30 November 2006


I went to the doctor. She took out all my staples and pronounced me doing beautifully after she lifted and swung my leg around. She was pretty surprised that I was off my pills, and told me most people were still on them after nine days. She told me that I could put all my weight on my leg as tolerated, and take off the TED sock on my unoperated leg.

Then came the bad news. No, I could not go to the movies or out to dinner or, indeed, hardly anywhere because I would lose the home health benefits, including the valuable blood tests she needed to figure the Coumadin dosage. She grounded me until Dec.11.

I cried. I said, "it's about having a social life and going out to dinner."
Dr. Whirlow looked at Chelsea and said, "you are going to have to entertain her."

Even while I was crying and saying this, I felt like a jerk. At my stage in the surgery, most people are still fighting the pain. It's very hard to complain when you are doing as well as I am: you don't get any sympathy. But the better you do, the more you want to do, and the more frustrated you get when obstacles appear.

Dr. Whirlow continued helpfully,"have a dinner party." Chelsea and I looked at her as if she had suggested we give birth to an aardvark. Neither of us cooks, and I lived in my house for almost a year with a gas stove that didn't work --without knowing it. Chelsea is juggling the three retrievers, her business, being away from home, her SO, my TED socks and my personal concierge tasks. Dinner party????????

As a last effort to be helpful, she said, "you can drink a glass of wine while you take Coumadin."

I admire her. She was really trying. I think she was telling me to get blitzed at home until Dec. 11. I am a lucky person to have her...and Chelsea...and the constant parade of people who come to see me and call me all day long.

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