I am just wondering… how will I show my partner how much I sincerely appreciate all he has done for me since I was such a klutz and broke my leg?

He says, “it’s what we do. Don’t think anything more about it. You have been there to help me, now it’s my turn.”

Yeah, I know, he’s right, but it is so very hard for this caregiver to be on the long-term receiving end of care.

Then I think about all of my elder buds. They are still bringing me casseroles and treats. For more than a month now… they call, come over to visit, and bring stuff. They are so sweet, so kind, so thoughtful. How will I ever be able to say thanks?

My elder buds have stepped up to help each other, at my request. Most of the time, all my older friends really need is some attention and friendship. Linking them together has been fun, and to see blossoming friendships develop has been sheer joy.

My best friend AZ calls me every weekday. It is so sweet to hear his voice and hear the love. What a treasure I have in knowing him and sharing such a deep, personal friendship.

I have my family to thank, too. They call and occasionally come by for a visit. They won’t let my head get (too) filled with self-pity, angst, and frustration. They keep me well grounded, for they know that my situation is only temporary. They have a wonderful way of demonstrating that fine line of compassion and poking their brother’s hot air, so he doesn’t get too inflated, nor too low, mood-wise. Especially J — he keeps me laughing and crying and smiling … a LOT! His blog post that appeared yesterday demonstrates that. How blessed I am to have him as my very own twin-brother-best-friend.

When I am back in two boots wearing normal clothes (hopefully, leather)… how will I express my thanks?

I guess I’ll do what my family and friends tell me to do: be me.

Life is short: show those you love that you love them.

Back on January 18, I bought a small fixer-upper house and had begun the process of renovating it so that I could add it to my rental inventory for community heroes. My partner and I had cleaned it out. We replaced the windows, including the frames. I was just about to tear out the old electrical system and install a new one when I fell and broke my leg.

During the time I have been stuck at home and unable to lift a finger to do any real work, I didn’t want the house to sit vacant and be significantly delayed in being lived in once again. I did what my best friend said that I should have been doing all along: I hired contractors.

I sent nephews, cousins, and some friends over to check on their work and to take pictures for me. I intervened twice when I thought some work was not being done correctly or to my specs. But most of the work was done quite well.

I saved the electrical work for myself. See, back in the time when I bought my first “Harry Homeowner Special,” (a local reference to an old house requiring significant renovation), I was a poor, newbie teacher barely making enough money to make ends meet. I couldn’t afford to hire an electrician. So I studied and took the exam for an electrician’s license and got one. I kept it current by taking occasional coursework and by doing a lot more actual electrical work on my own homes as well as for friends and neighbors. I even installed all of the wiring in the house that I live in while I was building it, which was no easy feat (my house isn’t enormous, but it isn’t a cottage, either.)

Since electrical work is something I truly enjoy doing and was my first successful experience in a skilled trade, I just couldn’t imagine hiring that work out. I compromised: yesterday, my partner and I went to the house and I explained to my partner what he needed to do, especially when it came to fishing wiring in the walls. A good buddy who is a Master Electrician also joined us for two hours. Believe it or not, you need two good feet for running wiring in a house (as well as two good arms, good eyesight, and patience.) I remained in the basement near the circuit panel box with a fluorescent flashlight helping me see what I was doing. I connected the wiring to circuit breakers in the box following the circuit pattern that I designed for the house.

Unfortunately, I pooped out earlier than I thought that I would, so I had to come back home in the early afternoon. I also got involved in watching response to the earthquake in Chile and the tsunamis in Hawaii.

Today, I plan to return to the house to finish up. I will lay on my side on floors to connect electrical outlets and face plates while my partner will install switches and a few overhead lights that I cannot reach because doing so requires climbing on a ladder.

My licensed master electrician buddy will come by late this afternoon to inspect my work, and then connect it to the power company’s line. We will not turn it on, though, until the county inspector checks it out on Monday. I’m sure it will pass inspection. After all, the work was done right and according to (and often above) the adopted code.

A cleaning contractor will come on Wednesday. I will have my partner bring me over on Thursday evening to check everything out. Provided all is well, then I will begin the process to identify eligible community heroes in need of affordable rental housing, and go from there.

Yes, it can be done remotely. It cost me a lot more than if I did the work myself, but … I did what I had to do.

Life is short: get ‘er done!

This case of a double negative means… sigh… while my orthopedic specialist who saw me yesterday said, “for a guy your age, you are healing well,” he didn’t authorize much change in my current condition. I still have that damn, heavy, lunky cast on my leg.

He did say that I can begin to put some weight on it, which means that perhaps mother-hubbard-partner will let me get out, even a little bit. He worries so much about me. I love him for that, but also will begin to put my (left) boot down and begin to assert myself in going out to some essential, critical community meetings provided a friend provides transportation.

I am doing okay, really. I have no pain at all. I am not sleeping well, but mostly it’s because the cast wakes me up since I can’t move while I am sleeping. If I turn, it twists my leg and just wakes me.

Oh well, so begins the three-week countdown.

528 hours
31,680 minutes
1,900,800 seconds

Life is short: three weeks sounds the shortest.

Glossary:

• Boot•less•ness. noun. The state of being without boots on one’s feet, as in “bootless.”

• Lea•ther•less•ness. noun. The state of being without leather, as in “not wearing leather.”

One month ago, on a chilly, wet afternoon, this Boy Scout wearing a full leather uniform (consisting of leather jeans and a leather jacket) and strong, sturdy Chippewa Firefighter boots was escorting a little old lady from his truck to her home. He was burdened with some heavy bags of groceries.

