#i really don't expect to get through the whole thing unmedicated

[clatterbane]

My new gear, y'all! Ain't it lovely.

I am not going to model it even on here, because there are too many damn weirdos around. No free pics showing the stump at all from me. (Though, I might be able to get a pretty lucrative side business going--if the whole idea didn't creep me right the fuck out so bad. Even as the sorta dykey middle-aged nerd that I am.)

But, the appointment did turn out pretty well!

(Again, with the aid of sometimes wonky autotranslate.)

So yeah, they did seem to think that most of what I actually need at this point is to build up stamina up on my feet again. Which is pretty much my take on it too. With the rehab part to start once they get the initial custom leg fabricated.

In the meantime, they did send me home with silicone liners in a couple of sizes to get used to wearing. At no point did I roll the things onto my arm; that was one of the funky translations. You do get them on by turning them inside out and then rolling them on like the thickest, most unwieldy compression sock or nylon stocking/tights you can imagine.

Besides the getting accustomed to wearing them part, evidently they just don't use the fabric "stump shrinker" compression socks at all locally. (Which are standard a lot of other places.) The two specialist staff I was dealing with today had no idea what that was when I asked about it, even after I pulled up pics in case it might be a communication thing. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(Complete sidenote: Looks like I will have to measure myself and buy some out of pocket after all! The things are useful for helping keep a lid on nerve pain, besides "just" the compression overnight and when you're letting your leg breathe out of a liner.)

Nope, they're putting people straight into the sweaty silicone liner sleeves, generally within a few days after surgery. And entirely relying on that for compression. After this amount of time, my stump has indeed already atrophied a lot and there hasn't been any swelling for quite a long while. But, I never got fitted with any compression anything before we left the UK. And they wanted to give my leg at least a few weeks of regular compression before even starring to fit the first socket for the aftermarket leg.

Putting the smaller size liner on at first did almost have me throwing up in the floor. Not in small part because they had me try it RIGHT AFTER one of them had been hands-on examining the stump and purposely trying to trigger the nerve pain! 🤬 (For which I have been totally unmedicated since 2021, I might add. Which is unusual.) They did not seem to consider that this might not be ideal. (!)

Yeah, extremely tight kinda thick silicone did not feel great after that. The nerve pain was already VERY ANGRY when it went on. And I really couldn't keep a straight face.

The one size up was tolerable then, so they sent both with me. I figure the tighter one will probably be fine other than sensory badness when the damaged nerves are not in full Hulk Mode.

I am apparently supposed to work up to wearing the things for 3-4 hours straight, two periods a day.

I did not much like the apparent lack of understanding of how nerve pain works, or the perceived pressure to white knuckle through it. Or, you know, just not have any. Much less coming from people whose whole job is working with amputees. (Just try chopping somebody's limb off without doing significant nerve damage in the process...)

Again, there may have been some communication issues thrown in too. But the (pretty direct) message I was hearing was "How do you expect to use a prosthesis, if you're gonna be such a whiny baby about a liner sleeve?"

But, we'll see. I am really hoping that's not an indication of what to expect, moving forward through this whole process.

I may also end up needing to just ask who I need to talk to, in order to get back on some meds. AFAICT, that is the team that's supposed to handle all of this stuff.

I don't particularly want to live with Lyrica side effects again, but it did help some with the other neuropathy besides the directly sliced nerve bullshit. Even more in combination with the Tramadol, but good fucking luck with that here from experience to date. I am just about willing to deal with the dumb and tired, if it means the difference between excruciating nerve pain on the daily and not.

At any rate, next stop after they decide my stump is compressed enough is apparently a socket fitting. Where hopefully I will be able to discuss options more with a prosthetist.

Today they were also pushing pretty hard toward a suspension (attachment) system that I don't think I particularly want from listening to actual amputees with experience of different types. I want to know what models of ankle and foot they're proposing to give me.

And of course I also want to make damned sure that they don't just automatically default to the horrible uncanny "flesh" tone components that apparently some older people in particular do want.

