Cooking sans Dear

There's no doubt that I'm pretty spoiled. I hardly ever cook, and just when I started to get interested in it, I married to an alpha cook. So one of the most difficult things in dealing with Dear's absence is actually having to do that thing with the stove/oven. The first week of being Dear-less, I was mostly living like a college student. I stretched leftovers very thin, eating the same thing or some permutation of it, every other day so that I wouldn't tire of any one thing. Not one meal was close to being balanced and I felt hungry soon after eating. The fanciest meal I cooked was quesadillas, and noodle soup has been a staple. Our fridge hasn't been this empty since we moved in. But through all the desperate times, I told myself that I would eat out just one weeknight each week. So far I have stayed true to that.

This week I'm trying to live like a recent college graduate. So far I've had a scrumptious steak with roasted squash and an OK tilapia papillote. Today I walked to Ctown to buy some fruits and vegetables on my lunch break (thank goodness for Ctown and its proximity b/c the stores within walking distance of where I live suck). I haven't yet worked out what to do with the broccoli and green beans that I bought, but some meals that I'm thinking of preparing:
- oven-baked ribs
- pasta
- grilled cheese sandwich with bacon(!) and apple
- Hainanese chicken (or at least a poached chicken)
- porkchops
- roasted tomatoes with broccoli rabe

If you have any recipe suggestions, please pass it along!

Don't cry for me Argentina

I've been too busy to post about the weekend and here we are at the next weekend already. Well, it was a tear-filled weekend, first with the passing of Dear's uncle and then Dear's departure. Dear left somewhat early on Sunday morning and began his long drive to GA. Because of this, he couldn't attend his uncle's burial (even though he really wanted to) and I went in his stead. The uncle lived a very full (and long) life and he was a good man. Because he was a WWII vet and was to be buried at the VA cemetery, his burial was on Monday (friggin' civil servants don't work on weekends). I have never been to a veteran's funeral and it was a sobering and beautiful experience. The ceremony was very moving and I felt very honored to have known him in the short time that I did and to be able to pay final respects.

My in-laws and I started out very early in the morning since it was a very long drive (almost to the end of Long Island). The ride felt much longer for me since I had to sit next to a bothersome old lady from church who couldn't keep her mouth shut for one second. Thankfully I fell asleep halfway there and when I woke up, we had arrived. It took a while for all the cars to get there, but eventually we were ready and everyone drove to a stone shelter hidden behind trees and down a short, scenic walkway. It was a very serene place and everyone (except the bothersome woman from church who was yammering away on her cellphone) instantly fell silent as soon as we walked into the area.

Inside the shelter, the casket was flanked on either side by two female army officers in their dress uniform. A row of folding chairs with covers made of Astroturf faced the casket and the immediate family was directed to take these seats. Once everyone filed into the shelter (and the woman finally had the sense to end her conversation), taps began to play (I assume this was a recording since I didn't see anyone with brass instruments around). The two officers brought their hands up to their brow in a salute and a few people brought their hands to their chest in a pledge. At some point the two officers turned to face the casket and with their white gloves, grasped the flag covering the casket. They lifted the flag up in unison and brought it together length-wise almost end to end. They did this one more time before walking away from the casket and towards the crowd. The officers continued to hold the flag at chest-height, while the one on the right began to fold the flag. She took one corner and folded it diagonally to form a triangle at one end, then folded it horizontally, then diagonally the other way until there was less than 2 feet separating her from the other officer. For each fold, she ran her hand against the fabric to pull it tight and form a crease before moving on. The other officer, holding the end with the stars then tucked her end into the pocket that was formed by the other officer's folding. Each movement was precise and deliberate, motions exaggerated to emphasize each fold. Their bright white gloves against the vivid red and blue was captivating to watch. Still, at times I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if one of them lost their grip and the flag fluttered to the ground. But I couldn't dwell on this thought as the officer on the right then handed the flag to the other officer and that officer marched toward the green chairs. She stopped in front of the widow, bent down, and gave a speech that began something like, "Ma'am, as a show of appreciation to your husband for his service to our country, please accept this symbol...." I lost it about here and was reminded of how so many have bravely fought for our country. After the officer finished, she handed the flag over and Dear's aunt held the flag against her body (its final folded size is pretty big, covering almost her entire torso). The two officers then marched away, out of the shelter, and into the trees. After a hymn, Bible reading, and two prayers, everyone took their turn laying a flower on the casket. When the ceremony was over, everyone went back to the cars to drive to the actual burial site. There was some commotion as someone noticed that there was a lychee tree growing amongst all the greenery.

We waited a while by the administration office and people started to exclaim that since it was around noon, everyone was on their lunch break and we'd have to wait even longer. Some took this as a bathroom opportunity but just as I started to stretch out my legs, everything was ready and there was a scramble to get back to the cars. We drove by many fields and all the old folk had to comment on how some of the fields don't have standing headstones and just have the plaque in the ground. Dear's aunt and cousins made sure to choose an area with standing headstones. Unlike other cemeteries, where there are all shapes and sizes of headstones, everyone at the VA cemetery has the same exact one -- a slab of white marble with a curve at the top and simple etching of the name, dates, and religious symbol on the front. There is also a number etched into the back of each one, the meaning of which I still don't understand. The uniformity is nice and to see the rows and rows of white stones lined up is breathtaking. The old folk also liked this a lot and many made comments and/or caressed the stones as if to test them out. The spot chosen by Dear's aunt is especially nice, next to a big tree with a bench and also by a spigot. I think there is some feng shui belief associated with choosing certain burial spots, which I find interesting, since as Christians, do you really care where your physical body is rotting away at on Earth? When everything was finally done and we were back in Queens, it was already 3pm. Dear had already arrived in GA and was settling in to his room and such.

