̶H̶o̶m̶e̶l̶e̶s̶s̶ ̶C̶h̶r̶o̶n̶i̶c̶l̶e̶s̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶T̶a̶m̶p̶a̶ Lost in the Carolinas: #AMWRITING #BLOGGING

NOTE: This was intended to be posted on this blog on Thanksgiving Day, but because Google got really stupid and wouldn't recognize my 2-step Authenticator, I ended up posting this on my tumblr blog instead, which made me not one bit thankful or happy. I then spent the next week wrestling with Google to get them to REMOVE said 2-step authenticator, which they finally did, today. Argle. Google is really the worst when it comes to customer service. Anyway, enjoy some warmed-up turkey. At least it's not baloney!

I haven't blogged in quite some time, or barely written anything. Something I've sorely missed. I know that it took me years to develop my own “voice” and style and I should probably be flayed for letting it slide, but I've let a lot of things slide in my life lately, due to a severe case of “I don't give a shit”.

I've gotten to a certain age, where benchmarks and things that define us normally as people, are fewer and fewer in my future, with the exception of death, and that is just a stark, and bleak outlook, one I need to shed myself of, but seem hell-bent on hanging onto, never mind the fact that I am only 62 years old. Rather than looking for new things to do, I've been worrying over this fact like a dog chewing on a huge Brontosaurus bone that has no ending and I've found myself unable to get out of it.

Thus, the only way to do so, is just to DO something. Do ANYTHING. I think I had a bit of a wake up call too, when I broke my hip recently. On October 2, 2018, I was walking to the bus stop to take the bus up to Hillsborough Avenue and then walk the ½ mile to my doctor's office. For those who've been playing along at home, and may not know, I'm legally blind and I had a run-in on my way to the bus stop with one of our local hobos. He just irritates the shit out of me and has been trespassed from every little business in town. I had just chased him off and was agitated, and I really wasn't paying attention. I was nearing the corner of Floribraska Avenue, and Nebraska Avenue, and my cane that I carry, letting people know I'm legally blind, hit the part of the curb that is elevated for wheel-chair users, while I was down in the trench where the actual wheel-chairs ride to cross the street; this effectively creates a mini-ramp for them, but it's an obstacle for all visually-impaired people, because the curbs are not painted in a bright color to bring awareness to the height difference.

It doesn't help that the infrastructure is crumbling and uneven in this part of town, but there are many visually-impaired people here. "Legally blind" generally means there is SOME vision. Had there been bright coloring on the berm, I would have seen it. Tampa needs to fix this shit.

It was at this corner where I fell; I was up on the portion nearest the light pole and my cane had gradually gone down into the ramp. I have no depth perception and couldn't feel the difference, as I was moving quickly, the way I normally do.

Now, being visually-impaired, I'm used to falling and I know how to check myself, but this was different. I tripped so quickly and fell and fell like a tree that had been felled in a forest; hard and swift, and I fell directly onto my left hip, and knee. I had on a sun dress and I heard a crunch. I was able to pull my head to the right and keep my head from hitting the cement, which would have been disastrous; my neck ached for weeks afterward. But I did fall so hard, that my brain seemed to re-boot. Reality just kind of changed for a minute; colors were different, everything was muted and everyone moved so slowly. I just lay there on my side. I knew I was badly hurt.

Two people; a man and a woman, came running from somewhere, I didn't see where and helped me up. I could put no weight on my left leg and I sure had one hell of a strawberry on my left knee. Idiotically, what went through my head first, was a nick-name my dad had for me when I was a kid “Red-Knees Wallace”. I was certainly living up to that name now! The second thing I knew was that I was in extreme PAIN and I have an extremely high pain threshold. I was in the hospital once over a domestic, and I went an entire week with a broken right hand, before it dawned on me that that nagging pain wasn't going away; I had two smashed knuckles. My current pain was much, much worse than that.

The two people asked if I wanted an ambulance; I said “no”; I needed to see my doctor on this particular date. So they helped me hobble to the bus stop, but as I sat there waiting on the bus, I realized that there was no way I could walk the ½ mile from where the bus was going to let me off to the doctor's office, so I called a cab. The cab took me to my doc's office and we got our business done and I took a cab home, where I somehow thought I was going to “gut” this out.

The “gutting” out lasted about six hours. Every move I made; trying to go to the bathroom, trying to cook something, trying to lie down was just excruciating. I even just took my normal night meds and lay there for about ½ an hour and said “screw it; this isn't going to work”, before I got up, hobbled around and packed up a few things and then hobbled out to my porch. I apparently left every light on the house on, including the porch, as Alex told me later – he came over and very thoughtfully turned them all off.

The EMTs took me to TGH and they took x-rays which were inconclusive, so they dumped me in Observation for a while, which is a tomb-like area in the bowels of the hospital. After two days of trying to get comfortable and being miserable, they came back and took some more x-rays and said “Okay, you're now PRN, and we're gonna operate. You got 2 options. One is we put 3 screws in the side of your hip, but at your age, you're gonna have to deal with arthritis and more surgeries later on. Two, is we replace the hip and you have a bit more rehab, but no more surgeries or arthritis, and blah blah blah”. I had quit listening after “no more surgeries or arthritis”; I can rehab like a mo-fo.

They thought I was gonna ride around in this here wheelchair? I decided I'd be better off pushing the chair, since they wouldn't let me have a walker quite yet. Silly hospital; they kept me in a monitored bed, which meant bedpan, and I don't know if you've experienced the new "slenderized" version, which just lets everything run out the sides and onto the bed. It's terrific! Said no one ever.

So, that evening after the surgery, I was up and in a wheel-chair, and then I got up out of the wheel-chair, and pushed it around my room for a bit. I hate wheel-chairs. I was discharged to an inpatient rehab place for another 10 days after my surgery, because I live alone and there was some fear that I might fall again, plus, I don't live in the safest place in the world. While in rehab, I did my job.

I rehabbed like a mo-fo, and was up and walking all over the place and it just continued when I got home. I was hearing all of these horror stories about people who were still in wheel-chairs four years after their surgeries and I'm not about that. I'm agile and mobile and here we are six weeks after my fall; I walked a mile yesterday. I exercise and work this body, so I need to work my mind and heart as well.

I need to share the gifts I cultivated with my blogging friends and participate with the people I love and care about. It's difficult living alone, but it's no excuse to shut myself off from people who care about me and whom I love dearly. For doing so, I'm heartily sorry. Nebraska Avenue craziness and my own craziness is still happening and I need to share it with you all. To everyone, a Happy (belated) Thanksgiving!