Sunday, April 26, 2009
Help Me, I've Lost My Butt
The night after my last post, my injuries were especially painful. While was considering contacting my doctor the next morning, I decided to take some pain medication and attempt to sleep. Sometime later, I awoke and needed to visit the rest room. My legs felt somewhat heavy, but I attributed that to the lateness of the hour. However, as I attempted to get out of bed, my legs failed me and I fell in a heap on the floor.
Confused, I tried to get up, but found that my legs did not want to support my weight and indeed were quite difficult to move. Angela heard me flopping around on the floor and inquired as to my situation.
"My legs won't work," I told her. "I fell when I tried to get up to pee and now I can't get up."
"Do they hurt?" Angela asked.
I considered for a moment, then responded. "No," I said, "they kind of feel numb."
"That's not good," replied Angela in the understatement of the year.
Angela called an ambulance, who took me to the local emergency room, where I was admitted and cat-scanned. Nurses and doctors came and went, checking to see whether I could feel my toes (I could) and flex my knees and ankles (I could, but it was an effort and I could not move them very far). They typed several million lines into laptop computers that they rolled around on little carts, assured me that they would know more "soon", and then scurried off to their next patient. I was pretty scared, but also bored and tired, so Angela and I mostly sat quietly, dozed, and waited.
At last I was given the news. It turns out that the fall during the basketball game had caused a compression fracture on two of my lower vertebrae and mashed the cartilage between them. The area had apparently gradually become inflamed, and the swelling had begun to press upon my spinal cord, until the pressure was such that the nerve signals were no longer completely reaching my legs.
I asked if my spinal cord had been damaged in any way. They said they didn't know.
I asked if my legs would return to normal. They didn't know.
I asked when they would know. They said when the swelling went down. I asked how long that would take.
They didn't know.
This was definitely NOT fantastic.
I was placed into a very uncomfortable back brace and admitted to the hospital. Later that day I was given an MRI and examined by a specialist. This doctor, thank goodness, did know something. He said that it appeared that there was not any damage to the spinal cord and that, with time and physical therapy, I would probably get most of the functioning of my legs back. I was relieved. I usually heal fairly quickly, so I figured that I'd be back to normal in a month or two. No, said the specialist, the swelling would take two or three months to go down, at which time he would probably want to do surgery to remove any bone fragments and fuse the two damaged vertebrae together. OK, I said, I should be back on the basketball court in the fall. He told me that it would probably take a little longer than that.
How long, then, I asked.
The entire process would probably take one to two years. At least he said that, with some anti-inflammatory medications and time to heal, I should be able to hobble around with a walker or a cane in a month or two.
So here I lay. Today, I can put enough weight on my legs so that I can almost stand. I have been dependent on my family and friends to get me around the house, transportation, and almost anything else. I am getting better at doing basic things, like getting dressed, bathing, and moving around in a wheelchair. At least our house has an open floor plan, so there aren't a lot of barriers for me to have to maneuver around. I can't say as much for buildings out in the world, though.
Colette and Luke have been wonderfully helpful. For the first couple of weeks, while I was still struggling the most, Luke rose at 6:30 am every morning to help me get out of bed, get to the bathroom, and get into and out of the bath tub. Due to his illness and his medications, Luke is usually not a morning person, so I asked him why he was rising so early to help. He responded that, since I had allowed him to live there and keep his own hours, that the least he could do was to give up some sleep so that he could be there for me. Luke is really quite a kid.
The worst part of this entire situation is that I cannot feel my butt. Spankings do not have any appeal to me because I cannot feel them. A week or so after returning from the hospital, Angela tried to relax me with a nice hairbrush paddling. I could feel the brush thudding against my gluteus maximus, but there was no pain, no sting. Even the doctors found this to be very odd. Fortunately, the other end still works fairly well, although I must be careful so that I do not aggravate my injuries.
The entire ordeal has left me feeling somewhat listless. I have been bored and mostly uninterested. I have not been able to return to work, although I can answer the occasional question over the telephone. I have spent most of my time watching television, visiting doctors and physical therapists, and playing mindless computer games. Since I had no desire for spankings, I had no interesting in maintaining Fantastic Spanking. However, lately my brain has begun to stir, and I have begun to replace game-playing with computer-skill tinkering. That made me feel more productive, and my desire to write returned.
So, while I convalesce, I shall attempt to keep my loyal readers, the greatest spanking blog readers on the internet, updated with the ongoing events occurring at the Spakowiak household, and regale you with tales of spankings past. My father used to quote an old saying that if life gives you chicken shit that you should try to make chicken salad. I have always thought that he was actually getting the proverb backwards, but I do understand his point. So, for now, chicken salad is what it shall be.
But please do not try to eat it, just read it.