recovery

It had been over five years since I dislocated my shoulder.  That was a long streak for me.  I had regained a lot of confidence in using my arm over those five years, doing many things with only the slightest conscious reminder to be careful in my movements.

Re-injuring my shoulder, is literally, reopening an old wound.  The arm is loose and vulnerable, especially in those first 2 weeks after injury.  I have trouble pulling up my pants, cutting my food, sleeping . . . and for any independent person, this gets frustrating really fast.  But it is different this time because I have a 3-month-old son who needs me.

Tolga had to go out of town the next day for work, my father went on to Istanbul the following day, so I was left at home with Gokhan, my brother-in-law.  He had to bring Teoman to me, pick him up, burp him.  But in truth, no one could do everything a mother does.  A mom is "on" day and night, ready to pick up their child to comfort, or feed, or change.  It got frustrating really fast.  I couldn't manage it very well, and I don't think any help would have satisfied me.  I struggled with nursing, aggravating my shoulder with each feeding.

It seemed to take longer to heal, my hand tingled, my shoulder was tender and painfully slipping around in the joint with the slightest flex of the muscle and it was stressful.  I was worried the damage was more permanent this time.  The orthopedist thought I had done more damage as well.  I suppose he figured that as much pulling as he had done, something must have broke or tore.  We went to see him after ten days and the first thing he did was take Teoman from Tolga's arms.  Teoman sat in the doctors lap, looking at us, and for the third time in his life, cried in another person's arms.

Bad doctor.  Good boy.

The doctor ordered an MRI for me, which would be taken once the swelling went down.  I was supposed to be wearing my sling, but I had stopped wearing it after five days because I couldn't manage to not use my arm.

In the end, Gokhan and I went to Kusadasi.  Tolga had to go on another trip for ten days, and as helpful as Gokhan tried to be - he was a man, and men just don't know.  They don't realize dishes and laundry have to be done, meals need to be made regularly, babies get up in the night.  So Tolga packed us up in the bus for my Anne to help.

In Kusadasi I went swimming.  Or rather, I floated around in the water.  I called it therapy.

Anne was very helpful, but Baba was not.  His four-months in Ankara had given him renewed determination to tackle the garden.  He kept himself busy all day long between gardening, eating, and napping.  He seemed years younger and more capable.

He mended the storage room door, bought more cement and added two more levels of brick on the top.  Much to Gokhan's chagrin, he was up on the ladder calling for Gokhan to hand him this or that.  Later in the week, when Gokhan left, he had Anne helping him - handing up heavy stones in the rain to fasten his makeshift roof.  Baba worked on top of a three-step ladder.  I was pretty useless, but I did stand by and do a lot of head shaking.

Baba also spent a lot of his time moving things around.  He moved all sixty black cabbage plants outside the property where the sun beat down with no shade.  Baba loves black cabbage because it reminds him of Artvin, and I know there were sixty plants because Gokhan kept complaining about it.  He moved the apple tree to the front yard, and told me "Tolga said it was good."  He moved the olive tree outside the yard.  He bought four more trees and I don't know where he was going to put those.  And, finally he began planting the seeds from America - cucumber, squash, and peppers.  He has only to plant his flower bed - and for this he has been waiting with surprising patience for May 31st.

As industrious as Baba is in the garden, he is still being incredibly lazy and demanding when it comes to domestic matters.  This particularly irked me this time because Gokahn had gone back to Ankara, and so Anne was helping me and being called for by Baba unendingly.   Baba  would call his wife's name, and wait, then call her again until she came out.  She always came out.
"Necla!  Necla! (Anne appears)  Can you hand me that hand spade?" (He didn't want to get up from his stool by the weeds).  "Necla!  Necla!  Bring me my water.  Necla!  Necla!  My stomach hurts, I'm so hungry."  I just about had it with him when he came in from the garden, sat at the table on the terrace for Anne to serve his lunch, and asked her to bring some water out to him to wash his hands.  She did too.  She brought out a bowl of water and poured it over his hands so he wouldn't have to get up.

Baba kept telling me all the things he was going to do when Tolga comes . . .