Living Single-Handed: The Left Part

Most of you know at this point that I went and had shoulder surgery four weeks ago to correct a torn rotator cuff and some other work to get rid of floaty bits of shit in the joint. Yeah, wait for the pictures below. The Rants Army deserves an update.

At this point I’m seriously wondering what the fuck I was thinking. If this were this an exercise for Soldiers designed to force them to consider life as an amputee, it’s fucking great. I can tie my boot laces in a perfect bow now with one hand.  That’s an upgrade from ‘Retarded Boy Scout Forever Clusterfuck Knot From Hell.’

Even the ‘fixing’ part has apparently gone well, because it doesn’t hurt randomly when I use my arm anymore – it hurts all the fucking time. Consistency, it’s important.  It’s what’s for dinner.

I know, I need to be patient. The persistent asshattery of this procedure I can state with confidence is this: a total lack of sleep. I’m on Week Four of a six-week, sling-confined mindfuck that reminds me too well of my last jaunt to Assgrabbistan. That little adventure featured four-month periods of absolute insomnia that reduced me to writing with crayons and hearing colors.

Still, I have hope. The therapist asked me a week after the procedure what my goal for the physical therapy would be. I said, “Do all the shit I did before.” He gave me that ‘Poor fool’ look and shook his head. I asked if carrying full sheets of ¾” plywood one-armed would be out forever, because the other hand is for beer. He affirmed that and added that boxing, middle-linebacker work, and my broadsword lessons would likely suffer as well. I cried and moved on.

Because I know you’re all sick, curious fucks, I promised some pictures. Here you go.

Deep Inside Rants – 1

Deep Inside Rants – 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pretty sick. The surgeon, using only shish kabob skewers equipped with snippy knives and cameras, hammered some kind of peg into my bone and then stitched up all the torn shit. He gave the joint a good sanding and cleaned up after himself. Judging from his notes and the pictures, it’s a good thing I’m a Tanker because this kind of shit is beyond me like telemarketing, knitting and Olympic Teabagging.

Stitches? Bruise? Hell yeah! Check out my bicep and shoulder damage:

Keep in mind that was about three weeks ago. It’s abated with the help of special band-aids in the shape of an octopus. When I was done with it, I recycled. I amuse the shit out of myself.

Octopus Band Aid Art