(no subject)

Since more than a few have hunted me down since the last very short post, it seems sensible to clarify.

No, I'm not suicidal.

I'm pissed, I'm tired, and I'm desperately wishing someone would break in and try to shoot me so that I could beat the everloving snot out of them with the crutches I'm now having to use again.

I just blew out the knee again. I wasn't even putting any weight on it. The leg was swinging forward, the knee popped, and then I was trying to keep from falling over, throwing up, and screaming all at the same time. I managed two out of three. Barely.

I'm now back in the same damned spot I was two weeks ago. I'd progressed past the crutches to my cane, and had been told that leaving the cane leaned against my desk was okay while I was indoors. Which is where I was when things came apart tonight.

And just to prove the accuracy of syncronicity:

• The knee was originally injured at Crystal and Kelly's place, walking down a level hallway from the bathroom to the (guest) bedroom. There was no 'wrong step', no impact, no stumble, no trip. Two pops and then I was on the carpet screaming.
• Tonight, I was at the apartment, walking down a level hallway from the bathroom to the bedroom. There was no 'wrong step', no impact, no stumble, no trip... and this time there wasn't even any fucking WEIGHT on it. A pop, and then I was on the carpet trying not to scream.

The obvious conclusion? I need to remove all genitalia and/or waste venting apertures and never again go near a damned bathroom again. I'm going to start showering at the frigging car wash down the road, and I'll regurgitate in alleyways to purge waste. My body will either adapt or cease, and either way I'll stop hurting myself walking back from the damned bathroom.

Yes, I'm ranting. I do that from time to time. I'm told I'm not allowed to give up; like I have a choice in the matter. This is like being a prison guard... one who's relief is fifteen years late for work. I can't leave my post, but there's not a hell of a lot left to run on.

*sigh*
And that's enough about me. I'm too damned tired to rage about it anymore.

There -have- been good things happening; I've seen amazing things turning up in the journals of friends of mine. People I've worried about for forever starting to stabilize and discover that sometimes things do go right. It's nice to know that someone's on the top side of the wheel.

If anyone needs me, I'll be over here living vicariously through folks less accident prone.

(no subject)

Lovely. Just lovely.

Physical therapist sighed when I clomped into the office today on crutches.
"Pain along the inside and bottom?"
Yes, that's it exactly.
"What were you doing when it went back to solid pain?"
Walking back to my room from the bathroom. No weight on it, leg swinging forward for the next step. The parallel to the original injury was not lost on him. Jared's a sharp cookie, which is why I'm sticking with him.
"Did the lower leg wobble to the outside?"
... Now how the bloody hell did you know that? [Yes, I actually said that. It earned me a wry smile. ]
"How do you know how to fix a computer?"
Well, it's my jo... oh. Yeah. Job. Got it. I'll catch up, honest...
"You wobbled Monday when I had you walk the stairs. After you left I had a chance to look over the MRI report and the report from Dr. Nwaneri. There's a cartilage abrasion, and you seem to have managed to sprain things when you ripped the ACL. Up on the table..."

And it went from there. Slow exercises with light weights, measurements of just where the pain hits and doing what, notations on degrees of mobility and what angles cause the white knuckle flinches. I'm back on the crutches for the moment, with cautions to keep my right leg, ALL of it, pointed in one direction at any given time. No pivots, no turns, no angles... not until the inside ligaments can be brought back to tone. At least I wasn't told to bolt myself back into the brace. I'm not sure I could've handled that... and Jared probably knew that. He spends more time watching my eyes than most; at a guess he's spent time around a chameleon before and knows what to look for.

*sigh*

On the bright side, one of the angles/positions that -are- useable is the position my leg would sit in to use the accelerator pedal in the truck. There's a good one:

I can drive... provided I can get to the damned truck.

I'm less than amused, I can assure you. It reminds me of the tag line for the truly awful movie Blood Beach:

Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water... you can't get TO it...

I'm going to ... do something. I have no idea what. Last night... last night was very very bad. Many thanks to rowandoll, jhyanmar, and wibbble for taking the time to haul my fat, morosely depressed ass out of the hole I was trying to crawl into. Hopefully tonight won't be as bad.

What? Last I checked I'm still allowed to hope.