It has been less than a week without Dear, but I've already had many inquiries into how I'm handling daily chores like cooking and cleaning and I've even had offers for me to stay over. I don't know, do people just think I'm that incapable? More on how I'm holding up in a later post. It's been a crazy long day/week.

Bend it like R______n

My biggest hurdle right now is bending my leg beyond 90 degrees. I have just enough strength to be able to walk without a brace and crutch most of the time (though I feel wobbly sometimes). Every day I do killer bending exercises which make my knee and thigh feel like I have early arthritis coupled with a burning sensation. Since I can't reach the minimum 120 degrees with ease at week 5, the p/t had to force it the other day. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, since I had prepped myself throughout the week, unlike the previous week where I felt tears squeezing out of my eyes just as he squeezed my leg. I had to flail my upper body just to distract myself and I remember slapping the table in defeat like those judo/taekwondo wusses do. :D This time wasn't as bad but was still bad enough that the receptionist said my face clearly showed my pain. But I think it was just the little push that I needed since it is difficult to force pain on myself and Dear can't bring himself to do it either.

In other suffering news, I am finding it more and more difficult trying to put a wardrobe together. I have to wear sneakers and I covet all the shoes, flip flops, boots and sandals that I see on other ppl's feet as I mostly look at the floor to make sure I don't step on uneven ground. It is good to finally be able to wear pants though, now that I don't have to wear the ridiculously large leg brace (I was afraid I'd have to go buy more skirts). But somedays I just give up on being publicly presentable (I really need to go shopping and to get a haircut!) and carry my crutch around as an accessory/excuse.

Baby steps

I took 3 steps all on my own today (no brace, no crutch)! It was quite by accident -- I finished one set of exercises and I wanted to do the next set by the coffee table. Without thinking, I just walked and I didn't realize what happened until afterwards. Woo hoo! I'm also starting to gain more flexibility in the knee (I can bend to 90 degrees with minimal effort and beyond 100, if forced) and more strength in my leg muscles (my quads feel less like flan and more like a medium steak). I think my progress is related to having the stitches removed. The stitches were so tight that almost every movement I made pulled and pinched that part of my flesh.

So it has been a huge relief to not have the stitches, though getting them removed was not exactly a fun experience. I must be super-sensitive because it actually hurt when the nurse was plucking at the stitches to cut them out. What's worse was that one of them got stuck and she kept tugging at it. The doctor even came in to help, to no avail. In the end, it was just a little piece stuck and she gave me a pair of tweezers to pluck it out at home. I still can't bring myself to go prodding around my knee though. The doctor, however, thinks everything looks great (minimal swelling, small scars, tendon rock solid) so I am glad.

I still can't decide whether or not I think my doctor is so great that I would recommend him. But when I was waiting in the doctor's office, a few patients raved about how great he is. (They are seeing him for knee replacements, which sounds like a horrifying experience -- 100 times worse than a simple ACL reconstruction -- so TAKE CARE OF YOUR KNEES!!) My physical therapist (who is truly great) also tells me that every patient of my doctor that he sees turns out great. The P/T aide was also very impressed by how clean my knee is (whereas I still think it's gross-looking); he said he's seen knees still bruised with ugly scars by week 3. But I am still doubtful.

My next goal: to walk more freely this week (be it sans brace or going on just one crutch) in public. I am also eager/intimidated by the idea of taking the subway to work tomorrow (I've been spoiled by Dear chauffeuring me around for the past 3 weeks) but I really want to be able to.

The days after

The day after the surgery, I was awoken by the doorbell at 8 in the morning. Some guy had come to deliver a medieval-looking thing, called a Constant Passive Motion (CPM) machine. I say this machine is medieval in that it is a pure torture device. After your leg is strapped in, the machine moves and bends your knee according to the degree that you set. My doctor orders it to begin at 60 and to increment it each time I use it (which is at least 2 hours, 2x a day). Imagine all that inner scar tissue being ripped with each motion.

I am somewhat surprised about all the surgery-related people that have called me (and I was going to give a fake contact number :D). One of the nurses from the hospital called me the following day to make sure I was feeling OK, as did the doctor's secretary. In a groggy state, I made a follow-up appointment thinking that I wouldn't feel well enough to even see him in 2 weeks but now I think I will be ready. A doctor/PA also called me two days after to ask how I was doing; he told me I could cut my Vicodin pills in half if I wanted a less potent dose.

Two days after surgery, I also had to start physical therapy again. I was half an hour late because it took me probably an hour to shower and change, 15 minutes to finally make it downstairs to the car, and another 15 minutes to make it up the three steps leading to the PT office. I was in so much pain the therapist was afraid to touch me. It didn't help that my brace has super Velcro that takes forever to unlatch. I think going so soon after the surgery was pretty useless. The appointment 2 days after that was much more fruitful.

