It is me! Today my right wrist finally had its dressing removed. Dr. Iannarone is very pleased with how well the skin graft "took" - personally, I think it looks pretty disgusting, with an outline of ugly black scab encircling the graft. What I think looks icky, the doctor considers beautiful because it shows that the graft has sealed. Put like that, I guess it is pretty beautiful too.
There is still a gauze dressing on my wrist, but it is loose. Best of all, I finally bid farewell to the sling. Now, I know that the sling served a noble purpose, but it is impossible to describe the effect not having the use of my right arm did to my spirits.
It is no wonder that when older people become incapacitated, even in small ways, their spirits take a tumble, which can have a domino effect. My incapacitation was only temporary - think about all those people who suffer strokes and heart attach and have permanent damage.
Take it from one who has been there lo! these past few weeks - not having the
use of my right arm through my entire sense of physical and emotional equilibrium oout of whack. It made me pondering all the functions that diminish as we grow older and older and older, of how it is easy for someone - like yours truly - who is a flagging on vim and pep and vinegar to fall prey to a sense of helplessness and hopelessness.
As I have mentioned before, Elsa has this interesting trait - learned, she says, at her sister's knee - of turning ordinary moments into celebrations. I wore my nightgown and robe to the doctor's, so I could not go to Curds & Whey, as I dearly would have loved to, for lunch after our appointment. Elsa suggested she nip into Fresh Fields (Whole Foods) for some soup.
We had a feast-ival for lunch - Triple Squash Soup and a maple walnut scone that she picked up for me this morning at a marvelous cafe she stops into on the way to work. (Loopy girl went to work from 7:30 - 10:00, before heading home to take me to my appointment.)
What a combination - the two flavors and textures perfectly complemented each other. Sitting there eating a marvelous soup set off by a perfectly matched scone seemed be right out of one of the Redwall books; Elsa often reads me excerpts regarding their feast days.
If you have not read any of Brian Jacques’ stories about Redwall Abbey, you should, if only for the marvelous descriptions of food that are always a feature of the stories. There are days, like today, that I think I could eat even a Redwall hare (famous for their prodigious appetites) under the table!
This lady is so lucky to be just where she is at this point in time. It is fun living with these kids. They always have some plan or another up their sleeves. Since it is tough going for them to get out without worrying about me, they decided they wanted to do something special over the weekend. On Saturday night, we blew the wad and got fish & chips and a big tub of meaty ribs from a favorite place in Langhorne. It is a bit of a trek, but oh, the combination of delicious batter-fried fish, golden brown french fries, and the best ribs I have eaten since December 1976, at the Rusty Scupper in Head House Square.
I went along as an extra adult when Elsa took part of her 6th grade down to Philadelphia at Christmas. I will never forget watching in admiring amazement as little Amanda Goerwitz ate all the rest of us under the table, then went onto have a great gloppy sundae for dessert and polished that off, too.
But I digress. Back to the spare ribs. I can smell and taste them as I write, the sweet tang of the marinade and lots of dropping-off-the-bone meat.
I think I am going to want a midnight nibbling if I keep up these thought of food. Instead, am closing down this gastronomic discussion and heading up to bed.
Bon appetite! Aunt Kay