Last Friday, I paid another visit to my orthopedic surgeon to determine how much longer my leg will remain in a fiberglass cast monstrosity. The X-ray conveyed calcification in my femur, a great sign.
The doctor proceeded to take off the cast with the hope of placing my leg in a soft cast for 6 weeks. He bent it and muttered “Hmm, no good, too ‘rubbery.’ I need to recast it and you will need to wear it for 3 more weeks.” My heart sank, and all the energy was sucked out of the air. Toughen up ‘Pretty Cripple’, you will get through this, I thought. I toyed with an imaginary conversation to boost my morale.
Me: Ok, that isn’t the best news, but at least you didn’t say ‘I’m sorry, but we are going to have to remove your leg and replace it with a peg leg.’
Surgeon Barry: Yes, you could look at it that way.
Me: Peg legs aside, I need some pain meds. I love lucidity though. Can you prescribe something that won’t make me look like this?
Surgeon Barry: Shakes his head and says ‘Ha, ha, can you do that again?’
Me: (I make my ‘Percocet face’ again but delivering more animation.) I am sensitive to pain meds and just lie in bed rocking back and forth. I like my brain the way it works. I don’t want to feel numb and take 1 minute to respond to a simple question such as “Do you like Dr. Brown’s cherry soda?”
Surgeon Barry: Have you ever had Tramadol? It might make you a little sleepy, but you won’t rock back and forth.
Me: Yes, I had some after my wisdom tooth was taken out. Sold. Tramadol it is.
When I returned home with my meds I had something to lift my doldrums. Three of my girlfriends planned a weekend long visit to decorate my cast.
Three of my girlfriends came over last weekend to help me decorate my cast with markers and nail polish. Mark my words, once Sotheby’s gets wind of this fiberglass masterpiece I will single handedly break the art market ceiling. Van Gogh? Edvard Munch? Jeff Koons? Please. My cast will hang in the living room of an oligarch’s yacht.
This masterpiece was not complete until my buddy Angela added my ‘Pretty Cripple’ logo. When my friend John saw an image of my deformed swollen toes he said they ‘look like boiled chicken.’ I agree. Another friend concurred, so she sent me this picture of boiled chicken suffocating in mucousy broth jello.
Yummy. Thanks Sweet Sue for making chicken that comes out of a can. This is Spam’s distant inbred relative with a congenital deformity. The gelatinous placenta cape it is wearing is so disgusting that my friend’s cat wouldn’t even paw it, much less eat it.
Rarely is there a wrong time not to buy a new pair of shoes. I rented this crappy wheelchair because my day-to-day one does not come with an adjustable leg rest for my broken leg. The left leg rest wasn’t custom fit to my body, so I had to elevate it using a folded towel my dogs use. This of course pissed me off, so I blurted this excuse: “Look at this embarrassing foot plate. I am entitled to a new pair of Kurt Geiger pony hair leopard sneakers.” Best decision I made that day. (And yes, I realize my legs need to be shaved. I am enjoying my “Woodstock-Legs” though. Cut me some slack.)
Although I have felt like a ‘shut-in’ since July 2nd, I have had plenty of time to obsess about some things many of you would never entertain in July. Fall fashion. Summer designer sales are almost over and fashion designers are loading my email box full of fall fashion images.
Oh Giambattista Valli. You nailed it for Fall Couture 2014. My fave color combo is pink and red. This extravagant feathery, ombre tulle gown is beautifully paired with a silk pajama top with monochromatic belt cinching her lollipop stick waist. The turban and sunglasses are the final accoutrememts that sent me over-the-moon.
The detail in this Manish Arora ‘Candyland’ midi skirt is superb. I am not sure whether to wear it or lick it. I love his skirts so much I bought one last winter–albeit, not as pricey or ornate.
Last year cat ears were all the rage in head wear. This season I’m bonkers for bunnies. Benoît Missolin Alice polka-dot silk and rabbit-felt headpiece.
The last thing a shut-in should pay attention to is one’s complexion. Since my teen years, I have always thought of myself as a high-priestess of skincare. I love new skin care products, facials, peels, microdermabrasion and on and on. A little effort goes a long way. There is no reason your skin should look like America’s decrepit infrastructure. So let me clue you in about one of many products I use to exfoliate and rejuvenate my skin.
I use a Mandelic 25% acid peel once a week. This is a light peel which is great for acne, visible pores and wrinkle prevention. The word “acid” is a misnomer. Don’t think of this as the acid that gets thrown on Pakistani women when they decline a marriage proposal from their 70 year old cousin. This acid leaves my skin dewy, tight and poreless. More beauty tips to follow in my next blog post. (Get 25% off their products with this coupon code.)
Every day I try to remind myself that when life gives you lemons, make lemonade with at least 4 oz. of good Polish vodka. Otherwise, you might end up eating a handful of Percocet like Tic-Tacs. On the bright side, I have friends, family, a 46 inch LED TV with Blu-Ray and a long list of movies, which keep me entertained. My mind often wanders and I wonder what would be if I broke my femur in 1858 and lived outside of NYC. I wouldn’t have Tramadol for starters. I would probably be addicted to morphine and have to whore myself out to get the next fix. All the while sitting uncomfortably in an ugly wooden wheelchair, feathered bonnet, wearing a corset while slowly asphyxiating myself. Then I would roll home, churn butter, press my mother’s lace blouse, turn the oven on and shut all the windows. Talk about a mundane infernal existence. God, they didn’t even have online courses back then!
TWO and a HALF more weeks, people! Summer, at least, will still be here. Enjoy life and be grateful of having first world dilemmas such as grass fed organic butter or ersatz margarine?!