Now that the pain has subsided, I am able to do more exercises on my own. Today I was able to do some leg lifts without pulling up my leg with my arms! It was slow and a bit painful, but I was finally able to! I think it was partially psychological because you just know there will be some pain. To push me along, the therapist had shocked my muscles at the last session to force them to contract. It hurt like crazy (kinda like when I had acupuncture and the guy increased the frequency) and actually made me scream out in pain. But I have to get going on this! I looked at the prescription of activities given to the P/T for me to do and it looks like I'm behind! Some people are able to walk without crutches and/or brace by day 14 but I don't think that I can achieve that in just 4 days.

I am very eager to have the stitches removed next Wednesday though. I feel some of them pulling when I do certain motions and sometimes it itches a lot. And looking at the stiff, black threads all knotted up in my flesh when I'm changing the dressing is freaky. I would take a picture, but I'll spare you the grossness.

Operation: knee

The anesthesia fully wore off yesterday and I tasted the full-fledged pain for the first time. Now that the pain has settled a bit (or I'm just getting used to it), I can describe what brought me to this state.

SIGNS OF FOREBODING

I was slightly late getting to the hospital due to traffic so I didn't have much time to be nervous. But when the the registration receptionist wished me "Good luck" after she set up my file and payment, it started to sink in. That was nice of her, but it really wasn't very confidence-inspiring for me to hear, as if things could go wrong very easily with my procedure. Then when I was inside, the registration nurse asked me a bunch of questions and asked me if I wanted to sign the form for healthcare proxy (including a question about DNR) -- another non-inspiring moment as I waited nervously for my procedure to begin. I don't think I've ever been so nervous before, not for the SATs, not for interviews, not even when speaking in public.



MY VULNERABLE STATE

I was not dressed to impress in hospital-issued floppy mismatched robes (one with the opening in back and another on top of that with the opening in front) that were about eight sizes too big for me. And since I hadn't eaten or imbibed in over 12 hours I probably had hunger breath and dry mouth. A PA, anesthesiologist, and resident/fellow (is there a difference?) came to talk to me, almost repeating the same thing over and over. None of them seemed to appreciate my sarcasm (or maybe I just wasn't very funny). The PA didn't seem very friendly either but he did draw a crooked arrow pointing to my left knee to prevent future lawsuits (I had to sign a statement that they made a mark). The fellow was helpful though -- I finally understood the entire procedure and he added the doctor's initials above the arrow to make it clearer what the doctor had to do: They would make several small incisions on either side of the knee cap and replace my torn ACL with the graft of a cadaver's achille's tendon. They would then screw it in place with titanium screws, which may or may not set off metal detectors in airports (yes, I asked).

When I finally walked into the OR (the last normal walking I would do in a long while), I had to remove the outer robe, leaving me exposed to the cold air. My inner robe was held up by the fellow as I hopped onto the tall skinny table in the center of the room. The table had two swiveling arms at the side and laying there with my arms outstretched felt like I was about to be crucified in a walk-in freezer. Thankfully a nurse brought me a warm blanket and I tried to convince myself that I was just getting a spa treatment.

Before they would put me under, we had to wait for the doctor to finish up his other procedure and come say hello to me. (The nurses claimed the doctor would talk to me before the procedure; he has a bunch of peons to do his bidding while he just shows up for the main task.) Finally the doctor strutted in, asked me how I was doing, signed something on the door, and walked out. The anesthesiologist had already stuck an IV in my wrist and when the doctor was ready to begin, he injected something into the tube. Within seconds I thought the huge lights overhead looked fuzzy (like when you use the blur filter in Photoshop). I don't remember anything else until slowly waking up in the recovery room and hearing hospitalspeak.

I tried to enunciate my need for my glasses as three female voices bent over me. I heard my doctor say something about it going great as he patted me on the shoulder and asked how I was doing. I managed a "tired." Then someone came and took x-rays of my leg. I remember Dear walking into the room and then leaving shortly after, leaving me to rest.

My mouth and throat were really dry and I asked for apple juice. I downed two cups like they were nothing. (Little did I know that those cups would lead to my doom later.) The nurse then talked me into coherence. Everything was going hunky dory (except for a slight throbbing in my knee) until a doctor (or was it the PA or another resident?) came over with the x-rays. He pulled the nurse aside, said something to her, and then walked over to me. He said that the doctor would have to come back and look at the x-rays because something looked weird to him. He reminded me of a sleazy car salesman who isn't telling you the whole truth and was evasive when I asked him questions. Great! And I thought I was doing really well because everyone around me was getting nauseous and needed extra meds while I was already being rolled to the discharge area.

Apparently peeing is a sign that you can go home and I really needed to go so they wheeled me into the bathroom, picked me up and planted me on the throne. It was a relief! However I would not get to go home. Another patient of my doctor (her procedure was after mine -- I remember seeing her in the admitting area) was also brought over and she relieved herself shortly after me. Unlike me, however, she got ready to go home while I waited. She got her crutches lesson, her belongings from her locker, her street clothes, and she was put into a wheelchair.

