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The latest x-rays and previous ones. |
The follow-up with the surgeon was today and it was more of
the usual with another x-ray and quick visit with the surgeon. He had me make a
fist and extend my fingers. Make prayer hands. Invert the prayer hands with the
backs of the hands touching. The official medical declaration was that the bone is about
90% healed, there are no restrictions, I don’t need any more appointments with
the surgeon unless something happens, and the best news of all – I don’t need
physical therapy.
I’m convinced the PT bullet was dodged thanks to two friends
who told me exercises to do to work on mobility and flexibility. So thanks K and K!
The appointment took about 10 minutes and I had the
afternoon off. Instead of taking the left towards home, I took the right towards
the shopping plaza and Hannaford. I had a coupon for $12 off a $60 order and $6
in rewards I could redeem.
The Hannaford discount coupons are when I splurge if the usual
pantry staples haven’t hit the total to trigger the coupon. I was keeping a running
total in my head, but kept forgetting the total, and unlike the old-timey days
before bar codes there are no price tags on items to start over.
Produce, granola bars, coffee, spaghetti sauce, salsa,
cheese, English muffins, rice, and more were loaded into the cart to bolster
the pantry reserves. Splurge items included ice cream and cookies. At the
register, as the number of items left to be rung up dwindled, I mentioned to
the cashier the need to hit $60. That’s when I learned that the $6 rewards came
off first, which put me $6 shy of hitting the qualifying amount for the other
coupon. My math was on the mark, but the rewards deduction knocked me back.
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Splurge that led to savings. |
The cashier offered to pause my transaction and take the
next customer while I got something else to hit the target amount. My mind went
blank and under pressure I couldn’t think of anything else I needed. I was
darting around the aisles like the ball in a pinball game until jugs of
trail mix were spotted on a bottom shelf.
Usually, I mix my own using whatever
is in the baking cabinet, but the reserves are low-ish. The Hannaford mixes have
dried fruits and nuts I would never have on hand at the same time. And it let
me hit $60 to get $12 off. Getting $68 worth of groceries for $50 felt like
a financial and psychological victory. Sure, I had to spend more to save more, but I would have buying the pantry stuff eventually.
The rest of the afternoon involved putting away groceries
and watching movies on Max. There was a chunk of Steel Magnolias, of
which I remembered only that I didn’t really like it when it first came out,
and also someone dies. I liked it a lot more this go-round and bawled my eyes
out. It was followed by Sixteen Candles, which I’ve seen several times,
and also made me cry. I have no idea what is with the waterworks today. It’s
nice to live alone and be able to cry freely, even when it’s a rare occurrence.
During my tween and teen years, Mom and I would cry while watching movies and
my brother and Dad would make fun of us. My response was to master stuffing
down the feelings and choking back the tears, which was preferable to being mocked
for having feelings.
There were other feelings today besides the mushy movie ones
when I read the follow up notes sent by the doctor’s office. The notes claim
that “The patient was informed a slight chance of reinjury/refracture, need
for future surgery and a slight chance of arthritis in the future. If
appropriate, a permanent growth plate deformity may develop. A home exercise
program was given to the patient.” My accompanying reaction was straight up,
full blown, out loud exclamation of “what in the actual f*ck?!?” NONE of that
was discussed. Not a single word of it. A chance of refracture? A potential growth
plate deformity?!? Trust me, had this been told to me, we’d still be in the
office discussing probabilities, ways to avoid such things, and options if they
developed. And where is the “home exercise program?”
I was all set to enjoy some tropical trail mix that I would
probably get all over the couch, but I couldn’t get the lid off, which was
disappointing. The lid and the container are each a smidge too large for me to
grasp. Maybe I’ll bring my 30-ounce jug of trail mix to the office tomorrow and
see if someone with large, strong hands can loosen the lid for me. And who are
the sadistic product packaging design engineers who come up with so many cruel
ways to frustrate the shopper? I would like to slap a couple of them.