me by ddb

Plague Diary: Quick Update

I have completed my first week of work and I have moved house.  It's been eventful.  The first week of work was pretty rocky.  While there were some high points, there were a lot of very low ones.  I have hopes that this next week will be better.  

I paid (overpaid, but it was so worth it) a very nice young man to carry all my things down the stairs, and then into the new apartment.  Although I was very tired, I then found that I absolutely had to unpack.  Which I did.  It took me a couple of hours, but everything is where it goes, more or less.  The new apartment is a basement apartment.  The house is simultaneously dilapidated and well-loved.  The apartment is adorable, but nothing is either level nor true.  The ceiling...does not bear thinking about, so I don't.  It's a drop ceiling with mismatching panels, some discolored, and several of which look like they don't quite fit.  But, well, none are falling down, so that's fine.  The bathroom is small, but functional.  The kitchen is better than my old kitchen, with a lot more storage space.  The bedroom is fine, but the bed is harder than the last one, and it hurts my back.  Hopefully, I will adjust.  There are a lot more outlets in this apartment than the last one.  The entire apartment feels like a place that someone with very little money but a great deal of care and industry has invested a lot of time and thought.  

Today, I have accomplished groceries (including the necessaries for both shakshuka and mimosas), done PT, and am picked up my bike.  Cleveland today was beautiful in that very early spring sort of way, with the sunlight made of crystal, the air tasting of sparkling wine, and the wind made of knives.  The lake effect wind is truly something, bright and cruel.  But the apartment is cozy, and I think I shall be happy, here.  

I have noticed that Pittsburgh is a plausible day-trip from here.  I believe I shall, some Sunday, make said trip.  Lords, but I love Pittsburgh.  I might also take a quick trip to Akron, someday.  Just to drive around.  Love me some Rust Belt cities, I tell you what.

I am still not vaccinated, but have established that 1) as a direct health care worker, I'm eligible, and 2) Cuyahoga county has run out of vaccine, and 3) there is a waiting list, which I am now on.  

I miss my cats.  I miss my David.  But life is not terrible, at the moment, just challenging as fuck.
me by ddb

Plague Diary: Recap, with contemplation on fear and bravery

I’m not sure why it feels important to say all this, but it does feel important.  I’ll start out by saying that I’m, as of the writing of this, fine.  And yet.

 

I have some significant mental health challenges.  Always have.  I was suicidally depressed when I was 16…not that anyone noticed.  Getting through my teens and twenties was difficult, exhausting, and hard on everyone around me.  I’m 58, now, and I’ve come to appreciate certain things about myself.  One of them is that I have, by and large, substituted routine for resilience.  I am strong, but brittle.  A too-hard hit from reality, and I shatter.  When that happens, I dissociate, and it takes me time to reassemble.  So far, I have always managed the reassembly.  But it scares me, and I worry about the day when that happens and I can’t find all the bits of myself.  It is possible that I am wrong, but I do truly think that it remains one of the possible outcomes.  And that is one of the reasons why I rely so heavily upon routine.  

 

At the end of 2020, I was looking at having my unemployment run out, and the profession I work in was not doing much in the way of hiring in Minneapolis.  There were a few casual jobs, which were mostly being taken by people with a lot more experience than I have.  While there were some day jobs, I was very worried about working a day shift.  I have not had a significant recurrence of depression since I started working nights, and I think it extremely likely that there is a connection.  I applied for a Traveler job and as a night tech, because on balance, it felt like upending my living situation would be less destabilizing than upending my sleep schedule.  I took a job in Cleveland.

 

I want to pause, here, and stress how incredibly brave that was, for me.  Other people have other challenges, and I am aware that for some people, this kind of thing would have been a doddle, and for others, unthinkable. For me, it was exactly at the edge of what I thought I could manage and do.  I made lists, I pre-packed for weeks, I made arrangements with my family, I fretted, and I cried a little bit.  I asked David, repeatedly, if he thought I could manage this.  He said he thought I could, and that I was doing all the things necessary to make this work.  And I was very, very afraid.  