An hour after they told me that my doctor was turning back and was in the Lincoln tunnel and would arrive in 15 minutes, he finally showed up. He told the other patient that everything with her procedure went great but since I have such a tiny bone they had to use a shorter screw. This led to instability or something so that things were misaligned, whereas the other woman got a 30mm screw and hers is perfect. So he would have to go back in and insert what I understand to be the medical equivalent of a wall anchor that you use when hanging heavy objects in drywall or plaster. Meanwhile the other patient was saying goodbye, thanking the nurses, and wishing me luck.

What's worse was that I wouldn't be put under since I had those cups of juice (in the event that I would aspirate, whatever that means). Instead I would get an epidural, what I originally wanted but everyone told me the state of coma was better (including the first anesthesiologist). The second anesthesiologist seemed sleazy to me and it irked me to no end when he tried to convince me that the epidural was the better way to go instead of telling me the truth that it was my only option since I had had something to drink. He kept saying they would "take good care of me." If I had known what I know now and if I wasn't in a weakened state, I would have argued because in fact, the epidural is horrible. Besides the thought of a giant needle being inserted into your spine, it was just weird to not be able to feel your lower body. I was also shivering like mad (an effect of the anesthesia the nurse said) despite several blankets being piled on me.

THE SECOND TIME AROUND

I was told to sit up and hug a pillow so that the anesthesiologist could inject his torture. The needle didn't feel like much but as he injected, I felt a sharp twinge in my leg traveling through all the branches of the nerves in my leg and then total numbness. Soon after my legs felt like they were floating and then like they were disembodied. As uncomfortable as I was, at least I got to witness part of the procedure.

My doctor came in, talked some jive about the anesthesiologist being the best out there (yeah right, I think he pumped way too much crap into me) and told someone to get him the scrub nurse. (Yes, there is actually a nurse whose job is to put the outer scrubs on the doctor.) He also tried to butter me up by saying that I have good bones (no idea what that means). The table was raised and the doctor had some weird mitt-like paper object which he held my foot with. I had no idea he was even holding my foot until I saw my foot raised in the air. I appreciated that he was narrating his steps: he was painting iodine all over my toes and then down my foot and leg to prevent infection, just as he had done before, he said. The other two doctors that were there came over to help. Then the two helper doctors attached a sheet to these poles on either side of me to block my view. The doctor said I wouldn't want to watch anyway but I said I wouldn't mind. He ignored me and went on. :(

I heard him tell one of the other doctors to remove this stitch and that stitch. He asked me if I felt anything and thankfully the answer was no. The anesthesiologist came over and said he'd talk to me to keep me distracted or something. Of all things to talk about he asked if I was married and when I was going to have kids because "you have to have kids shortly after getting married." My favorite topic of all! Oh another reason to be put under!!

When he finally left me alone, I heard the doctor ask for a certain drill (I would be really interested in what kind of drills and drill bits he uses) and I heard the familiar whirring sound. Some other inaudible tasks later and then I heard him ask someone to wash up the area and close me up so that "we can all go home." He popped behind the sheet and said he'd go find Dear and tell him everything was done. Minutes later he came back, told me Dear must've stepped out, and then he was gone. When the other doctor was done closing me up, three people lifted me by the sheet under me and put me on a stretcher. I saw a giant blood-like stain where my hip had been and deduced that it was just iodine. Then the unbelievable discomfort began.

I was shivering; I moved my hand to my side and found a nice warm spot. It turned out to be my leg but I couldn't feel it at all! Nurses asked if I could wiggle my toes. I told my feet to move but couldn't tell if they were moving. Then I felt really warm and thirsty. I asked if I could have something to drink but since I had no lower body sensation, I could only have ice chips. The ice didn't help my thirst much and instead upset my stomach. It got progressively worse and started to feel like menstrual cramps times 100. I wanted to roll myself into a ball but couldn't move my legs. The nurse told me to take deep breaths and breathe out slowly. I also started to feel pain in my lower back. The nurse propped some pillows under me so that I was sorta laying on my side but it didn't help. I bent my good leg up and it felt better, but not completely. No matter what I did, I couldn't find a comfortable position and the pain in my stomach was only getting worse. The deep breathing helped a little but not enough. I asked for ginger ale in the hopes that I would burp out the gas (what everyone thought was the cause of my stomach pain) but the more I drank, the more it hurt. I thought the coldness was irritating my stomach so I asked for tea. It also made it worse and I thought it was the caffeine causing irritation. So I asked for room temperature ginger ale. I also got some saltines but they were so dry that I had to drink something in order to not choke, leading to more pain. I got Maalox and some anti-nausea medication. Finally, they convinced me to move to the chair and they wheeled me over to the other side of the room. In transporting me, they jiggled some burps out of me, but as soon as I was laying down again, the pain started.


