Aug 13 2006



Regular readers will recognize the foul countenance of Bert, my 1-year-old golden retriever, and his puffy ball, also 1 year old. Bert, as I may have mentioned once or twice, is singlehandedly responsible for having dug the hole into which I innocently plummeted a few months ago, reducing what had once been an award-winning ankle to a mangled tangle of torn and bruised sinew.

Yes, yes, this is old news. But check this out: a couple of X-rays and MRIs later, it turns out that the reason I still can’t traipse hither and yon with my former Astairian élan — though my assiduity in avoiding further holes has been exemplary, I tell you whut — is that there is a loose chunk of something — a moon rock, possibly, or a petrified nugget broken free of my brain — floating around in my ankle joint, mucking shit up. I mention this because in a day or so I’ll be having — you guessed it — more surgery, both to remove the chunk (which is the size of a lima bean), and to reconstruct what’s left of my poor shredded tendon. By which I mean, I may be benched, blog-wise, for another small while. True, the ankle is a long way from my obstreperal lobe, but we’ve all seen the ghastly results of my Vicodin posts, so I’ll be keeping those to minimum this time (pause for cheers and applause), and it’s anybody’s guess when the fog will lift.

It’s funny, the way things work out. If anybody had told me, a year ago, that within the next 12 months I’d be undergoing 5 surgeries, four months of chemo, seven weeks of radiation, five million injections of radioactive goo, baldness, menopause, zits, an unseemly adult-onset dependence on narcotics, and an ankle chunk, I would have taken the next plane to Antarctica — I believe Southwest flies there for $49 one-way — stepped daintily onto the nearest iceberg, and floated off calmly into eternity.

I’m glad I didn’t, though. I would have missed tomato season.


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  1. members.cox.net/thevixen/Cayenne/1.html

    I, too was just going on about that past year and how unbelievably normal things were compared to now. I have been keeping a mental list of things that have gone horribly wrong but even that is taking its toll. Between Katrina and losing two Golden retrievers, one suddenly, unexpectedly and recently, I would have enough, but the list grows. Is it sun spots or something? Can it end soon, please? My very best to you facing another surgery. Gad zooks. I hope this is the last time you have to write about some medical thing you must endure. I look at Bert’s face and I’m reminded of a Non Sequitur cartoon from this year that stated how juries in puppy court always found the puppy precious and adorable no matter what they did.
    Still, shame on you Bert!
    Best wishes for a speedy recovery.

  2. We will rebuild her.

    With all these surgeries, when are you going bionic?

    Best of luck on this latest cut up, Twisty.

  3. Bad Bert! Bad Bert! Bad – awwwwwwww, that’s cute.
    Wishing you the best possible luck with the surgery and recovery, and hoping that, for your sake and the sake of those of us who enjoy reading you, Vicodin is not needed for very long.

  4. karenroadchronicles.blogspot.com

    I LOVE THE VICODEN DIARIES!!!! Bring it!! I assert that even on large doses of legal and illegal narcotics you still reign supreme over the blogging world!!! By the way, will you be putting the offending body chunk on Ebay and when?
    Heal fast,

  5. Gee, that stinks. You’re getting to be an old hand at this surgery thing whether you want to or not.

    Here’s hoping this one goes by the book too with a minimum of discomfort and no nasty post-surgical Jennifer Love Hewitt movies.

  6. You do it all with such elan Twisty.

    Golden Retriever’s (and orthopods) have a lot to answer for. I have a two-year old Golden derived ankle injury almost identical to yours. I’m at the supreme end of the “give it time” period. Yes, chunk under outside ankel bone, and golf ball sized lump where ankle used to be, all which “shouldn’t really get in the way of your life too much”–well no I mean, what kind of life would a 63 yr old woman be EXPECTING anyway.

  7. nursepammie.blogspot.com

    Sorry about your ankle, Twisty. Even more sorry that you are forced to undergo one more surgery. Let’s hope it’s quick and easy.

  8. faultline.org/place/toad

    Christ all Friday. Can they just install zippers or velcro or something? Save you a fortune in anaesthesia bills, anyway.

    Can you tell that dog to go sit-stay in a corner? Bad dog! (Not that he remembers it now or anything.)

  9. 27july1869.blogspot.com

    Geez, Twisty! I really hate it that you get to be the person better than whom my life appears! I won’t bore you or your readers w/ my sagas, but it is truly the case that when the pity party starts in my head occasionally, I think that at least I’m not wading through the river of shit that has been YOUR life this past year.

