Sigh

I hate to whine*, but I have several issues that need prayers and positive energy.

*No, I don’t.

First, when we saw the orthopedic surgeon for what was billed as my last surgical follow-up yesterday, he wasn’t happy with my progress. I can’t bend my knee past the 90 degrees that I showed him, except after a strenuous therapy session, when the therapist can get it to 110 degrees. The doctor said that for normal activities, I needed 100 degrees, but that he’d like to see more than that. He said I had to really push and do these (boring, painful) exercises twice a day from now on.
Hubby asked when I would get full function back, and the doctor said he didn’t expect me to get back full function and that my right knee would NEVER be like it was originally. He said that to get more movement, he could suggest surgery to remove the hardware and scar tissue–which would be a worse recovery than the nightmare I had in July/August, as the scar would be even LONGER–or I could have arthroscopic to shave away some of the scar tissue . . . but that those would not be his first choice, even though he’s a surgeon.

He said I had to hurry and make the exercises work. The exercises take me a good two hours from heat-up (hot packs and heating pad for 20 mins) to cool-down (ice pack for 20 mins). I can’t spend that kind of time on this for the rest of my life and get no results . . . the house is a wreck and I’ve got the holidays coming up and the house is crawling away!

I asked about acupuncture or reflexology, and he said those were good for pain–but I don’t have that much pain. It’s just that the scar tissue or the stiffened tissues do not LET my knee bend more than I can bend it. It’s not that I’m not trying. However, everyone stares at me as if I’m the worst lazy fat failure they’ve ever seen–not just the others in the therapy room and the therapist, but also now my hubby and my mother. Everyone’s blaming me for being a cripple**. Waaah!

**(Politically incorrect, but if you’re the crip, you can say “crip.” My rule.)

So I need prayers that I can gain those 20 degrees as soon as possible, without excruciating pain. If I could do that, then I could be normal (as normal as a fat loser needs to be, anyway.)

Second, my mother needs prayers and energy to get rid of whatever it is that’s ailing her. She has an ulcer and keeps getting what she says is the “stomach flu,” but the doctor just thinks she needs to exercise more. They can’t find anything without doing tests that she won’t go and have. Anyway, she needs to get well. She’s too young to lie around complaining all day long.

Third, I can’t find my wedding/engagement rings. (They’re soldered together as one piece.) I slipped them off when my finger got a little swollen the other day and I was doing dishes or something. I always put the rings on the same bookcase shelf or on my nightstand. But now they’re nowhere to be found. I need to find them! For sentimental reasons . . . I have the microscopic-sized rock because I didn’t want us to have a debt over a silly symbol. Nobody has ever wanted to steal my silly symbol, so that worked out well. I just need to find it where the imps have hidden it now.

I’m sending stuff off to two agents. And I got word that my entry made it into the Amazon contest’s opening round. But those things aren’t worth praying over, as the other stuff is too important.

So, anyhow, if you feel moved . . . I’d really appreciate some prayers/thoughts going out.

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Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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