Tag: orthopedic surgeon

I Can’t Believe She Gives It All To Me

And just like that Wednesday has rolled around again, and today is the day I meet with the orthopedic surgeon to determine just what needs to be done to repair my torn left biceps muscle. I am a little nervous, to be honest, and more than a little trepidatious about it. I’ve not had any kind of surgery since having my tonsils out as a child and a potentially cancerous lesion removed in 2007, so I’ve kind of been lucky on that score (I don’t consider tooth extraction–even the wisdom teeth–as surgery; just how my mind works so don’t @ me, okay?). Dr. Google has told me that I’ll need physical therapy, a soft cast, and a sling (not the fun kind) for a while, maybe as much as six months to a year, which is definitely not pleasant or anything I want to happen to me at any time, but if needs be, it needs be, I guess.

At least after today I won’t have to wonder any more.

But my rebooting the week seemed to have done the trick. Yesterday was a good day; I slept really well and was in a very good mood when I came to work. A friend texted me to remind me that it was also my first birthday since Mom died, and so subconsciously I was probably grieving, which was why the energy felt so off Monday (the news of Tiger’s passing didn’t help much in that regard) and it really should have hit me when I got Dad’s note in the mail. It’s funny, I keep trying to tell Dad that it’ll gradually get easier but it really never does, does it? Hell, just typing since Mom died makes my eyes fill. I need to remember to keep being kinder to myself, and not so hard always on myself. After work I ran errands again–much as I hate driving all the way uptown every day, at least when I do there’s a place to park when I get home, and Paul’s expecting something, and I needed to make a little groceries on the way, too–and followed my Monday strategy of showering after emptying the dishwasher and putting my groceries away. I did finish the new draft of “Whim of the Wind” last night–and I have a place to try getting it published now–so I am going to let that sit for a couple of days before digging back into it. I’m glad that I let go of the sentimental attachment to the story since I wrote it back in college; it makes so much more sense to revise it into something different but keeping the same feel and vibe. I don’t think I stuck the landing on the second draft, but I have something to work with now, and that’s terribly important.

I tried working on another story after I finished that revision but alas the fountain had run dry by then. I did pull up both stories I want to get to work on, and maybe after my appointment this afternoon–and errands after that–I’ll be able to sit here and finish both stories tonight. I slept great last night–even better than i had the night before–and actually didn’t wake up until four (then five, then the alarm) which was probably the longest stretch of “straight through” sleep I’ve had in I don’t know how long. It was again miserably hot yesterday, but these last few days haven’t felt quite as hellish as the ones before. Paul was late getting home last night (board meeting) and after I finished writing for the evening, was kind of lost. I did do a load of laundry and another load of dishes, even going so far as to clean and straighten up the kitchen (I also showered when I got home; the twice daily showers seem to be doing the trick–getting things done and sleeping well) before repairing to my easy chair to watch some Youtube. Yesterday evening I revisited some scenes from old soaps, mostly General Hospital and All My Children–I still haven’t accepted that it’s no longer on the air–and I was also thinking about all the actors from soaps we lost to HIV/AIDS back in the day; and how many really gorgeous young men had appeared on the soaps when I used to watch and then just disappeared…which, of course, makes me wonder. (I love that the actor who played Derek Mallory, the police chief on Edge of Night back in the late 70s and early 80s, started in gay porn movies.) Someone really should write about that; and how actors had to remain closeted to have careers until the modern day era where there are only four soaps left, but they often have gay characters and storylines now. (was it Christian McLaughlin who wrote Glamourpuss, about a closeted gay soap star who gets outed, so the show makes his character gay and turns him into the villain?), I remember when Donna Pescow played the lesbian nurse on All My Children back in the day–she wasn’t around long, of course, the occasional queer character rarely lasted for long–but i would love to read a book about the history of queer actors and queer storylines on the daytime soaps–I remember the gay teen storyline on One Life to Live back in the day (Ryan Philippe’s first big break as an actor was playing that gay kid) and remember thinking wow what a difference this storyline would have made to teenaged me back in the day.

Representation matters, people. It really does. And if you’ve never not seen yourself reflected back to you in popular culture, you literally have no idea what it feels like or how moving it is when you finally do.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later.