 

Right before I headed for Cleveland, I was just a wee bit sick, with a symptom which is sometimes associated with COVID, but was much more likely to be the Brussel sprouts I had eaten the night before.  However, because I was going to be in direct patient care, and to give myself peace of mind, I ordered an at-home COVID test.  I didn’t tell my family because I really didn’t think I had COVID.  Yeah…about that.  I should have told my family.  I was irresponsible. 

 

I was diagnosed while on the road to Cleveland, and had a full-on melt-down in the parking lot of a rest area.  After that was over, I mustered up every bit of bravery I had, called my family, called my girlfriend that I had potentially exposed, and then called my employer.  Being halfway to Cleveland, I went on, and after getting talked through my terror by a good friend, I called my Airbnb hosts, and told them I was positive.  They were unhappy, briefly thought about not letting me check in, but in the end were very nice, so I did.  Again, I cannot explain how much bravery this required from me.  It was so far out of my comfort zone I can’t even describe it.  But I did it.  

 

Remember that thing about routine?  Yeah, I was flying blind, with no instruments, no map.  But I stayed in the air.  I got the apartment set up.  I set up some basic routines.  I found the Trader Joe’s near me, the grocery store near me, got through my quarantine period with some added grace time to be safe, got my badge for work, and I was feeling incredibly brave and accomplished.  I was alone, in a strange city, but my network of friends and family had sent care packages, taken frightened tearful calls, offered various bits of assistance, and I felt loved and cared for, not at all isolated.

 

Then I broke my arm.  My work contract was cancelled, I was unable to care for myself, and the entire adventure was a terrible failure.

 

David came out, and has been wonderful.  After two months, I have most of my range of motion back, although the arm is incredibly weak.  My contract with Cleveland Clinic, which was cancelled after I broke my arm, has been reinstated, and I start work on 2/22.  And, yeah all that seems great.  So why was I weeping in terror and despair last night over a broken printer?  

 

Because it’s all been entirely too much.  I have been the bravest I have ever been in my life.  I have exhibited more resilience than I thought I had.  But as of last night, I still had a document I needed to get to my employer, which required I print out a physical form, and the printer that I bought for that purpose was defective, and I could not do that.  Also hanging fire are the medical bills for this disaster. I do not have health insurance, and my phone appointment for medical assistance is tomorrow.  David is leaving Wednesday.  I have to move house at the end of the month because this unit is being rented to someone else, and they declined to switch to another unit. And, honestly, every bit of this is workable.  I have a person to contact who can move my stuff into my car, and then out of my car to the new unit. I have already rented that unit.  David figured out a different work-around for my paperwork, and the employer has said it’s fine.  

 

But, dear friends, it really is too much.  And what I don’t know, can’t know for a while, is how much of this is stuff I’ve dealt with, and how much of this is stuff I’ve dissociated, and I do not know what the final bill will be.  I do not know if I will actually survive the reckoning.  I mean, if I were a betting person, I’d say I can probably survive.  I’m fifty-fucking-eight.  I’ve made it this far.  I’m unlikely to just shatter.  But…there isn’t certainty.  I need you to understand that.  I need to understand that.  I am not fragile, but I am brittle, and I do not know if I can survive my future.  I am afraid.  

me by ddb

Plague Diary: The Saga Continues

 This is just a quick update on the general State of the Lydy.

The arm is healing nicely.  I do two sessions of PT, one more than is prescribed, and often more reps than is prescribed.  I discussed it with my physical therapist, Olivia, and she doesn't think I am overdoing it.  This has resulted in a really strong recovery. My range of motion is currently about 80% of normal.  She thinks that I might not lose any range of motion, which makes me especially happy that I took the doctor's recommendation to not do surgery.  While that decision was partially driven by money, it is also true that I have not had to heal from the trauma of surgery, and so my recovery is faster.  I do use a hot pack after my PT sessions for pain management, and that does seem to help a lot.  I gather that there's no data that this is technically therapeutic, but I have suspicions that it actually is because it increases blood flow.  On the other hand, I also suspect that knitting is really good physical therapy, and I have zero cites on that, too.  (The shawl I started right after I broke my arm is almost done!)

