A Kitchen That Mangles My Heart and Churns My Emotions…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

The Kauri Museum in Northland New Zealand is a bit like Dr. Who’s Tardis…  it looks small on the outside but once inside, you keep finding a new bit that extends further and branches off  just around each corner.

Around this corner I discover an entire section devoted to Kauri wood incorporated into kitchen equipment… a topic as a Foodie that is close to my heart.

From butter churns to washing machine mangles, rolling pins to decorative shortbread and butter forms, I’m captivated.

Now there were a few extra non-Kauri items sneaked into the display too… and yes,  those gorgeous cast iron pots and pans had me drooling  just as much as the woodwork items did.

Foodies amongst you will understand the diversion and forgive me for it… the rest of you I will box around the ears with either the Kauri rolling pin or  a cast iron skillet… your choice !

(of course I’m only joking, Family Kiwidutch are not  a hitting family). Once again I find myself sighing wistfully at the beauty of the workmanship of these tactile tools… they were once the hard working workhorses of the “modern” kitchen and how little we appreciate not having to churn our own butter!

(but I bet that butter churn wouldn’t have looked too beautiful to the poor lady of the house who had to labour over it every day… and of course going to the gym was never a necessity for her, since she got more than her fair share of workouts in her house every day just keeping up with the housework).

Let’s take a look around…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

Just Hop’in-a-Long… Ensembles in Purple and Red.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

It’s week 10 and I’m still in plaster.

When Cast Number 5 was removed  in week 8 we had a little while to see how healing was progressing… things seem to me to be going well, so we wait for the Doctor to arrive with a verdict.

I had been talking myself into the idea that the fluorescent yellow cast would surely be the final one.

I mentioned this to the Doctor when he walked in and the look on his face and the fact that he laughed before looking at me to check that I was serious,  told me that I had definitely been wishful thinking.

Reality check.

That’s how I ended up in Cast Number 7.  A nice Purple little number,  thinner version of the previous ones and shorter too.  A rubber sole straps on underneath, and so I can practice standing and taking steps.

It’s always rather painful for at least 24 hours after a new cast is put on, so I wasn’t surprised when the Friday was not an easy day… but by the end of the day I know something wasn’t right and that was confirmed over the weekend as I had a band of intense pain around the back of my leg. The cast felt really tight and the skin there was really hurting.

I stuffed cotton wool balls  down the there with difficulty even though there  was not really any gap and whilst it alleviated the pressure for a while, once the cotton got flat the pain was back with a vengeance.

I couldn’t sleep much and poor Himself had me jiggling and turning every night trying to get comfy to no avail. I sat with my leg raised as high as possible an constant supply of ice-packs  against the plaster to relieve pain (yes, they work!) and waited for Monday morning.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

We phoned the hospital  Monday and were back in the plaster department soonest to fix the problem. They cut the purple cast off and it revealed an ugly red band of skin around the back of my leg,  it was clear that it had been too tight to take up the swelling that came every time I stood up.

Cast number 7 is again a short walking cast, this time in Fire Engine Red.

The colour seemed like a good idea at the time but now every time I look at it , it looks like I sneaked into Santa’s  wardrobe and thieved part of his ensemble.

I also got more padding around the back of the cast so the good news is that I have been standing an walking more and more and although short bursts go better than longer attempts, it is at least progress.

A suggested alternative to the rubber sole was that I might try on one of Himself’s shoes.. since for ladies, their men-folk’s bigger shoe size could accommodate the cast quite well and be more comfortable than the strap-on rubber sole.

Well we tried it, and giggled a lot before totally  and completely abandoning that idea.

Himself has abnormally massive feet, to match his overly tall length. Size 47′s  to be precise and even with a cast on, my size 38′s were swimming in his shoes. We tied the laces tight and there was still room everywhere inside LOL.

We agreed that attempting to walk  in loose small boats would be an unwise recipe for disaster,  so rubber sole it is.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

I go back to the hospital at the end of this week and will see the trauma surgeon who did the operation in November, and if he is happy with progress then maybe I can finally leave hospital without  plaster for the first time in months.

