Calf Hurts like Moses got to it

The chair represents the x axis: time without Oxycodene. The
side of the house represents the y axis: pain level. My leg is a
linear function of ouchiness.

Day 3 was challenging, as promised by all of the reviews I've found on the internet. Very similar to the famous bonk around mile 22 in an all out marathon, I was feeling far better than expected until I wasn't. And then I really wasn't. On a  pain scale, de uno a diez, I jumped, without warning, from 4.5 to ¡Qué demonios! I ran toward exhaustion all day and slept a good part of the day away. Fatigue has been up noticeably since the hacking, but the 72 hour mark had me zonked out. I am still olly olly Oxycodene free, relying on about 800 mg of ibuprofen per day.

I love outside this much.

I woke slowly and still tired on day 4, but with a 60 blood sugar its hard to fairly place the blame entirely on my recovery. When I finally attempted the harrowing staircase of certain death to the kitchen it felt like a good time for a nap. The carbs in a whole grapefruit and 2 liters of coffee immediately perked me up. So, probably the blood sugar. The pain is around a 5.5 (could have been better if it stuck the landing) today.

My wife's essentials kit for the single-legged. I think
she downloaded the list directly from the NRA website.

Penny had 4 days of stacked up errands to run and decided my hopping skills had advanced enough to trust me to my first solo. Also, the post-op instructions insisting on constant elevation for the first 96 hours, finally expired. Those 4 days died harder than Bruce Willis. I passed Penny's first test, successfully making my own coffee (including grinding) and grapefruit. She left me on my own with the windows open and armed with 3 remotes, my computer, sweet tarts for low blood sugars, my meter, water, an energy bar, a book, and my .40 caliber Springfield Arms XD Sub-Compact. The XD deters overly aggressive Girl scouts and their habit-forming, carbohydrate-laden, scary yummy Samoas. Shopping is Penny's favorite form of endurance exercise so I settled in for the long haul.

"Get those kids off my d*#% lawn." And yes, I am wearing a
brown crew sock and sandel on my good foot.

It was beautiful outside today. Its hard to believe I am going to be a mummy from the knee down all spring and summer. Since I was over 72 hours without pain meds and over 100 hours out from Mr. Jackson's favorite form of sleep aid (too soon?), I decided I deserved a Mich Ultra. Mysteriously enough the 6 page post operative surgery booklet is completely silent on ale consumption. Smoking is prohibited, so I denied myself the Cohiba Behike. I managed lurching to the back deck with 2 crutches, a book, a beer, my mp3 player, and a body significantly whiter than I am used to at this point in the year. Presently, I am slightly darker than the the Trix rabbit. My first time outside since Tuesday felt heavenly. I reclined in my collapsible Captain's chair and propped my feet up on its first mate, another lawn chair of dubious ambition. The UV rays put my mind at ease about any remaining hospital MRSA hitchhikers.


I am extremely thankful for Apple's cutting edge products and the internet's proclivity to enhance American productivity. Personally, engulfed in essential work, I now have personalized ring-tones for over half of my 226 phone contacts. I am particularly fond of REM's It's the End of the World and Waylon Jenning's Dukes of Hazzard theme. My chess game is solid again and most pigs quake when contemplating my newly developed angry bird launching skills. Don't even get me started on the thousands of Zombies I have eradicated.










diatribeTwelve