Hours later, I still couldn't feel my lower body and since I had to pee in order to leave, I knew I would be in for the long haul since I couldn't even feel my bladder. With my cramps I was irritable to the nurses and I had a vision of what I would be like when I'm old and in a nursing home. I slowly started to get feeling in my feet and could push back on the nurse's hand so I got my crutches lesson. When I stood up and took a few steps, I felt wetness down my leg and I realized that my bladder was working on its own. Good thing the whole floor was empty and only the nurses witnessed my incontinence (I was too grouchy to be embarassed at the time). I lost balance and they wheeled the blasted chair (I think the deep recline of the chair contributed to my discomfort) over to me to transport me to the porcelain throne again but by then I was done. I insisted on sitting there for a while though, because sitting upright felt so much better. Hours later, I started to feel urges to pee. That, coupled with some practice on the crutches, led me to release more gas (both orally and anally, haha!). Finally, around three o'clock in the morning (only one nurse remained and she turned off most of the lights on the floor already), I drank some tea to wet my mouth and had some bites of a muffin since I hadn't really eaten in over 24 hours. I struggled to change into my street clothes, got put into a wheelchair, and finally left the hospital. I was put into the back seat of the car so that I could keep my leg elevated. When we got close to home, I felt a similar cramping as before in my lower abdomen but now realized that it was my full bladder talking to me. (Even if I had realized this earlier, I don't think I would have been able to control my bladder to release the liquid.) Dear went upstairs to get his rolling office chair so that I wouldn't have to struggle with the crutches while still partially numb and we made it just in time for me to pee for 5 minutes straight. Each time I thought I was done, the liquid would continue to accumulate, and I kept going. This also happened several times throughout the night.

LESSONS TO LEARN

Petite people are built differently! The anesthesiologist shouldn't have given me such a high dosage because it really shouldn't take me more than 24 hours to fully regain feeling in my lower body (I continued to have labored peeing throughout the following day). And the doctor, I guess, never really worked with people of my size because I wouldn't have had to go in twice if he got it right the first time (I'm still debating whether or not he's a good enough doctor for me to recommend him). Now on to recovery....

In sickness and in health

As if there were any doubt, I have to reiterate that I have the best-est Dear in the world (beware, this is a mushy post). Let me count the ways:

He dropped me off at the hospital early yesterday morning, rushed home to finish the laundry, and then came back out to the City to pick me up.

He then waited hours with me (until 3am to be exact) until I was ready to leave the hospital (more on why it took so long in another post), foregoing dinner and sleep.

He made jokes about the pink kidney bean-shaped bedpan when I felt nauseous enough to throw up (but didn't).

He supplied me with a walkie talkie so that he can answer my every beck and call, including helping me pee, preparing meals, helping me change, helping me exercise, putting on my leg brace, and semi-arranging the flowers my co-workers sent me.

He set up a laptop by the bed so that I can do work (and blog, of course). He also set up the TV in case I get bored otherwise.

He slept on the couch so that I would have maximum room sleeping and wouldn't be disturbed.

He picked up my narcotics early this morning.

Tomorrow he will drive me to my physical therapy appointment in the city.

Queen of Queens

If I had my druthers, Queens would not be my borough of choice to live in, though it isn't as bad as that borough (we all know which I'm referring to, of course), and being in FH (probably the only area I would dare to call home in Queens) somewhat makes up for it. But two things that Queens has got a step up on above other parts of the city: good ethnic food and the highest rate of circulation in the public library. I'm not so sure the second thing is exactly positive, but through my rose-colored coke bottle glasses, I'm going to say that I'm proud that people are READING. (Of course I'm sure it's those darn DVDs that people are really borrowing, but I can hope.)

In terms of ethnic food, we've recently had several tastes of so-called "premium" fried chicken, Korean style. It is fried chicken like I've never had before -- extra crispy, yet still juicy, no breading, and lots of different seasonings. Since I can barely handle heat, the ones I've tried are a combination of sweet, garlicky, and a bunch of other unidentifiable (but good) flavors. I recommend Kyo Chon, which seems to be a chain that's popping up all over the place, hands down over Unidentified Flying Chicken (UFC). My hope is to venture into NJ, where I've heard their Korean fried chicken is even better!

FoHi fo' real

I've been meaning to post pics of an especially inspiring apartment recently (or not so recently) featured on apartment therapy. The most interesting part -- this designer lives in Forest Hills too.

Commonly called a "landing strip" on AT, we also have this in our apartment entryway. I am still looking for a mirror though, and our little shelf needs some tidying up.

When we were home-hunting, we often saw apartments with built-in shelves that are only deep enough to display objects, not actually store stuff. I really like this idea of converting that space into one large display that frames a vase (or some other large object, rather than a bunch of tchotkes). If you look carefully enough, the vase sits on a bed of little stones, which I think is a great detail!

Speaking of conversion, I LOVE this idea of making the front hallway closet into a little office. I think it's enclosed enough to keep you away from distractions, yet just roomy enough to work. I would do well to learn at least a little of her storage/organization solutions (I am quite dissatisfied with our office).

I also like how the galley kitchen is a breakfast bar but also serves as an entertaining bar when viewed from the living room.

Another lesson to learn: combining dining space into the living room.

And what a great way to use the hallway -- a dressing space.

The bedroom reminds me a lot of a hotel room (not sure if that's good or bad), especially with the console table used as a nightstand/writing desk. But as with hotel rooms, I like how the space is compact, combining several functions for the room as a whole (sleeping/lounging/sitting areas), as well as for each piece of furniture.

One of the sitting areas -- Note how the floors are stained darker. Many apartments (including ours) have that blond-colored wood and I've always wanted darker floors.

I want to do this, but I am looking for a long dresser to go with the mirror we have.

Interestingly, one of the complaints/critiques about this apartment that many people pointed out is that it looks too much like a catalog. But is that such a bad thing? I don't want to see a "lived-in" space b/c that often just means it's cluttered.