Please cross ya fingers and ya toes! …Here’s hoping!

Cabin Fever, “Franken-Foot” and the Pain of Blissful Ignorance.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

I probably have the lowest pain threshold known to mankind. You figure that out fast enough when the dentist puts in half a dozen injections in your mouth (a procedure I handle badly enough anyway) waits a short while,  starts poking around and asks if you can feel something.

Invariably I can.

So she adds one or two more shots, the work starts and then she shifts slightly left or right and  suddenly I’m leaving finger nail imprints in her expensive dentist chair armrests  and making it perfectly clear in dentists-chair-speak that the anesthetic missed a spot.

I parted my firmly shut eyes long enough to wipe away the tears squeezing though them and saw the look of  shocked amazement on the dentist’s face that I could still clearly feel pain despite how many injections had been given already. Fortunately she used to this by now and probably gets a discount on her bulk orders of anesthetic before my visits.

If you’ve ever sat in a dentist chair then you will know what dentist-chair-speak is. It’s when your dentist tries to put you at ease by asking you a question, so here I am, being asked where I went on holiday…  Come on!,  I have my mouth open, most of my mouth is doped up to the nines and in happy-land, my tongue can’t make sense of where anything is to make normal speech  and they are busy working whilst you “open wide” , but  alas social etiquette demands that I trump common sense and logic and requires  me to at least attempt an answer,

So I try and reply “Portugal” and naturally it comes out as “agggh aahhh alll”

I swear all dentists have a warped sense of humour.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

My insurance company has paid a small fortune for the work, but probably if they look closely at the bills then in amongst the list of dentist techno-jargon they’d see what looks like a severely inappropriate number of anesthetic fees. If they are investigating this now, “Yes I am still alive and well, Thanks!”

My husband, knowing this from the off,  wondered how on earth I would survive the year and a half year procedure getting  implants. (The complete and utter truth is that I was blissfully ignorant if what the full procedure would actually involve.)

My Best Friend had it done and described it all… in layman’s terms. Sounded a little grim, but not  too bad.  I didn’t find out until afterwards that she was having a section of her top teeth done, and that I needed work on almost all my teeth top and bottom.

The Implantologist described it all again, more in dentist-speak (yeah yeah, of course I know where my “Lateral incisors” and “Second premolars” are! Come off it, who am I kidding?) I was too cowardly to own up, and nodded a lot.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

I was spurred on by the fact that my regular dentist had outlined the necessary plan of action via the non-implant route. In detail. Really in detail,  there is definitely such a thing as too much information. It wasn’t pretty, and I mean seriously not pretty. And worse, it wasn’t nearly so permanent, so there was very possibility that this plan needed redoing every decade or so.

Had I been ninety years of age it might have looked like the better option.

I’m not ninety so I got though the Implantology saga on the basis of two thoughts, (A) It will all be worth it in the end (B) Too late,  they’ve started, there was No going back. Both thoughts turned out to be correct.

By now, you may have realised that I’m a Wimp.  Yes, that’s with a capital “W”.

I appreciate that I’m very lucky to be living in this day and age, since the stupid accident missing one single stair way back in November and the rare damage I inflicted on myself is only repairable back to normal use with modern day specialist surgical methods.  I’m very grateful to have not only had that surgery, but to have had it within 24 hours of rearranging myself into an unhappy mess.

I understand completely that all the work they have done is completely necessary but it’s still a source of frustration that some parts of recovery are still mind-boggling slow going. Mostly means the healing process, and I have to take one hundred percent responsibility for that one LOL, so Yes, I’m annoyed with myself.

When we visited the hospital just over two weeks ago, after a month in various plaster casts the Doctor announced that hopefully the pins in my “Franken-Foot” can come out next visit. ( I called it that by the way, not him) OK,  Just two weeks more. No worries. I’m cool. Two weeks is ages yet. All  in good time. Right?

