Turns on a Dime

The real fun of Rita’s surgery started after I picked her up from the surgery center.  And I am here to tell you, the fine folks at Midtown hospital are NOT fucking around with this incision.  Rita emerged wearing a barrel-sized cast that looks like it should be on a much larger person.

They are also very serious about their instructions.  First, she should keep it elevated at all times.  And somewhat surprisingly, Rita is a direction-follower.  At least when it comes to medical directions.  [Not so much when I ask her to pick up potato chips at the grocery store.]  Ever one to overachieve, Rita can barely see the TV over the tower of pillows that her cast is resting on at all times and I have been eye-to-eye with her foot since we got home. 

Second – no weight on the ankle for the first month.  You know what you can’t do when you can’t put weight on your ankle?  Anything.  No really…think of whatever it is you just did before reading this post and then think about not doing it for the next month.  At least not doing it unassisted. 

And that is where I come in. 

And oh yeah….the knee scooter. 

Probably not in that order.

Maybe this is intentional – but these knee scooters are not exactly built for maneuverability.  If you want to make a turn around…say….someone’s shoes that are lying in the middle of the floor….you actually have to plan for that about 50 yards away.  Or make an impressive 30-point turn. 

Actually, that turning exercise is required just to navigate the path from the pull-out bed that is Rita’s home for the next month to anywhere else in the house.  So imagine that 30-point turn repeated a dozen or so times a day.  And every time, Rita finishes her maneuver with a sarcastic “turns on a dime”.  To which I reply, “it’s like butt-ah”.  Seriously….every single time.  Rita at least has the excuse of being on pain meds.  I’m not sure what I have to say for myself in this groundhog day routine we have developed.  I think this is a preview of our future life at Shady Pines and our nieces and nephews should consider themselves warned.

But easily the trickiest part of the entire operation is traversing the 3 stairs between the living room Rita’s new bedroom and the bathroom.  In order to accomplish this, Rita has gone all Rube Goldberg [sorry youngsters, look it up] while I have become her “spotter”.  There is a scooter to wine box transfer, followed by some tricep dips to each step and finishing off with banister-ripping pull-up.  Seriously, there are Olympic skating routines that involve less technique.

Rita is going to emerge from Covid with the body of a gymnast while the rest of try to hide our Covid 15.