My PT exercises now include weights.  Ok, one pound weights, to be precise, but I assume that we'll get to higher weights, soon.  I am contemplating buying small dumbbells, a set in 2, 3, and 5 pounds.  I wonder if this is just me engaging in retail therapy, or if they will be useful.  I see Olivia again on Monday, so I think I will delay the purchase until I have a chance to ask her.  She has said that although I will not need to do PT for the rest of my life, I will probably always be a little weak in my right arm, and it would be smart to keep up strength exercises for, well, the rest of my life.  

I am pain-free for large quantities of the day.  I have been able to reduce my use of ibuprofen, and today I have forgone it all together.  We'll see if how that goes, long term, but I have already done my first PT session, today, and am not in shocking amounts of pain.  So, it seems to be going very well.  

I can now do all sorts of things that I either couldn't do, or could only do with shocking amounts of pain.  I can wash my own hair, I can cut bread, I can put the bread into the oven, I can cut up cheese (I did cut myself doing this, because my knife skills are still recovering), I can pull up my pants, I can reach over my head, I can wash dishes, I can almost sleep on my right side, I can lift a gallon of water, I can scoop ice cream, I can change the sheets and make the bed, I can fill the humidifier in my CPAP (which is actually really difficult because the design of the humidifier chamber is stupid as fuck), I can drive to the grocery store (though turning corners I do a little differently because my arm doesn't quite work right), I can turn on Mr. Heater (the scary open-flame gas space heater on the wall in my living room), put my hair up in a very messy knot, and wash the bathroom fixtures.  This is an incomplete list, but they are all things that were out of reach a fortnight ago.

I have gone a couple of rounds with Ben, my recruiter from Aureus Medical Group, the people that placed me at the Cleveland Clinic.  He had said that Cleveland Clinic was vastly under-staffed and wanted me.  So I got a release to work letter that had a restriction of lifting no more than ten pounds.  It seemed to me that should have been fine, because the number of times in nine and a half years that I worked as a tech that I had to lift something greater than 10 pounds was, um, once.  After a week of making happy noises but no details, Ben said that Cleveland Clinic was so short-staffed that they could not take me unless I was at 100%.  We did some back and forth about what the fuck 100% means (this is not, actually, a medical term).  He finally said that I needed a release to work letter without restrictions.  I saw Olivia on Wednesday, and after a chat, she said that I could probably handle my job fine, and I should ask Dr. Hoyen if he agreed.

So, then I sent email to Dr. Hoyen (who has been my doc since I got out of the hospital, who recommended I not get surgery, and who has generally been quite good), asking if this was possible.  I detailed my logistical complexities, including the fact that my lease here is up on February 20th.  I need to either be working or moving home by that date.  I got back a note today saying that while he felt I could return to work, he would like me to limit my hours.  I have responded saying that they won't take me if I can't work full-time, and why does he think I need to limit my hours?  I await a response.

Once I know if I am going home or staying here, I can either go home with David, or release him into the wild.  I hope to know, soon.  If I can return to work, but cannot do so for a fortnight or so, there's still no reason he has to be here.  I can definitely shift for myself at this point.  I will miss him but I bet the cats would be happy to have him home.  

Pamela tells me that Ninja and Nuit, separately and together, attempted a mouse murder, last night, but failed.  I have yet to be updated on their prosecution of this project.  (Dunno what Lady Jane Grey was doing during this attempted homicide.  I should ask.)  

Meanwhile, my brain has decided to gift me with anxiety dreams, thank you, brain.  I had a very detailed one in which I was trying to check into the RadishTree for a single night as a way to relax, but when I got there, they were holding Norwescon there.  Why was Norwescon in the RadishTree?  We may never know.  It was a crowded convention and no one was wearing a mask, and I kept on finding that I had removed my mask and having to put it back on, and the auxiliary con-suite was in the suite i had rented, and then things devolved into a very bad spy movie with hidden rooms, an underground lagoon, and in addition to worrying about COVID I had to worry about being shot or poisoned.  Thank you, brain!  

Still, things are definitely looking up.  

Love to you all from Cleveland.
me by ddb

And Breathe!

I have spent four years studiously not thinking about the facts that Trump had control of the nuclear football and that he thought that nuclear bombs were kinda neat.  There was no point in thinking about it, so I didn't.  And today, I can stop not thinking about it.  Thank god. 
me by ddb

Plague Diary: Recap

So, now that I can type again, I'm going to recap the last month.  Nothing new here, just more detail.  