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

Wrong. The first week was cool, I thought happy thoughts, but at the start of the second week I started to worry. In the middle of the second week I started to sweat.  Himself noticed and told me not to worry. By the morning of the appointment he assured me that he would take the Dr aside and explain in no uncertain terms that pain and I didn’t get along well at all and ask for a local anesthetic to be put in before the pins came out.

He did, They wouldn’t.

The pins are embedded in the bones. and bones can’t be anesthetised, there  is such a small depth of skin that any injection would hurt like crazy and be useless. The Pink plaster cast is cut off. It’s grin-and-bare-it time.

I bore it, I didn’t grin.

I’m not squeamish and can watch any operation on TV etc, but this time I didn’t look. Himself said that they used a special tool around the pins and then just got a good grip and pulled very very hard. Yep, to say I felt it was an understatement.  I gripped Himself’s hand very hard indeed. He literally suffers being married to me sometimes. Sorry Darling, I promise to wipe your butt if you get old and incontinent.

The last pin was definitely the worst. The whole room figured that out, no doubt about it. I tried to be brave … and failed.  It bled like crazy too and the assistant pressed the swab really hard, as soon as the stars cleared I begged to do that myself.  Stupidly my brain said that if I pressed it hard myself it might hurt less. The intelligence of Brains is over-rated.

After the pins were out it was straight back into plaster. Cast number 5. I chose fluorescent yellow because it looked more cheerful than I did and I needed some of that to rub off.  I also scored a black rubbery sole that fits underneath it so I can try standing and walking soon, still with crutches but a start.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

They put the pins in a little bag for us to take home as a souvenir,  but the little sods are so sharp at the ends that one of them sawed a little hole in the bag and escaped.

I’m keeping the other two because Murphy’s Law says that if you have your own tools from the operation then likely you will never need them ever ever ever again. I’m not superstitious but well, may as well hedge my bets.

So here I am at the start of week seven in plaster and hopefully by the end of week eight I will have stopped supporting the plaster-of-paris industry. Today I have a severe case of cabin fever, since the only times I have been outside in the last six weeks have been for hospital visits.

It’s not just the crutches that are the biggest hassle, it’s more the two staircases I need to get up to get inside home, one stone and one semi-spiral, with triangular steps at the bottom, very crutch friendly (Not).

Staircase handrails have inherent design failure in that they end slightly before the last stair, or in the case of the lower staircase, three steps before the lower stairs so this makes every trip downstairs a potential accident waiting to happen. You know I’m accident prone don’t you? Best stay upstairs once I’m there and keep out of trouble.

I know that Cabin Fever isn’t terminal, I have more than most  to be Thankful for and I’m mending. Thanks for letting me rant, it certainly helps.

.. and if you are about to jump up from your computer to get yourself a cuppa,  (or throw up because of the photos) say a big “Thank You” for your mobility, you won’t appreciate it nearly enough unless you loose it.

I certainly didn’t.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

There are photos because  Kiwi Daughter was desperate to know what was going on under the cast (future medic?) The Photo above is the “Christmas Special” …  then  after some larking around, came the Hot Pink…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

…and my latest accessory, the sunshine Fluro Yellow delight… sans these little blighters.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

.. but with detachable foot ensemble for my first steps…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

I must Thank both the Gijpsmeesters  (Plaster cast specialists) at the hospital, as they are experts in getting the five casts on and off with the least amount of pain possible and that’s much appreciated.  They also loved the photo taking procedure and got themselves into the photos pronto. They clearly have a great deal of job satisfaction. Bravo!

Oops, Duh ….She’s done it again…

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

If ever there was someone who’s middle name should have been “klutz” … it’s moi.

Gymnastics as a child/teen  (ligament damage and sprains galore) and snow skiing as an adult (extensive knee damage, broken bones) should have told me that my adventurous sporting days were numbered. Did I listen?

