Expansionism, my ass.

And that’s no crack. My ass is expanding.

The elbow surgery rehab is not going well, frankly. Or rather, the rehab is going well but I’ve been experiencing some interesting side effects. And by “interesting”, I mean “oh FUCK no”.

Here’s the nutshell acccount: because I have to baby my left arm, I’ve been relying almost exclusively on my right arm for all my typing, cooking, driving, lifting, nose picking, wiping, yanking, and door-opening needs.

But I had the same surgery on my right elbow two years ago. Guess what several months of exlusively relying on THAT reconstructed elbow for typing, cooking, driving, lifting, nose picking, wiping, yanking, and door-opening, has done? I’ll tell you.


That’s what it’s done.

Back to the doc.

Doc looks, squeezes, frowns, writes some stuff down, and says, “Stop. Doing. ANYTHING.”

Both arms?

“Both arms.”

How am I gonna drive home?

“Except that. But then, try not to drive. It twists your elbows when you steer.”

So yeah, I gotta stay pretty much inert from the belt up so my left arm can continue healing, and my right arm doesn’t blow out all the work it had done months ago. Typing – that thing I’m doing here in defiance of God and sense – is particularly verboten. The lifting and dropping of fingers on a keyboard contracts all those rubber band ligament things that connect digits to elbows. Ditto mouse use. So I’ve gotta wrap this up in a minute.

But here’s the thing(s):

I have to work. Where I have to type and use mice. Mouses?

My work is 50 miles from my house. That’s a hundred miles a day steering.

I don’t have any more days off after using them on surgery recovery.

NewWifey(tm) is still away on her cross country cross stitching adventure. I’m fending, pitiably, for myself. That means cooking.

All I can do is sit. I hate sitting. I get bored.

What do I do when I get bored? The same thing YOU do when you get bored. I eat.

I weighed myself this morning. I’d been putting it off because my clothes were getting tighter and I prefered to believe they were shrinking because I was just doing Man Laundry (washing machine AND dryer set to “Breaker Overload”). But when even my shoes started digging into my flesh, I knew I had to face the scale.

11 pounds. I gained 11 pounds in a month from sitting around and boredom chowing.

I was so depressed I went into the kitchen and made this:


I scrounged around in the kitchen and just tossed some leftover bits together. So it’s kinda like paella, but with half a bag of barley instead of rice, clementines, thyme from my window box, the last dregs of stock, an old onion, and chicken thighs. I guess I should call it “Cebada con Pollo y Clementina“, since this is the internet and all food descriptions/pictures here seem duty bound to look and sound more impressive than they are. Plus, the foreign name adds to the impression that I’m impressive. I’m always on board with that.

Ok, gotta stop typing. Gotta start eating. I’ll be back when I’m up FIFTEEN pounds. So…tomorrow.

One last thing, because vanity trumps pain. Here’s a pic of a chicken dish I did a while back after a buddy gave me his crop of tomatillas and some really interesting Peruvian herbs that his Peruvian neighbor grew. It made a terrific sofrito – and look at that color! Same basic technique as the dish above, but wildly different flavors:


That’s it. I gotta go before I’m disarmed, literally. I value my arms. Almost as much as food.




7 thoughts on “Expansionism, my ass.

  1. I feel your pain. Diagnosed with fallopian cancer in November of 2015. Was gutted like a deer Nov 23rd. Released from the hospital on my birthday – Nov 30. Started chemo on New Years Eve. Finished up chemo beginning of June. So far so good and all clear. What kept nausea at bay? Eating. What’d I do while recovering from surgery? Eat. From June through Sept I was able to get back in my white water kayak and make up for lost time. Which I hurt myself doing in July, but waited until the season was winding down to go to the doc. Who told me to stop kayaking immediately and put my right hand in a splint and told me not to use my thumb. For at least 3 weeks. I’m up 15 pounds and closing quickly in on 20. Had to buy new pants. So at least I can use my left hand, but I still kinda get it. Heal fast! The world needs your humor. Or at least I do.


  2. First, invent neat-o star trek style transporter to eliminate driving. Second, invent voice to text thing-o that works to eliminate typing. Step 3, using transporter you just invented, send food to me to eliminate weight gain. Don’t say I never help you! No reply needed, save that arm for the important stuff (yes I mean yanking).


  3. It isn’t perfect, but there’s a talk-to-text program called Dragon. I used it when my hands got really bad, and will probably break down and get it again. You can’t use it at work, unfortunately, but at least when you’re home you get a reprieve.

    If you have any doubt about its accuracy, please read any of Poolie’s voice to text blog entries. They’ll learn you.


  4. I think it’s interesting that the more you say you’re not supposed to type…the more you post! Not that I’m complaining or anything. I wake up every morning just in hopes of a new post from you….ha!

    But I actually do feel your pain…in a way. I had elbow surgery many years ago. Probably when elbow surgery was not as technically advanced as it is now. So much so, that I’ve almost completely blocked out of my head how on earth I survived with only my left arm during all that. So major kudos to you sir!

    Get well soon…but post more dammit!! ~XxOo


  5. No jokes today – just a suggestion that you don’t reply to this message, thereby giving you a few extra seconds of recovery time; and much as I’d love to read another post from you soon, I hope you’ll give it a rest. It sounds as if it’s the only thing you can take a rest from.


  6. Voice to text. Just suggesting that. Let me do one here in my best southern accent. Here goes: my Alabama on your bed. And I’m numb been that of you by sight yak. You got that canyon elbow.


  7. Pingback: KITCHEN

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