* * *

While I have my FH pride, I'll say that we tried the somewhat famous Nick's pizza last night. I called in our order for pick-up, which was a good thing, since there were a few groups outside waiting even though it was 9:30 on a weeknight. I was worried that not eating the pizza right away would cause the crust to get soggy, but surprisingly, it didn't. I think the secret to that is slightly charring the bottom, which I'm not crazy about. I do like the thin crust and the plentiful toppings (big hunks of fresh cheese too), all for less than $20 for a large pie (enough to feed at least 3 adults). The fresh basil gave it a nice flavor too. And I think it was even better when I heated it up for lunch today. The prosciutto flavor really sunk in and wasn't too salty. How does this compare to my favorite all-time pizza ever? Nick's is good, but it doesn't beat Totonno's (it's also elevated in my eyes for being in my old 'hood in Brooklyn *sniff*). I *heart* Totonno's, even if their decor is cheesy (think disposable cups even when you eat in), it''s a bit overpriced, and it's crazy far.

Therapies

My upper left leg feels like a big hunk of fresh mozzarella. While I would normally be happy about having so much cheese in my possession, it is not such a happy state of affairs. After just one month of hardly using my left leg, my leg has atrophied before my very eyes, without me even noticing it until yesterday, when the PT poked and prodded me, pointing it out. So begins my road to strength and full motion, before I'm smacked down again, strung with a graft and immobile for another few weeks, inactive for a few months.
My first session of PT was more strenous than I thought and I felt self-conscious about being watched for so long. It ended with electrotherapy, similar to the acupuncture, but without needles, and hence quite relaxing. But I'm not looking forward to continuing -- with two sessions per week, this is going to be very time-consuming and expensive! :(

Walking on sunshine

A huge weight lifted from me: Orthopedist said it was OK to put weight on my leg and that I should fully bend/straighten my knee when walking. So I did a whole bunch of walking (and spending) today (not the best weather for walking, but I'll take it). All those weeks of pent up walking and being chained to three positions (sitting, limping, leaning on one leg) vanished as I ran half a bazillion errands. I better enjoy this freedom while it lasts, since I'll soon be on crutches for a while. Instead of the usual graft from a cadaver, I am hoping I get a bionic knee.

Sidenote #1: Going to the orthopedist reminded me a lot of going to the dentist. I started off with multiple x-rays that the technician made with this thing that he swung around to get various views of my leg. I wonder if the surgery will be just like getting my wisdom teeth removed (a process I kinda enjoyed).

Sidenote #2: I can walk without a cane but still pretty slow. It's frustrating to see people speed up after getting around me and I'm even more embarassed that they don't understand that I have a real reason for being slow (I don't like lollygaggers either!). I liked how the cane at least made people feel guilty about not offering me a seat on the subway (even if they still didn't ultimately give me a seat). Now I can't even illicit that guilt out of them. :T

Woe is me

My life has not been the same since last Wednesday. I called about my MRI results and I've been depressed ever since. Like the jock that I am (ha ha), I tore my ACL (that's the anterior cruciate ligament, to you non-jock types). The report said the ligament is completely torn and the general doc said that I will need surgery. Now I just need to find someone who can fix me up like new. (The orthopedic surgeon the general doc recommended moved, wasting my entire summer Friday.) It's such a slow process....

I am so tired of hobbling around with a cane. Using the cane so much has put strain on my wrists, ankles, and other knee. I hate not being able to get from place to place, running errands, doing household work without either help from others or pain. I see people running around, jumping, bending down, rushing down stairs and I long to do the same. I feel like everyone is whizzing by me while my life is at a standstill (or a slow limp, at best). When I struggle down the infinite subway stairs, I think about sliding down the banister as I did in elementary school before I realize that I would have no way of stopping myself at the bottom other than crashing onto the dirty platform floor. *sigh* It particularly sucks that there are many opportunities to do lots of activities (biking, swimming, walking) now that it is summer.

But one little positive with my slowing down, is how I notice/appreciate things a little more. Some observations:
- I'm able to hone my sarcasm with the stories I tell of how I get hurt. Only one person believed I am crippled because of my wrestling with Dear. Now what else I can make up?
- I've only had one person (a youngish, married male) give up a seat for me on the subway. He got off two stops after, so it wasn't a big deal for him but at least he got up, unlike the myriad others who've taken no notice of my injury. But I guess it's also fair to add in that most of the time I have a seat anyway because I take the local train close to the last stop.

Just like a day at the spa

Except there's harsh flourescent lighting and it's unbearably cold. And instead of a plush robe you get a flimsy gown that doesn't close right, leaving you exposed to the cold, sanitized surroundings.Oh and you're stuffed into this giant plastic tube that makes weird hammering and vibrating noises instead of some soft music playing in the background. (I still managed to drift to sleep though.) Such was my experience getting an MRI today. At least there was no pain involved (I just had to stay very still and at times I thought I felt weird static sensations across my leg and as if my blood was pulsating down my leg). I get results in three days....

Hello furniture!

This July 4th holiday was such a ruse -- barely enough time to relax before it was time to go back to work again. :( But it was a well-needed break. Dear and some friends finally moved some old furniture into our apartment and it is a marked difference to live with furniture versus without (even if that furniture is not the prettiest thing out there). I thought it would be a huge thing to finally get a dresser, to not have to live out of a suitcase and some shopping bags, but I don't notice much difference, just that my clothes are in a different place higher above the ground. (Maybe I just need to get more clothes? I feel like I wear the same things over and over again and now I know it's probably not because I can't find things.)