Nah… some years back I tried to resume another old hobby, Volleyball, we warmed up extensively, the match started, and a full 10 minutes into the game, I’m up in the air at the net and then down on the ground in a heap, my ankle turned over with a nice crunching sound and swelled up like a small melon in about 3 minutes flat, except it was a reddish blue looking melon and looking rather frightening.

Off to hospital, luckily nothing broken, but ligament damage, so all taped up and on crutches for weeks… and physio because it all went very stiff and unhappy in all that tape.  Fast forward some months, foot had healed, and not wanting to quit so easily, I’d like to re-start Volleyball. Both ankles nicely protected with special sport support bandages made for the purpose. What could go wrong?

Well, a little way into the game, I was diving  to try and block a spike shot coming mega fast over the net, the ball catches my thumb and next thing I know I’m without a thumb nail… yep.. ouch. First Aider’s were enough treatment that time, but the team were probably starting to guess my badly kept secret that I’m rather accident prone.

I gave up volleyball before they all got too nervous about me appearing on court a third time.

At the end of our trip to Maine USA last year, a friend of our hosts have us a ride on his jet ski… wheee hoo, now that’s fun! I’ve never done anything like this before… “Do I want to go faster?  You betcha!”  Hold on tight, ok.. now remember, I’ve never done this before, our life-jackets are wet from the spray so I slide my hands into the bands of friends life-jacket, it seemed like a good idea at the time in my ignorance. It definitely wasn’t good idea when several tight turns later I fall off, my left hand doesn’t some clean out of the life jacket and four fingers get bent backwards in the direction that Nature never intended. The local hospital staff were wonderful, even if the experience of getting my wedding and engagement rings cut off my very swollen ring finger was not.

I got a cast (above) because Dr’s said it was important not to inflict any more damage whilst things settled down and Himself and I had to get through several airports with baggage and tired kids to get us home from the States. Obviously they didn’t trust me to keep out of trouble. It was a wise precaution, some people really don’t look out for other passengers when bording or where they are flinging their things when aiming for the overhead lockers on planes. I got bashed not once but twice, the cast took the impact well.

(photograph © Kiwidutch)

It’s gotten to the stage that when they dug up the footpath in our street  to repair a pipe, and left a trench with a plank over it for people to cross the trench,  I wanted to cross the street to navigate around it.  Himself asked ” where on earth are you going?”  I repiled ” Schaatje (sweetie) there’s a plank, there’s a hole… if one person in the whole wide world can fall in that hole who do you think it would be?“  He laughed, said “Very good point, walk around!“

This weeks stupidity (left)  is that I have washing hung out on our balcony washing-line. It’s been a fabulous morning, but in the early evening I hear heavy spats of rain… I’m wearing slippers that have zero traction in the wet (several near misses with kitchen spills taught me that)  but it’s been unnaturally dry in The Netherlands of late, so I’ve completely forgotten this fact.

In my rush to rescue the laundry, I’m moving way too fast,  slippers hit the wet balcony floor and whoaaaaa, in an ungainly splat, I skid feet first and hey!  the solid balcony brick wall stops my slide rather nicely. Cr@p this hurts,  ow ow ow….

Himself brings me a bucket of cold water and it hurts even more, elevation …. OK, just don’t move, don’t even breathe.  I grit my teeth and focus hard so that I don’t say naughty words in front of the kids.

I try to go to bed, but even the lightest of blankets has me in tears.  Hospital time… this time it’s broken toes on my right foot… wonderful. (Not)

They have decided to park me in a plaster cast for a week because apparently this helps a lot with the pain and I have buckets of that.

If all goes well then next week it can come off and I might get a light cast if needed.

Oh Goodie, my Old friends…. crutches. Yea ! … and my New best friend?… Tramadol.

And what sucks most of all?  It only rained for 10 minutes. (sigh)  Moral of this story? I’m mulling over the possibility that it’s possibly due to Kiwi’s like me that the Kiwi is a flightless bird.

Walk with me at your own risk.