; I can only imagine how much it hurt to actually DO.

We’ll call it the Knee with a capital for the duration, since every move is made only after careful calculation as to whether or not it will be jar the Knee. From thigh to calf she’s wrapped in gauze and a tensor bandage and it’s all bundled rigid with a very expensive brace that’s not covered by provincial health insurance. Lurking beneath all this is a very nasty looking incision held together with approximately 18 staples.  I saw the incision last night and promptly left the room- nursing is not one of my strengths, even when it’s my own kid.

She’s safely re-ensconced in her sister’s main floor bedroom and equipped with laptop, satellite TV and a whistle to blow when she needs something. In the days to come, pain and boredom will be her worst enemies, but we’ll get through it.


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