December 9th was a perfect day.  I had visited downtown Cleveland, gotten my ID badge, had really settled into my tiny apartment, and felt happy, competent, and successful.  The next day was to be very fine, so I made plans to ride my bike.  I found a park called Edgewater Park which was on the shore of Lake Erie, and had mixed-use paths.  The next day, I drove there with Jezebel.

Jezebel is a very cheap bike.  I mean, she does all the things, but she is an absolute budget choice.  One of the places this shows is that the rail that one slides the battery down to fit into the socket to power the bike is not well attached.  What with one thing and another, it took me almost 30 minutes to get the battery proper seated.  This included me using my car keys to unscrew the one screw that holds the rail in place, and then rescrew it.  Not sure if that helped, but eventually, I got the battery properly seated.  This was somewhat further impeded by a long conversation with someone who turned out to be a drug rep who 1) was not wearing a mask, 2) insisted that he was unsure that the vaccine was safe because REASONS, and 3) informed me from his lofty heights of knowledge that the vaccine might or might not work but the manufacture was sure to be fucked, so there was no way to trust it.  It was a frustrating conversation, full of mansplaining and condescension.  

Eventually, I got Jezebel ridable (with no help from my interlocutor), and headed out.  It was a glorious day.  I was on a loop, and chose the less steep hill for the return.  There was sand towards the bottom of the hill, and I knew that bikes lose traction on the sand and that I should be careful about braking on sand.  I was not careful enough.

I lay on the ground and a number of people gathered around.  My two front top teeth were pushed inwards.  I was on my back.  Given that I had obviously landed on my face and shoulder, I'm not sure how I came to be on my back.  I have obviously lost a minute or two.  People kept on asking me if I was ok.  I told them I did not know.  I used my tongue to push my two front teeth back in place, and wondered if I'd lose them. They popped back in place, and were not loose.  They would hurt, later, but at that moment in time, I was in shock and pretty much nothing hurt.  A very kind man, in his twenties, I think, helped me off the ground. He wanted to walk me to a nearby park bench.  I told him I could not walk that far, and we settled on having me sit on an embankment along the path.  When I stood up, the entire world went various colors of yellow, and I could not see.  Once settled on the berm, I fretted about my bike quite a bit, and someone brought Jezebel over near me.  Someone else also handed me my phone.  My right arm hurt a lot, and I wondered if I'd dislocated the shoulder.  In addition to the kind man who walked me to the berm, there was a young woman who was very concerned, another person who asked sensible questions I had no answer for, and a gentleman in his late forties, named David, who called EMS.

As I showed no signs of doing anything else particularly interesting, and when I told them that really, I didn't need more assistance, everyone but David drifted off.  I do not know who you were, kind strangers, but your concern is hugely appreciated.  Thank you for stopping and caring.  David stayed with me until the ambulance arrived, went to the parking lot to get the nice ambulance people, and then said good bye and left.  Thank you, thank you, David.  He was calm and steady and kind and competent and all the good outcomes from then on are partly because he did the right thing.  At various points during the wait, I told my bike and the various onlookers that Jezebel was a good bike, and had done nothing wrong, and it was entirely my fault.  They all looked at me with alarm.  I suspect that they were worried that the old lady with a huge bump on her head and blood coming out her nose was not entirely coherent.  I was worried that my bike would feel guilty about having hurt me.

The ambulance had a two person team, I do not remember their names.  They were competent and kind.  They got me into the ambulance.  I explained that I had no insurance, and did not want to go to the hospital.  The guy explained to me that I was an adult and could do what I wanted, but he was concerned about a number of things, including the fact that I might very well have a brain bleed and drop dead if it were not attended to, and the only way to find out if that was going on was if I had my head scanned.  I hemmed and hawed and fretted about Jezebel.  I asked if maybe we could take Jezebel to my car and lock her in my car.  The EMT offered to make me a deal, they'd secure my bike if I agreed to go to the hospital.  I laughed and agreed to the bargain.  I strongly suspect that they'd have secured my bike without that agreement, but I was also starting to feel like maybe going to the hospital was the right choice.

