Last week, I was set to stop counting. The surgeon had proclaimed my eye healed.

But guess what?

Far from it.

The eye is stable. It’s fully healed from the surgeries. Which means it’s time to figure out what’s going on in my left hand and why I can’t lay down. (You know. To do fun things like sleep.)

Now, my massage therapist and I have been working on this. We thought we knew what was up, and my massage therapist, the sports med guy said, was pretty darn good with what he did catch. The problem is that there’s more to it. And yes, it all comes back to the accident. And so, we’re at week thirty and still counting.

I guess when you fall twice on your left shoulder, it’s inevitable that you mess it up. And now, all these weeks later with zero medical attention, it’s not happy.

Neither, apparently, is my brain.

Now, if you go back, I’ve mentioned many times my frustration with the nurse in the first ER. I was sitting there, leaking eye goop, and could not, for the life of me, even begin to comprehend what a passcode on my phone was, let alone what the code could be. “Use my thumb,” I kept telling my best friend, who gave me a weird look and told me to keep thinking as I held my thumb up like he should detach it and carry it into the hallway with him so he could use my phone to call my family with updates.

The ER nurse, when I asked if I could be concussed, said, “Probably” and walked out of the room. And then it was all about the eye. As it should have been. The surgeon did not think it could be saved. The heroic battle was necessary. And damn if I don’t appreciate it.

Fast forward to the other day. My sports med guy, who has worked with our local concussion center, said he wasn’t surprised that the ER brushed off my brain. They don’t really address concussions, he said, because concussions either clear up in two weeks or else they linger. Most people figure out the headaches are a problem and don’t wait 29 weeks to see their doctor.

I, as well all well know, am not most people. A headache? After the migraines I used to get? Not even worth paying attention to. And so… I didn’t. Besides, I was still focused on the eye, then the arm, and I’ve got a business to run and kids to raise and Ultimate to watch to help me feel better about the world. What’s a headache?

Yeah. So.

PT begins on Thursday, and I’m grateful for a good friend who gave me a great referral and agreed that my plan to have it all treated under one roof was the right plan.

But as for my head? Well. Hmm. Wow.

When I called to make my appointment, they said, “Oh, it’s been seven months. We’re in no hurry to see you, then. How’s mid-August, AFTER you’ve been in PT for a month and after you’ve flown to Minnesota and spent another month taking two or three naps a day and wondering why you can’t work for more than thirty minutes at a time? Yeah. Okay. Good. Mid-August it is.”

Dude. Thirty weeks and still counting. I’m chafing to get all this behind me and resume my life.

But… I guess that’ll begin at week 34… unless the PTs can make something happen. Because how can they fix my arm if it makes my brain worse?

Week thirty. Still counting.

I mentioned before that 2015 has been the year of computer troubles for me again, and … yeah. Nothing’s changed on that front, unless you consider another downward turn to be a change — which I’d rather not do, but let’s be real here. It is.

My work computer blew up. Oh, not literally; that would at least have been fascinating, as my kids and I learned about blast radii and shrapnel scatter and other cool things. (“Look, Mom! Your desk chair is now permanently part of the cathedral ceiling!” or “Why is it that even after you shut your office door, I can still feel the air from the broken windows?” “Because my office door is a screen door, honey.”)

Nope. Nothing that exciting. But I can’t access any of my files (which seem uncorrupted), which means I can’t work. On edits, anyway. Or anything stored on my hard drives.

So… taking care of lots of little stuff and hoping you all hang with me for a few days while I get this mess sorted and hustle to get back on track. Guess I’ll be working through next weekend to make up for not being at my desk today and tomorrow (and hopefully that’s it, but my IT guy will let me know once he works his magic).

Let’s see how much trouble I can get myself into, shall we?

The only downer to what I do is that sometimes, I write something and the people who need to see it, the people who inspired me, will never know it’s here.

I been a member of that fancy gym for five, six years now. It’s a big chunk out of my salary, but the doctor says if I don’t keep up with the exercise, I’ll have to have a handicapped plate and walk with a cane.

Problem is, since I’m right on the edge of needing a cane and all, I can’t walk real far at one time. So if I can’t park close to the front door of a place, I have to turn and go home.

I showed up at my usual time this morning, about a quarter to nine. Usually, this time of day is perfect. Folk haven’t started showing up for the 9:15 classes yet, so for now, there’s lots of parking. It’s Friday, so in another fifteen minutes, this parking lot will be packed full. Most days when I get here ’round now, I can get right up front, right near those handicapped spots.

This morning, though, I showed up and the first thing I saw as I rounded the bend was a whole slew of red trucks from that alarm company. I seen ’em here before, but never this many. I don’t know if anyone’s ever said anything to them, but they park in the member’s area.

Now, I know there’s a section of the lot that’s supposed to be saved for non-members. I drive past that little sign saying “the area back here’s for members only, so park on this side of this sign” – or something to that effect. It’s far. I don’t blame them for parking on the other side of the sign.

But there were so many of them, and they’d parked in all the good spots as well as the bad spots and of course, not a single one of them is on the non-member side of the sign.

We’re havin’ a cold snap, and my knee’s been acting up. I really wanted to walk on a treadmill for a little bit, and then go sit in the sauna. That helps, when I can do that.

But I can only do that when I can get to the front door, and then inside. Oh, sure, there’re them benches inside so I can sit and take a breather if I need to, but on days like today, I know if I sit, I won’t be getting up again. And I’ll have to sit there and watch all those moms and their little kids and smile at them and pretend it’s not so bad getting old and having a bum knee like I do.

Sometimes, those moms give me those looks, like they think I’m sittin’ there ’cause I’m checking their kids out. Gonna kidnap them or something.

I get the hysteria these moms feel, what with that big pedophile arrested not that long ago, but I want to promise them, I’m only sittin’ on this bench ’cause I can’t go no further. That’s it. That’s my workout. I got in the car and drove fifteen minutes just so I can sit on a bench inside the doors and feel like an utter fool.

Today, I didn’t even try. I couldn’t find a parking spot, the one my membership’s supposed to help me get while them alarm people park so’s they don’t fill in those closer spots. Them people ain’t even payin’ the gym anything. They’re here for some meeting upstairs in the restaurant. And most of ’em ain’t got the problems that limit my working and exercising.

I decided I’d be better to save myself the humiliation, go home, take some Advil, and go back to bed. Once the Advil kicks in, I’ll get up and get my work done for the day. Good thing we live in this Internet age and I can work from home.

I just may need to figure out how to exercise here at home. Save myself that chunk of my salary and all. ‘Cause paying just so I can’t get past the door’s just plain stupid.