Today they brought out an example leg very much like what this prosthetist is also using for demonstration purposes here--and I was seriously creeped out enough that I resisted looking at or touching the thing. (They ended up handing it to me, whether I wanted anything to do with it or not.)

It's not the fact that it is a prosthetic leg that gives me the willies, at all. It is totally the uncanny mannequin parts effect. And I would really prefer to be able to use whatever leg and foot that I do end up with.

[fragileizywriting]

"the reason why you're so let down by your own art is because you have expectations for it," my ceramics teacher told me, senior year of highschool, where i was trying to make something and i was getting frustrated because i didn't have the skills to build it. with that, she'd essentially made me stop crying on the spot— i was sobbing, because i wasn't sure about anything in my future, and we were nearing the end of the year and i couldn't even make one stupid ceramic piece.

at the time, contextually, life was getting hard.

i was practicing 5 hours a day for solo-ensemble; 2 hours during school and 3 hours after, while trying to pass my graduate-required classes, unmedicated with terrible ADHD. i was exhausted. i'd lost a friend group because they didn't like that i was putting music before them, because i wouldn't see them in the mornings because i was busy in the practice rooms with the pianist working on beethoven, of all things, showing up nearly an hour before school opened for classes because i was so unsatisfied...

and idk. the weight just kind of got to me. i won't lie, being 17-18 was hard. it's too much. and i was just having such a bad time, trying to make something in the one class that actually felt like fun, as opposed to singing that had taken over quite literally my whole life. (it dominated. i couldn't do anything. prospects of going professional; of going to a school specifically for music, because i've done it my whole life, played so many instruments and sang for so long, i even had a dream for three months of becoming an opera singer, because there was a local school that practically everyone who was in this section of my hs got shipped off to after they graduated.) so when i couldn't make a simple rectangular prism out of clay, i just started sobbing. full on tears. i couldn't even breathe.

i think i was having a panic attack.

i remember my ceramics teacher so well, how she was one of those old women who drank green and blue smoothies for breakfast and had expressive, abstract acrylic earrings. her art room was a mess, and it was always made worse by just how she lost everything all the time. you couldn't tell if it was grey hair or clay. she had the smallest, narrowest glasses you've ever seen, full of clay on them, too. all she wore was denim overalls, or flightsuits, and it looked nice on her. i think they fit her really well, and hid that she was skinnier than a normal spine.

she just sat me down—- i don't know how she saw me over the stack of massive sketchbooks on her table, the ones that she was grading them for her 2d drawing class—- and told me that.

"the reason why you're so let down by your own art is because you have expectations for it."

god, i was so embarrassed, crying in the middle of class. it was horrible. humiliating. i couldn't stop myself from crying from embarrassment.

i remember asking her, "isn't that the point?" because this was for a grade, i needed points, i needed all As in my classes because that was the only way in to get to the college that i wanted.

"you're being graded on intention, not the actual box. and you're having too much expectation of yourself to make a perfect box and it's hurting you. it doesn't need to be a perfect box. who are you making?"

she was so smart. she'd clocked immediately that i wasn't just making a random box, but rather a way-too-specific design. i told her that i was creating a character of mine.

"he doesn't need to be perfect. i hope he isn't perfect." she kept repeating that over and over again while i broke down in tears again. with one look at my sketchbook, she went: "oh. you don't even need to make a box. if the box isn't working, try making a hotpocket shape. show me that you're having fun. don't spend so much time trying to fix it."

i still have the ceramic i made. i've been digging through my drawers today looking for a notepad when i found him and i got shotblasted back into the past. it's not bad. it's a little broken, because there was always a girl who loved making things to break in the kiln, so some pieces are missing. my box can't even stand on it's own, either, because it tips forward from the weight (and causes it to break more).

i'm glad i made him, anyway. he's really important to me.

[siristaci]

It's official-

when I search my symptoms, the results have changed from "that could be cause for concern; or you're just pregnant." to "you could be in labor; or you're just 9 months pregnant."