The other EMT, who was a woman, was unable to figure out how to fold Jezebel, and of course I couldn't help, so we ended up just stuffing her in the back seat unfolded.  And then we went off to the hospital.  By this time, my arm was in a sling, and the guy had daubed away a lot of sand and blood from my forehead and upper lip.  The ride was long and bumpy and I was slightly nauseous.  They took me to Metrohealth.  The EMT said that it would be a better place for someone uninsured.  

At the ER, the EMT gave them my name and vitals, and said that I was "very nauseous."  I was not, in fact, very nauseous.  I was slightly nauseous.  I decided he was trying very hard to tell them that they needed to check me for concussion and brain bleed, and did not correct him.  I was vaguely amused.  This is the second time in my life I have been in an ER, and the first time I've been conscious for the experience.  I'm not sure how large the team was, but it might have been as many as 8 people.  They worked in a very coordinated fashion, and it was fascinating to watch.  They did a quick and very thorough systems check, touching things and bending things and calling out results.  I think they asked me three separate times if my neck hurt, which I believe was an attempt to compensate for the fact that people don't always know if something hurts when lots of other things hurt, and they wanted to be super careful about my neck.  I was cheerful and cooperative.  In the process, I mentioned that I was there for work, that I was all alone, and that I had three boyfriends.  Turns out, ER people love nothing so much as a story, so everywhere I went after that, people were cheerfully referring to those details.  Not at all in a derogatory fashion, I hasten to add.  They seemed entertained and pleased, and seemed to like me.  Yet again, everyone was just hugely kind and competent.  

They did a CT of my head, and X-rays of my arms.  At one point, the X-ray tech said, "Oh, boy."  

I said, "Is that a good 'oh, boy' or a bad "oh, boy'?"

"Well, let's just say I'm going to be a little more careful with how I position you."  

"Fuck. "I broke my arm, didn't I?"

 "I didn't say that.  Please don't tell the doctor I said that."  

"Don't worry.  I'm a tech, too.  I know you can't say anything."

She turned to her assistant and said, "We'd better get a picture of the elbow, too."  She looked at me and said, "They like to see the joint above and below any break, if there's a break."  I grinned.

And, once again, I want to say how incredibly nice everyone one.  I am utterly baffled by people who think that the natural state of human beings is cruelty and predation.  

After the pictures, they put me in a room.  By this point, I think I'd acquired something like six or eight blankets, because I kept on telling everyone I was cold.  I was still cold.  I called a nurse to tell them I needed to use the rest room. After a brief conversation in which it was established that I was perfectly capable of walking on my own, I was given directions to the nearest facility.  I managed the walking just fine, but everything was so much more difficult with just one hand.  

I got really bored, and got dressed and put my shoes on.  Based on a conversation with the EMT, I decided that I was unlikely to be kept overnight.  The hospitals, as you may have heard, are pretty damn full.  I did not attempt to put my arm through my shirt sleeve (to this day, I have not done that yet, though I might try that later today).  The ER doc that did my intake came by to tell me that my arm was broken, and that the orthopedic surgeons would be in to see me.  More waiting.  The television was extremely boring.  Eventually the orthopedic surgeons came to say that they had good news and bad news.  The good news was that I did not need emergency surgery.  The bad news was that I probably needed surgery.  They set me up with a follow-up visit and said I could be discharged.  I asked about my head, and they said that it was fine.

I got to the discharge desk, and explained that my car was at Edgewater Park, and that I needed a ride there.  They arranged a Lyft car for me, joshed me about having three boyfriends, worried about me being on my own in a strange city, and were very kind.  No one questioned my ability to drive one-handed in a strange city after dark.  I was doubtful, but also didn't see any real options.  I spent about six hours, all told, in the hospital.  The Lyft car took twice as long as it should have, and went through three different drivers before one finally arrived. I was so very tired, and felt vaguely ill and very very worried.  

Back at my car, I managed to put on my seatbelt, which was a feat worthy of fucking Hercules, or maybe a circus contortionist.  I convinced der Google to take me home via city streets, not the freeway.  I am still not sure that was the right choice, but I was very trepidatious.  Freeway driving is easier, in some ways, but accidents are so much worse if they happen.  At one point, der Google directed me to a street which was apparently being used to park semis on.  After nothing moved for ten minutes, I managed to make a U-turn, and it redirected me.  It took me 45 minutes to get back to the apartment, I think.  It was a long, difficult drive.  