The big difference is in the living room. We got a hand-me-down table and chairs from Dear's aunt and I had remembered it to be quite ugly but for some reason or another Dear was guilted into taking the set. It's not as ugly as I recall (though we won't be winning any interior design awards with it either) but it will do until I find the table I want that is right for the space. The surprising thing though, is that after some organizing, I feel really comfortable sitting at the table. (Maybe that's why dining chairs are built a certain height to fit a table, unlike slouchy camping chairs paired with a folding conference table.)

We also switched the position of the sofa and it opens up the space so that it's actually welcoming. When I walked into the living room this morning, and again after coming home, I felt happy being there, enjoying the space, instead of wanting to block out my surroundings by turning on the TV.

how the living room is currently arranged

We left a pathway for the movers to deliver the credenza we ordered but I kinda like the wide open space so I would want to leave like this afterwards too but it's so crowded by the dining table.

possibility A

Once the movers are done, I was thinking of moving the recliner over to the other side but I'm not sure whether or not that will make the space feel closed again.

possiblity B

The recliner is quite bothersome (even though it is pretty comfortable)!

More accu-torture

Sunday was the worst treatment yet: the vibrations were very strong and instead of the soothing numbness at the end, there were spastic intervals of irregular vibrating current, as if there were power surges going through the building every so often. :_( The acunpuncturist also mentioned that while my tendon is healing (I certainly feel that too), he is not certain what's going on with my knee (which feels as stiff as before) and if I'm not better by the next appointment, I may have to get an MRI. All this time I thought Chinese medicine was a safe alternative (I hate taking drugs, etc.) but in the end even centuries-old therapy has to rely on Western technology. What did they do before the MRI?

Crab attack!

We bought blue-craw crabs this weekend (2 dozen mediums for $8!) while out on Long Island.

Dear deciding which crab to clean next

We (more like Dear, who are we kidding?) sorta stopped up the sink so that the crabs could have one last swim. They were kinda cute crawling all over each other and flipping themselves over. We thought (for about a minute) about keeping some as pets.

This guy (yes, they were all male crabs) lost his claw but you could see a new one growing (left side of photo); check out the ferociousness of his full-sized claw! After seeing that the claws could re-generate, I toyed again with the idea of keeping a few as pets and ripping out their claws once in a while. :D Too bad the claw meat is not the most delicious part of the blue crab....

Cleaned crabs -- do they know what lies in store for them?

I moved too slow to capture a pic of the crabs in the steaming pot, but it basically looks like the above. One ornery fellow managed to jump out of the wok, onto the floor. Not sure if that killed him or not but he snapped his claw off. I quickly picked him up, rinsed him off and threw him in. Dear put chopped scallions and julienned ginger on top -- very simple. In just a few minutes, we were ready to eat!

Yummy!

I laid down newspaper on the table for easy clean up (no, we did not eat off the newspapers, as we saw is the custom in Maryland).

Tools of the trade

Since we got home late, we didn't start eating until 9 or so. It took about 3 hours to finish up but that meat was so sweet, juicy, and delicious! Dear realized that he has an upcoming appointment for bloodwork and was concerned about his cholestrol so he just ate a few and removed all the meat from the rest of the crabs so that he could make crab cakes! Poor Dear -- it took him forever to take out what amounts to less than a pound of lump crab meat. :( After a while, the mallet (for the claws) was causing too much noise so Dear switched to a nutcracker, which I think is a more effective method anyway. It was much harder to save the claw meat so I ended up eating about 12 of those at the end!

When cleaning up, I pondered saving the steaming liquid where all the juices from the crab had dripped down into, but refrained. That liquid must be so good though! I wonder if the liquid is more salvageable from a crab boil? I'd like to try that next but Dear is all about the steaming. :T

Pins and needles

You know you're getting old when things snap, crackle, and pop when you do something simple like attempt to catch a ball and turn quickly to toss it to someone else. After landing somewhat weirdly on my left foot, I felt my knee lock for every few steps that I walked but not much pain (yet). I iced it as quickly as I could, but after sleeping through the night, I still had trouble walking (not sure if that was because I was afraid to put weight on the leg, which would cause the knee to lock, or because there were spurts of pain depending on the position I stood in). We went to get a cane from my in-laws so that I wouldn't have to put weight on my leg -- I was so worried that I had torn a ligament or meniscus (Google is hypochondria's worst enemy!). Then I went to the acupuncturist (a first for me) this afternoon.

His office is in one of those old tenement-like buildings in Ctown and it was quite interesting to walk/limp up those three flights of stairs. Unlike other doctor's offices in Ctown in similarly old and narrow buildings, this one had no markings at all on the outside and I thought it was all residential apartments. Upstairs, the first thing you see when you walk through the door is an old sink by the window, then some chairs and couches throughout the kitchen-like room. You would have no clue that this is a doctor's office except if you look carefully, a few certificates and doctor's credentials are hung up in the corner.