Some Broken Hearts Never Mend

Ah, Monday morning and back into the office with me. I slept a little late yesterday, got up feeling very refreshed and rested, then spent the morning doing research, some touch-up chores, and some reading. I also did some writing before my 5 pm EST panel, moderated by the marvelous John Copenhaver and including four of my favorite queer writers: Robyn Gigl, Renee James, Kelly J. Ford, and Margot Douaihy. They were all brilliant, and I was my usual incoherent rambling mess who then proceeds to forget what the actual question was. I should probably prepare for these things, but why start now? After all, no matter how much I prepare, my co-panelists will always be incisive and insightful and intelligent and I will be….Gregalicious.

I did finish reading the remaining short stories in Alfred Hitchcock Presents My Favorites in Suspense, and enjoyed all three–and again, like the others, reminded me the only thing limiting my short stories in what I write about and try to accomplish is my own insecurities as a writer and laziness about doing research. The final three stories (“Treasure Trove” by F. Tennyson Jesse, “The Body of the Crime” by Wilbur Daniel Steele, and “A Nice Touch” by Mann Rubin) were all marvelous, all containing that delightfully nasty twist at the end that is so reminiscent of so much of Hitchcock’s television shows and anthologies. Reading these stories–these old anthologies–has really been quite an education in short story writing–and I’ve also learned a lot about my own limitations when it comes to my creativity and what is possible. I need to, as I said the other day, write precisely the things I don’t think I can, or have the knowledge or skillset to tackle. If it’s a research issue, write the fucking story first if the research is fucking intimidating and make the research part of the editing/revision process. It’s really not as hard as I make it out to be for myself all the fucking time, seriously.

If there’s a way to make it harder I can assure you I will find it.

I also read the first story in Alfred Hitchcock Presents Stories to Be Read With the Door Locked, “Hijack” by Robert L. Fish. Mr. Fish was a prolific short story writer, and his estate endowed Mystery Writers of America to present an award in his honor every year to an outstanding short story by a first time published author every year (Rob Osler won this last year, the first of a lot of award recognition for him; his debut novel Devil’s Chew Toy has turned up on almost every awards short-list for the year). “Hijack” is a story that doesn’t hold up well; airline and airport security measures have amped up in the decades since the World Trade Center was bombed for the first time back in 1993 or 1994; ur could have been 1995. All I know is 1) I was in Manhattan when it happened and 2) I was working at the airport when the new security protocols were put into place. There probably aren’t many of us around who remember the hijacking plague of the late 1960s and early 1970s; it seemed like almost every day a flight to Miami was being hijacked to Cuba. It was so commonplace it became part of popular culture; comedians and movies and television shows constantly making hijacking jokes. But it’s a very good story with, as always, the requisite twist that comes at the end (hilariously, the ransom demand is for $250,000–a lot of money when the story was written but practically nothing in terms of today’s money and wealth) which I wasn’t quite expecting; it’s not a spoiler because the story is at least forty years old so–turns out the crew hijacked the plane themselves and killed a passenger to frame for it. It actually could have worked back then, too–and it made me want to read more of Mr. Fish.

I intended to try to write or edit before the panel yesterday, but as always with something like this, I was too antsy and nervous to focus, so I spent most of the day doing some more research–old New Orleans, Mayan gods, homosexuality in old Hollywood–and cleaning and picking things up. I also ordered some more of these Arctic Air hydration coolers; they really work well, and if you freeze the filter, well, they blow extremely cold air. I have three from several years ago before we got the new a/c system (summer of 2020, it must have been, as we got the new system after Mardi Gras in 2021), but lost the power cord for one of them. I’ve had them going since Paul left and they’ve really helped in the kitchen. I also bought a really powerful if small fan for the living room while making groceries Saturday afternoon, and it is super powerful, too–I also ordered another of those, too. I know I sound like a wimp, but you try cooling down your house when the heat index is 120+ every day for weeks on end–and of course, the kitchen add-on is always so much hotter than the rest of the apartment.

I slept okay last night, feel a bit groggy this morning, but hopefully the coffee with work its magic on me and I’ll be wide awake by the time I get to the office this morning. I think we have a busy schedule, my supervisor is back from having COVID (haven’t see her in over a week), and of course, after work today I ordered some things from Sam’s Club to be delivered. Next week I have my meeting with the orthopedic surgeon to see when we can schedule my biceps surgery–assuming I need it, which I am pretty certain I do–and then after the recovery for that I can start exercising again. I have to remember I am older and more frail than I used to be, so getting back into shape in my sixties is going to take far longer and be more painful and slow than it was in my thirties when I did it the first time. I didn’t write anything all weekend (or for most of the week last week, really) so I need to get back on that horse this week as well. Bouchercon is looming on the horizon as well.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines and getting another cup of coffee. Have a great Monday and I will check in with you again tomorrow.