Scarlott Letters

Just some stuff I find funny…


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Don’t Mess with the Hair

Almost six years ago, just a few days before my youngest daughter’s wedding, I fell on my left shoulder. We had had a thunderstorm with 90+ mph winds and when I got up the next morning there was half of a mesquite tree in my driveway. Turns out, half a mesquite tree is a lot heavier than it looks. As it also turns out, you should not attempt to drag said tree off your driveway…by yourself…on wet cement…in flip-flops. Lesson learned.

In the course of getting pain medication, having x-rays and seeing both an ER doctor and an orthopedist, but mostly getting pain meds, I learned, in the words of my specialist, that my shoulders are “kind of deformed.” I don’t know but I think he might have broken the Hippocratic oath with his choice of words, plus it makes me question his medical training. The bone that comes down over the ball of my arm is too long and there’s not enough room for the rotator cuff and all the nerves. My mother, my father and one of my brothers have each had two shoulder surgeries. I could have probably guessed there was a genetic flaw involved. The good news was that I had a rotator cuff impingement. The bad news was that wasn’t all I had, although I didn’t know it at the time.

Both shoulders have given me trouble off and on ever since, but particularly in the last couple of years. They keep me awake at night and I’ve noticed a marked loss of strength. One day it dawned on me, like the light when you open the refrigerator door, that it should probably not take two hands to lift a gallon of milk to the top shelf. But, it wasn’t until the pain started messing with my ability to blow dry my hair that I seriously considered seeing a doctor again. You just don’t mess with the hair. So, last week I saw an orthopedic surgeon, here in Midland, who after looking at my x-rays said “I see what he (the Hippocratic oath breaker) meant.” Two days later I was having an MRI. Two days ago I got the news: a torn rotator cuff, bone spurs, muscle atrophy and, to add insult to injury, arthritis. FML.

cuffNeedless to say, surgery is on the horizon. Post-op I will be in a sling and will not be able to use my arm at all for six weeks, followed by six weeks of moderate physical therapy with limited use, followed by three months of intense therapy. Did they not get the memo about my hair? Hello! Not to mention the fact that I sleep on my stomach, nor will I be able to put on a tee shirt or button my jeans. I don’t want to even contemplate what this means about my ability to fasten a bra. This whole recovery scenario is just not working for me. Note to surgeon: Telling patients, especially female patients, these particular post-op details is not a stellar approach to selling the need for surgery. My needs run to not having six months of crappy hair days and being able to wear pants without elastic waistbands.

Even though my left shoulder is in terrible shape and my right one is not far behind, I have put off scheduling the surgery until June. We’ve got a trip to Turks & Caicos scheduled for late April and a trip to New York City scheduled for June…and I will not have my arm in a sling or bad hair. I have my priorities. Since I am waiting a while, I started physical therapy today to try to arrest any further muscle loss and to build up the shoulder as best I can before surgery. Since torn rotator cuffs are normally quite painful, the therapist told me that I must have an “incredible tolerance for pain.” He has no idea. Soooo many smartass comments came to mind in a split second, but I don’t know him that well…yet.

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That’s Dr. $hitbiscuit to You

Whew!  Weekends just fly by when you’re on the move.  We spent the last one attending my nephew, Grant’s, graduation from Baylor School of Law in Waco. He received his juris doctorate degree, but he says no one uses the title “Doctor” when referring to a lawyer and that he might as well be Dr. Shitbiscuit.  I like it!  It has that certain ring to it.  I immediately changed his name in my cell phone.  Now when he calls, “Dr. Shitbiscuit” is displayed.  DSC_0120

Grant and I have a special relationship.  About the time he finished the 5th grade I realized that I was never going to be able to outsmart him…it’s like bringing a knife to a gun fight, you might get in a few licks but you’re not going to win.  Since I can’t outsmart him, I decided to out-sarcasm him at every opportunity.  In this endeavor I can at least hold my own…most of the time.  Several years ago at Christmas, I had a tee shirt made for him with my picture on it which said “I have the smartest aunt in the world.”  It ranks as the one and only time that I have ever seen him speechless.  Score one for me.  At my wedding this past October, he wore it.  Well played, Grant, well played.  Score a big fat one for him.  In all seriousness, Grant is one of my favorite people and I’m very proud of him.  He is going to make a fine attorney, one with honesty, integrity and moral standards, and we need more of those.

Joe and I left Waco Saturday afternoon and headed south to Georgetown to spend some time with Joe’s brother and sister-in-law.  Not only did we get to go out to dinner with them, but my aunt and uncle, who recently moved to Georgetown, joined us.  We had a great time!  I felt sort of like a matchmaker when they exchanged numbers at the end of the evening.

Later that night, as Joe and I were trying to fall asleep watching TV, a commercial advertising a call-in phone sex line came on. Joe said, “I just don’t get it. What in the world could you EVER say to me that I would be willing to pay for?”  My immediate answer, “I do.”  BOOM!  I knocked that baby out of the park.  In fact, I think it’s still rolling…