The old dude, which Dear has seen for various ankle twists and a knee injury, didn't try to be friendly at all, even though I was there with my FIL, who can be quite friendly and was trying to turn on the charm. My terrible Chinese was an embarassment, which I think added to his condescension towards me, and I ended up having to explain myself in English. I'm not sure he fully understood though (he has a certificate from a SUNY so he must know enough English, right?). He started to press various parts of my knee which caused no reaction at all. Then he pushed one of his fingers into the back of my knee, right above the calf, and it started to hurt like crazy, but not enough for me to scream out instinctively. After a few more squeezes, he said he'd know for certain once I lay down. He walked through curtains and I almost lost him, not knowing where the curtains opened. A few more squeezes while I lay on my back, and then face down and he determined that I had twisted/pulled a tendon so that it is very inflamed. He disappeared for a few minutes and when he came back, I was so scared of the impending pain. He first swabbed some iodine on my calf and then stuck a needle somewhere. Then another and another (five total, I think). All I felt were pinpricks and miniscule sore points where the needles were. I thought I'd be safe from pain until he attached a bunch of wires to the ends of the needles, turned a few knobs on this old-looking machine and flipped a switch. The first set of exercises?/massage?/electrocutions? was a vibrating sensation and it hurt at times, but not too terribly. It felt like the moment right before a cramp would start where any slight movement could cause the entire muscle to cramp up, but prolonged over a 30-minute timeframe. This made me very afraid to relax my leg and I'm surprised my flip flops didn't just slide off my feet. At times, I also felt undulations of warmth around my legs (I didn't notice he had moved a heat lamp right over my leg). The warmth, coupled with the classical music being pumped from somewhere caused me to drift into sleep, despite the weird tingling in my leg and the loud talking in the other room. But my relaxation was disturbed by the acupuncturist coming back and switching the nodes to what he described as a numbness mode (I think the needles started to move in circular motions instead of hammering up and down). This was a new level of discomfort/pain/weirdness but I quickly got used to it. Before I could drift again, the treatment was over. Everything was removed and my leg felt stiffer in the calf, but freer to bend at the knee. Now, as I sit, the muscle just feels very tired and sore, like I need to stretch it, but I'm afraid to. And I have another treatment Thursday. Hope I'll be healed to non-limping by this weekend! (I also wonder whether an orthopedist's treatment would be more effective?)

Bored meeting

I rushed home today to attend the annual (and my first ever) co-op board meeting. Not many people gathered in this dingy room in the basement (it'd be perfect to make that into a gym) while this man droned on about the financials. I want to say that it was a waste of time and that I now know to not attend in the future (so boring and all polite talk to keep people somewhat satisfied that they won't move out) but I'm afraid I'd miss something important if I didn't show up.

What was truly a waste of time was the time described on the agenda as "new business." People went off on complaints that the corporation really can't do much about -- noise. Maybe we're lucky to have relatively quiet neighbors, but gimme a break, you live in an apartment building, there is going to be noise. You really don't need to dwell on the issue for longer than 10 minutes. This one woman, though, kept going on, unsatisfied with each suggestion. The management will check the above apartment for the proper carpeting... but what if...? She was told to keep documentation of the noise to make a strong case in court... but how much documentation is enough? Keep a log, write letters, bring in neighbors/super/doorman to be witnesses.... But she wasn't interested in "winning a court case"... ad infinitum.

Then there was a quick, unorganized vote for the new board. When trying to give a description of their work, they did not make the work seem appealing -- they described how they've been deciding between carpet samples for the past several months. In the end, I made an uninformed decision (no one described their qualifications and we were choosing 4 members out of a pool of 5 -- not much choice). It kinda pisses me off about this democracy thing b/c I'm not sure it works. And is there a reason why co-ops are so prevalent in NYC and nowhere else throughout the U.S.? I think it's all a scam. Either that, or liberal NYers just have nothing better to do than to create extra bureaucracy, even where they live. Maybe it's both.

Foiled once again!

I really wanted to finish sanding the doors today, but I got lazy/distracted (yes, I finished painting the hallway, however shoddy it came out). To fend off the whines we'll likely hear about wedding pictures come Father's Day, I turned on the computer to do some uploading and editing. After running into some issues, I started to surf (oh, how I've fallen behind on my regular reading!) and here I am blogging about nothing. I am due a blog on Fallingwater and more fascinating topics, but I've only had time to update the Pittsburgh posting with pictures. My perpetual to-do list (perhaps the list would disappear if I actually did these tasks):
- sand, then paint doors
- create parent wedding albums
- clean/organize
- hang shelves

* * *

Kung fu or writing? I'm trying to decide whether I should take a kung fu class (need the exercise) or a writing class. The woodworking class I was going to take is cancelled :( so I now have time/money to pursue other interests. But which one? Help me decide!

Just one wall left!

And six doors and a whole bunch of trim. Three of the doors have been sanded, three more to go before I slap on the first coat of paint. I am worried about the doors since I'm painting them a light (almost white) color and they are currently blue with bright red panels. I am also not looking forward to sanding (am I ever?). I am so sick of sanding that I started to skip the in-between sanding.

My driving motivation: finish before the heat really starts. I couldn't get anything done the last few days because it was so hot and humid. I was so afraid of things not getting done in time that I left work on time today just so that I could take advantage of the cooler weather. But now I am so tired and I still have a wall left to do. :( There once was a time when I thought we would get a fixer-upper and fix it up exactly the way we wanted it by ourselves. If I can't even finish painting, how could I even think to do that?