The Pain and the Pisser

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

So I had to take a piss for the thousandth time today. (Drinking copious amounts of water to get pills down, etc) I had been prostrate for some time, so I sat up on the side of the bed, grabbed my crutches, stood up and half-ambled the fourteen feet to the john "with my good leg." (For those of you who know of my love of language, that phrase is now my favorite adverbial.) Everything was going along just fine. I leaned my crutches on the wall on either side of the john and, standing on one leg while using one hand on the windowsill for balance, managed to urinate. For those of you who don't really know what I look like and would like to picture it, just imagine the bastard child of Mikhail Baryshnikov and Larry the Cable Guy practicing for the Nutcracker Having successfully urinated in the proper place without pissing down my leg or on my clothes, and feeling uber-triumphant mostly because of these *SWEET* pain meds, I grabbed my crutches, turned toward the bed and then proceeded to perform the MOTHER OF ALL FALLS. Not just any fall, OHHH NOOO. This was a fall to remember. Right crutch flew forward, left crutch leaned backward along with my good leg, pinning both very successfully between the cabinet and the toilet. Not wanting to tear out my incisions and/or screw up my newly attached heelbone, I chose to keep THAT foot in the air and surrender to gravity. For those of you who are interested in Physics, there is a preponderance of gravity in the master bathroom. I know this because it pulled my ass down on top of the toilet seat, bounced it onto the edge of the tub, pulled me backward into the tub, clanking my head on the wall and then on the edge of the tub. As my back and shoulders came to rest down by the drain, I looked up toward the ceiling to survey my bandaged foot, but was blinded by a volley of projectiles that were formerly festooned on the table next to the tub and on the edge of the tub. Shaving gel, shampoo, loufah, backbrush, soap, conditioner. It was like slam-dancing with Sally Beauty Supply. Then I heard a heavy sliding sound and two small crashes. Apparently in my earnest yet altogether futile attempt to break my fall, I grabbed the lid off of the toilet tank and sent it sliding down the wall, relieving it of the two African Bowls that have adorned it for months and months (for no apparent reason). I must say that if you have to be trapped under rubble, this is the most pleasant smelling way to go about it. I must caution you also that it is tremendously noisy, so if any of you have caregivers who are even a little dodgy on the heart, I wholeheartedly advise you to skip it. Thankfully, David is always there to lend a hand or, in this case, a backhoe, to get me out of whatever mess I'm in. I'll try to be more careful.