best laid plans

They warned me that pre-op appointments day would be long, but I had no idea. We arrived at Beth Israel (where my surgery will be) at 9:00 am and left our last meeting at Children's Hospital (where my surgeon is based) sometime after 5:00 pm. I went directly to bed when we got home, do not pass go, do not collect $200, and I stayed there until my alarm went off this morning.

I'm stiff and achy. I would love to do nothing but lie around and recover from yesterday. Sadly, I have a dentist appointment. I like my dentist, but I hate Novocaine needles with a mad passion.

But then I can type up my recent adventures. I'll be glad to have a written record of yesterday, if only to turn all the pages of notes into a coherent guide for my last two weeks before surgery.

Here's the worst piece of pre-op information: the morning of surgery, when I shower with special soap, I can't use any moisturizer. Not even on my face. I can't remember the last time I didn't put moisturizer on my face. I was probably about nine. I have to go into surgery with dry skin. It's tragic.

More later.

On Monday, I saw my dentist and got new x-rays. On Wednesday, they pulled out two of my molars. On Friday, my face looked like I'd taken up boxing. I'm really grateful for the weekend.

The pre-op schedule continues. I'm supposed to bank three units of blood before surgery, starting last Wednesday. It turns out that you can't donate blood right after dental work, even to yourself; there's too much bacteria and antibiotics and other garbage in the bloodstream. This puts me a week behind for donating blood, which kind of stinks. I can't make it any faster.

I also had a physical, a meeting with my orthotics maker, and an appointment with a hand therapist last week.

I wear orthotics every day. I can't walk more than half a block without them. The bones in my ankles are worn down like rocks in a river, and the compression cuts off the blood flow to and from the feet. The orthotics somehow compensate for that. I don't know how they work; I suspect magic.

Anyway, every few years, I drive out to the burbs to see my orthotics maker for a new pair. I got lucky this time: she can rebuild my old orthotics instead of having to make new ones. I heartily approve. I get them back in two weeks.

I had never seen a hand therapist. I'm dutifully wearing the elbow sleeve she gave me. It's a tube sock with a big gel pad sewn into it. It's supposed to protect my ulnar nerve, which runs between the bones at the elbow and leads to the outside of the hand. My ulnar nerves are inflamed, probably because of my habit of lying on my side and propping myself up on my elbow. The other option is sitting upright, which makes my hips hurt, so you understand why the elbows keep losing the toss.

I didn't plan to talk about my elbow with the hand therapist. She checked each arm for pain, using gentle massage and finger taps. She tapped the ulnar nerve at the elbow and oops, there it is. And so I wear my elbow sock and think of her when the nerve pain kicks in.

My main goal in hand therapy is to find out how to use crutches without destroying my hands and wrists in the process. The therapist recommended platform crutches almost immediately. They're made for people who can't put much weight on their hands. If my PT agrees, we'll try them.

The therapist will also make thumb splints for me on my next visit. This could be fun to watch. There's a workbench in the middle of the hand therapy room with assorted gadgets and heaters on it for molding the splint material. My thumbs are hopeful.

Right now, I'm resting and waiting to take another Vicodin. The bruises are fading, but the pain is not, really, so far. One more night of soup for dinner.