    Sorry; I don’t have any platitudes for you. But I love you and your patriarchy-blaming ways, I adore your obstreperal lobe, and I find myself thinking in even more -blaming ways than ever before (and I wasn’t sure that was possible). And I truly thank you for that.

  10. 27july1869.blogspot.com

    And I agree with you about tomato season; I’m originally from New Jersey, so I know from tomatos.

  11. You’re not alone with the supremely shitty year. Last year seems like a whole personality or two away after all the drama.

    I blame the sunspot, I especially blame the sun and, you know what, I definitely blame the patriarchy.

    But I can’t really blame Bert, though.

  12. myaimistrue.com

    Damn, Twisty! Too bad Bert is just too cute to blame for all this. I always say blame the dog, that’s what they’re there for!

  13. Besides, dogs can absorb any amount of blame without being affected by it in any way; they’re Black Holes of Blame.
    Cats, on the other hand, having put one in the hospital and nearly required one to have one’s whole arm cut open, greet one on one’s return with accusations regarding the late filling of their food bowl.

  14. lentulus.com

    I’m glad I didn’t, though. I would have missed tomato season I’m glad you didnt, too – I’d have missed your mordant wit. Besides, believe me, that gliding off on an iceberg is way overrated.

  15. Being foolish and weak, I’d let Bert slide for the same reason I put up with untold (OK, many times told) pain from my first serious love interest — he’s SO DAMN CUTE.

    Twisty, take care of yourself, eat lots of good stuff, and return to us soon. We miss you too much when you’re gone.

  16. Tee hee, the Vicodin Diaries. Looking forward to those.

    Seriously, Bert is cute and all but you need a cat chez Twisty. No nasty hole-digging.

  17. Damn these dying animals we’re fastened to, and the other animals with no regard for them.

  18. Damn these dying animals we’re fastened to, and the other animals with no regard for them.

  19. and damn my itchy mouse finger.

  20. Other than operating heavy machinery, everything goes better with Vicodin.

  21. hedonisticpleasureseeker.wordpress.com

    Dang, Twisty, what rotten luck! More anesthesia, woo hoo. Yay.

    I like the sound of “Vicodin Diaries.” You could start a series, but that would require even more surgery, so, NO, forget I even mentioned it.

    Feel better soon; your blamin’ keeps us goin.’

  22. saraarts.com

    Ah, the melting eyes of the ankle sprainer. Who could hate that face?

    And yes, tomato season is a perfectly valid reason to stay alive. Sometimes I suspect that tomatoes might even be the point.

    Don’t you guys have, like, an eight-month tomato season in Austin? Here in Massachusetts it’s more like two months. Our memories keep us going through the rest of the year, those and hothouse tomatoes from Holland and Israel. If perfectly ripe, vine-sweetened and then freshly picked tomatoes are the point of human existence — and I’m not stating categorically that they are, just that they might be — what does it say about our species that some of us would choose to live where we might know them only briefly, whereas others gladly dwell where they can hedonistically bathe in them nearly all the time, or at least half of each year?

  23. So what award did that ankle win? One of those state fair things?

  24. bitchphd.blogspot.com

    Awww. But look at those eyes! He’s so cute!

    And summer tomatoes are worth a lot.

  25. hexpletive.blogspot.com

    There seems to be a rash of complications arising from ankle injuries recently, at least in the people I hear from. At the extreme end of the spectrum, a friend of my partner suffered a shattered foot a few years ago that was never properly treated and hence never healed. Somehow connected to that, he has now developed a motor neurone disease. Scary stuff.

  26. nobloodforhubris.blogspot.com

    Mmm. Tomato season. Don’t have enough here. Too many tropical downpours, not caused by global warming because it apparently does not exist. Neither do this year’s tomatoes.

  27. Your iceberg story reminded me of a great friend of mine. She’s one of my very favorite people, a radical feminist, who has lupus. I have a different autoimmune disease that has restricted my life so much that you don’t want to know. When I called and let her know about the cancer, as well as trying to set up some birding, she was having her first real attack. This is a seriously iron-willed woman who was not used to being pushed around by some illness, and she was pissed. She told me she wished she had breast cancer because she would refuse treatment so she would die, since the lupus wasn’t killing her fast enough. I sooo love that she would say this to me when other people were being so fucking careful. She got better, even went birding in Texas, and it still makes me smile whenever I think of her.
    Homegrown tomatoes = will to live.

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