The Bone Menders

I envision a small workforce of Bone Menders,  busy inside my wrist, repairing my shattered radius bone. They dress in white coveralls, and wear  white soft booties. They carry small buckets filled with marrow and cells, and they cheerfully plaster around the silver titanium plate; they fill in fractures in the crevices of bone, using tiny shovels that look like pie spatchulas.

Eccentric little artisans, the Bone Menders like to sing as they work, but often the mean background hum of pain pressure drowns out their voices.  When I tell my wife and daughter about these creatures, which I do at least daily, they both respond, ”And how much CBD did you take today?”.

Granted, I am getting stoned to offset this pain, but this image of the Bone Menders is part of the conscious healing regimen I have launched since my surgery a week ago.

I am taking a bone healing protocol from my naturopath, that includes supplements with names such as osteo5x  (hydrolyzed collagen), and Osteo Minis (some for For Am and pm that contain magnesium, copper, selenium, calcium, and Vitamins D and K and K1. ) I drink down drops of Vitamin  A, B-12s, and D’s, and a dropper full of a brown liquid remedy called Bone Knit.

Hum, I may have to supply my Bone Menders with some knitting needles and yarn.  I am bravely trying to adjust to this surprisingly potent disability and when not in relentless discomfort, relax into my new routines.

I’m drinking cups of bone marrow broth, and trying to eat small meals, to keep my stomach in tact from the medications. I’m monitoring my self pity levels to ensure that I do not plunge off the deep end.

I’m icing, limiting myself to one long walk a day (although not long enough since the Dogsitter does not go as far as I go), and spending not too much time on devices.  

To function in my new little world, I must move much slower, and deliberate first, act second. I’ve been mostly homebound, which thankfully limits my exposure to the entitled people of Marin, whom I find terribly annoying when in a weakened state.

Today an older white man who did not have his scruffy little dog on leash, yelled at Patricia,  my dog walker that ”your dog is a monster!” when Sadie growled and bared her teeth at his approaching dog.

It just took a moment to remediate the situation between the dogs, but the man wouldn’t stop his invective.  “You are just unkind,” I told him as he refused to move on both literally and figuratively. As we walked away I couldn’t help myself. “You are a mean bastard.”

On the other hand,  let’s call it my good hand, my friends have stepped up, coming by to share a meal, and to help me take the dogs out at night. They bring by Special CBD lotion, flowers, cards, and takeout, and provide me with much needed distraction.

But honestly, I’m still shell shocked. It’s been just over  a week since my mom died and I broke my wrist. My routine is disrupted and I am a creature of routine.  i haven’t driven my car, Pat and Soph are in Boston and I’m on my own, no demented mom to worry about or attend to.  But I’m feeling this numb dumb pain in my hand that appears to have a life of its own, even though it is almost completely immobilized in plaster and white mesh.

Still, I meet with my students, editing with one finger, and getting them excited about finding and writing their stories for college applications. I walk the dogs on our street, hyper aware of keeping them under control. Just one lizard, and things could end badly.

It’s exhausting. Today has been my most pain free day. It’s a five. On the morning dog walk we saw the nasty man again. He started up with me and from 20 feet away, I told him i would be happy to talk about our interaction yesterday, but that I didn’t want his negativity. This gave him pause and he finally stopped yelling at me. I ended the encounter by wishing him a good day.

Watching the teenagers play their hearts out at the US Open, I will rest on my sofa, and resume my icing. Gotta keep those Bone Menders well hydrated and busy. They have lots on their platelets.