The Boy Scout was lazy. He piled the groceries into two large bags, and put the lady’s arm in his arm. He could have spread the groceries out into three or four bags, and made two trips to the truck. But nooooo… he had to try to carry everything at once.

The Boy Scout felt the little old lady teetering, and he steadied her. She remained upright, and the Boy Scout was upsot. “Crack!” went the fibula. The rest, as they say, “is history.”

For a guy who enjoys wearing leather almost every day, especially in the winter, this was quite a way to test his resolve and to determine, once and for all, if leather is simply clothing or a fetish interest, or both. Since the leg was broken and there has been a progression from splints to a big, heavy, fiberglass cast on the leg, this Boy Scout has been both bootless and leatherless for the duration of his recovery so far.

Well, correction on that: I have been able to wear one boot on my good left leg. But I still can’t put on a pair of leather jeans, as the cast won’t fit through the leg. I guess if I were really having a bad case of “leather withdrawal,” I could wear chaps. But I have found that an old pair of bellbottom denim jeans works fine … much better than wearing PJ bottoms, that’s for sure (LOL!).

Do I miss wearing boots and leather every day? Well, let me put it this way: I miss having that choice. Since the cast prevents me from wearing two boots, much less standing on my own two feet, and it also prevents me from wearing normal pants, I’m kinda stuck with accepting what I can wear.

Does it bother me? Am I having serious leather withdrawal? Are my feet protesting being in a long-term non-booted state? Am I unable to have sex with my partner? …

Poppycock. Well, the poppy anyway. I’m fine. My partner remains as frisky as ever, and we’ve learned not to let the cast get in the way of some “fun” (evil grin). Since I am not using any pain meds, my performance is not affected. (smile.)

I would like to return to having the choice of putting on my own clothes, and choosing to wear boots and leather in this cold weather. But I’m surviving. I’ll be okay. Remember, to me, leather and boots are functional clothing and footwear. They’re really not fetish, as they are function.

I am climbing the walls, but only because the confinement during a period of really bad weather and NOT being able to get out (or anywhere even within my own house) on my own is driving me bats. But you know, it really could be worse. I keep telling myself that, and know it in my heart. I have a nice home, comfortable surroundings, a wonderful partner who cares for me deeply and tends to my every need. I have friends and neighbors who care and check in on me regularly. I even have some lovely casseroles of mysterious stuff in the fridge.

What more could a guy want?

I will be okay in my current state of leatherlessness and bootlessness. Thanks for your concern.

Life is short: wear your boots and leather if you can!

Ongoing readers of this blog know that I broke the fibula in my lower right leg on 24 January, and I am recovering in a cast, waiting for it to heal while at home on disability leave from work.

Some people have inquired about how I am doing. I appreciate the inquiries, and caring concern.

I am doing okay. Really. I am finding ways to keep busy, from preparing income tax returns for senior pals (40 out of 50 completed), to getting the Boot Wiki going, to continuing to support my current job, to searching for a new full-time job, doing some consulting which keeps my brain busy with new challenges, and writing a book (I won’t give away the plot just yet).

I don’t like to have to be confined to sitting in a chair all day with my leg propped up, because I cannot walk… yet. I am uncomfortable sitting in an awkward position using a TV tray as my laptop computer’s “work station,” but it works. I have burned up more cell minutes than I want to, and am finding a way to make my regular home phone more accessible, so I can use it as my primary means of communication and avoid cell overage charges.

Most of all, I am not in any pain. I would say that most of what I am feeling is soreness, as the use of crutches and relying on my one good (left) leg and hip just makes me sore. By late in the day, the soreness and confinement both make me a bit grumpy. Some of my family and friends have noticed that when they have spoken with me on the phone, so I have to work on that.

However, soreness isn’t the same thing as chronic pain or bone pain. I have none of that. My leg was painful for the first few days, and last week when I accidentally bumped hard in the bathroom and fell (but didn’t break anything), my left side was painful with a big bruise. But generally speaking, I am not in any pain now that a couple of aspirin can’t handle.

I am glad about that. I like my mind (what’s left of it) to remain clear, and my gate to be as stable as possible as I hobble on crutches to the bathroom and to the kitchen, plus once a day to and from the bedroom. Narcotics have a funny way of messing with your head, as well as with your physical strength.

The doc gave me a prescription for enough narcotics to take 4x/day for a month. I really wondered why. That’s an awful lot of pain pills. Everything I can find on the internet says that the pain that occurs with the type of break that I had lasts for perhaps as much as one week, unless you have to have surgery, which fortunately, was not required in my situation. I am fortunate that my pain didn’t last but a few days.

Unlike prescription antibiotics, which are to be used as prescribed until gone, with prescription narcotics, you should take them only when you really need to do so. And I really don’t.

I searched on the internet, and respected government agency websites specifically say that the type of drug that I was prescribed should not be flushed down the toilet. It is a very popular drug with abusers, so it shouldn’t be discarded in the trash, either — though some sites say that if you mix it with kitty litter or coffee grounds, that might be an option. Well, not having a kitty nor being a coffee drinker, that is not an option for me.

I called my local health department, and couldn’t find anyone who could tell me what to do. I decided, then, to call my tenant who is a police officer, and ask him. He said that when they seize drugs from nefarious people, they enter the drugs into evidence. Since I am not a drug-dealer and have these drugs legally, he said would ask for me. He called back later and said that our county has a program where drugs could be returned to a pharmacy and they would dispose of them properly. So that’s what I will do.

I will remain, “drug free.”

Life is short: be drug free and live it as fully as you can.