I'm in post-surgical pain and self-medicating with the All Clooney Channel.
One of my favorite non-Clooney movies, though, is Rear Window. An adventuring photographer (Jimmy Stewart) is trapped in his apartment by a broken leg. He must watch through his apartment's rear window as his glamorous girlfriend (Grace Kelly at her sexiest) hot-foots her way into the conveniently large-windowed apartment of a killer to gather evidence in a murder. Jimmy Stewart is powerless to rescue plucky Grace when the bad guy (Raymond Burr at his most threatening--those eyebrows!) comes home early and grabs her.
Well, that's me this week---trapped in my room by a broken leg---er, no, nothing that dramatic. I had an inflamed nerve surgically removed from my foot yesterday, so I'm laid up for a little while. And while I'm not observing my neighbors for clues to a murder, I've got just as much suspense happening.
See, we gave up looking for an electrician ($35 an hour!) to fix our broken doorbell and decided to get one of those new-fangled ones that you just screw to your front door, and then you plug the receiver into a wall socket and the whole thing works on radio waves. Trouble is, our frequency is the same as the Mary Kay lady across the street who gets a kajillion deliveries every day. So here I am trapped in bed with my foot on a pillow, listening to my doorbell chime over and over and wondering if it's Mary Kay or maybe Ed McMahon finally decided to make me rich. Or is it the police trying to evacuate the neighborhood because of an imminent meteor hit?
For my surgery, I was sent to a "satellite location" of my local hospital. As a Star Trek fan from 'way back and a big When-Will-Scully-And-Mulder-Finally-Do-It-And-Mean-It aficionado (has anyone paid to see the new movie yet?) I was thrilled to see the sparkling alien starship lights as we pulled into the parking lot! Imagine my disappointment in discovering that the decorative lights were not attached to the hospital satellite, but are actually part of the cosmic bowling lane next door, darnit. The satellite is not decorated like an intergalactic exploration vessel, but actually just a big, boring office building located between the bowling alley and a Bob Evans restaurant. (What is so delicious at Bob Evans that the parking lot is completely jammed at 3pm? I have a feeling it's not the salad bar.)
I decided to schedule the surgery now, because we're still in the midst of trying to sell a book proposal. This process always takes longer than you think it's going to. Months longer. I'm not getting any constructive writing done these days, so why not have my foot cut open? (I was going to insert a photo of a foot here, but I Googled "foot surgery" and clicked on "Images," and the most gruesome pictures turned up. Considering some of you are sitting at your computers with your breakfast beverage, I decided to forgo the picture here. But under normal circumstances, I have a very pretty foot, honest. So imagine that in the space below.)
I needed a Responsible Adult to deliver me to the satellite, to wait in the waiting room during my surgery and to drive me home. We decided my daughter Sarah was the appropriate choice--not because she's an RN, but because my dear husband doesn't handle hospitals very well. (I put this down to his early training as a Christian Scientist.) Have I told you about the Lamaze class we took back when I was pregnant? While the mothers-to-be watched The Movie, the fathers-to-be toured the delivery room. And when the fathers came back to join the ladies, Jeff was not among the others. He'd fainted in the delivery room. Before I was even in labor. Since then, I've had various friends take care of my transportation after my many D&Cs and finally my hysterectomy. My daughter did the honors yesterday.
As for anesthesia, the doctor decided I didn't need to be totally knocked out, which I was happy about. (Doesn't everybody throw up after anesthesia?) A local, shot into my leg, would do the trick, he assured me. In fact, I was invited to observe the operation. While I watched, the doctor poked my numb foot with a really sharp little Exacto knife and pulled out a gruesome looking worm-like thing that if I'd known how ugly it was in there, I'd have had removed long ago. Nobody wants to look that unattractive, even on the inside. For the rest of the day, my leg felt like a big numb water balloon, which made negotiating the stairs hilarious. Not for me, but for my audience. And who knew crutches were so complicated to maneuver?
As for post-surgical painkillers, I'm not a big fan. I'd rather have a little pain and keep my wits sharp for enjoying Mr. Clooney. Painkillers tend to make me dizzy and rambling. Come to think of it, maybe George has the same affect on me. This blog is proof of the rambling, huh?
One of my favorite characters in Rear Window is Thelma Ritter, in the role of the wise-cracking visiting nurse who drops in on Jimmy Stewart to check on his leg and give him massages. I love Thelma Ritter. (Nominated 6 times for the Oscar!) She tended to play the same role in Doris Day movies and in All About Eve. (Take a look at All About Eve. It might be my pick for best movie of all time. You can keep your Godfathers and your Citizen Kane. Give me Bette Davis and George Sanders and Thelma Ritter with their sophistication and snappy dialogue any day. Watch this video of various clips. The bit with the candy dish! That dress! With pockets!) Anyway, after a day of sitting in my bed, I'm ready for a massage and some repartee from Thelma, all right.
Talk amongst yourselves while I cue up Out of Sight--another great movie with a sexy undercurrent. If you have more movie suggestions, let me know. I'm supposed to stay off my foot for a few more days.