A zebra and me

... A dispatch from bewilderness

I am not an escaped zebra galavanting around the Cascade Mountains somewhere in Washington State. There is one, but it's not me. Here's how I know. I don't have stripes. Don't have a tail. Don't have ears that perk up like little triangles, don't have four legs or hoofs. (Plus the other one made the news.)

Photo by Ron Dauphin on Unsplash

I’m a female of the human persuasion.

A few weeks ago, a surgeon streamed cement into my spine. This was called kyphoplasty and was for two broken bones. Then I broke three more. The next kyphoplasty now set for May 30. The bones in my spine are like sponges according to one surgeon and like styrofoam according to the other surgeon.

Either way, they can’t support rod or screws unless I can build back bone. I am now injecting a bone building medication each night in an attempt to build bone to house the rod and screws that may or may not be insert-able then.

Since after the first kyphoplasty, I couldn’t get in and out of my bed or in and out of my apartment, they put me where you go where you're unable to do things like get in and out of bed. That is called Respite Care. Then they take a look once in awhile and notice that in fact you still can't get in and out of bed so they check the box that says yep you still can't get in and out of bed.

You’d be amazed at how many boxes they checked for things they might have done. At the end of my stay, I received a seven-page list stuffed with scores of boxes checked by the social worker whether they’d been done or not. Every single box was checked though I only recognized one item that applied to me.

Of course, there are ways to think outside of the box, too, though I checked in for more cement in lumbar spine May 30 and will check in for still more June 26.