The next bunch of days, before David got here, were possible but quite difficult.  I swabbed sand and dried blood out of my nose with a Q-tip.  I kept on finding sand in my teeth, which I think means that I got sand all the way up in my sinuses.  My upper lip had dried gunk on it every morning for several days.  I developed a raccoon mask bruise, but not in purple but rather in yellow, so it looked like I had had a bad accident with poorly color-matched foundation.  I managed to wash dishes and scramble eggs one-handed.  I could not cut my bread, so my fresh loaf of sourdough sat on the counter and slowly went stale.  (David was able to rescue it and make it into French toast when he arrived, so it didn't go to waste.)  I had some serious gastric distress, probably stress-related, which resolved after a couple of days.  Everything hurt a lot.

A month on, I am in lots and lots less pain, I can knit, I actually used my right hand to feed myself last night.  David has been charming and marvelous about doing all the housework, even bits he doesn't think need doing.  I have another follow-up this Thursday, and then unless the news is unexpectedly good or dire, I think we will head home to Minneapolis.  Oh, and we finally got a good look at Jezebel, yesterday, and she seems to be in good shape, although I think there may be some sand in the shift mechanism.  I should have her professionally petted and vetted before I ride her, again, but I was kind of planning on doing that, anyway. She remains a very good bike.

This was not the adventure I was looking for, but is the adventure I have had.  

me by ddb

Plague Diary: More Increments

- I can now touch type for brief periods of time.

- I now have two body positions in which I can sleep, which vastly reduces the amount of pain I experience upon waking.

- I still hurt a a lot, but a fair bit of that is the result of doing more with my arm.

- I resurrected Hermione yesterday afternoon, and made fry- bread.  She is looking reasonably cheerful and bubbly, after having spent almost a month in hibernation.


I might try to make bread, today, though I would need David's help for some of the bits, and we'll see if he's amenable.  

Excelsior!

me by ddb

Plague Diary: In Which I Am an Incrementalist

 Things which have improved:

- My right hand is no longer swollen

- I can now use my right hand to hold and carry things, and to grip bottles to open, if the lid is not too tight

- I can now remove my sling, wash my arm, powder it, and replace my sling without assistance

- I can raise my right am at the elbow a little

- Without the sling, my right arm can bear the weight oh a bath towel for short periods of time

- There is less pain

- The spectacular bruise in my right upper arm (running from 3 inches below the shoulder to the elbow) is now more yellow and orange and less black and purple

- I am much better at using my left hand, especially for hunt-and-peck typing


All that said, things still hurt, I still need assistance showering, and basic shit is hard.
me by ddb

Plague diary: update II and III

I saw the doctor on the 17th. I was uncomfortable with David in the waiting room for more than 30 minutes when it was just not well ventilated not well spaced so I saw doctor by myself.  I would've liked a second person there to hear what the doctor said but I just did not feel it was safe for him. Safer for me because I theoretically have some immunity.  The doctor said first of all that the break is in two places on the "ball" of the humerus, but it's nice and tight and it is not a place that they feel that they can put a cast.  He wants me to take my arm out of the sling and let my arm hang straight for a while and also to raise and lower the arm at the elbow to keep the elbow from getting stiff. I have been doing this, and also putting jock itch powder on it twice a day because I got a yeast infection on the skin from leaving it in the sling for a solid week.

I saw the doctor again on the 23rd.
 They re-x-rayed the arm, and the doctor says that it looks better than the first set of x-rays done right after the accident. He said that he would be willing to operate but that he does not see the need. Moreover while the operation might be an improvement there is no guarantee because of the way he would need to move the muscles and tendons out-of-the-way in order to get to the bone. He wants to re-x-ray in two weeks and see how it's going. He feels that I will get back about 75 or 80% of my original functoinality back, but because the shoulder is so mobile I will not notice the deficit much. He also said that I should be able to return to work in about four more weeks. David and I have had a quick conversation and decided that for a variety of reasons including the fact that I will be better able to help with the driving in a fortnight and continuity of care it probably makes sense to stay in Cleveland for at least another two weeks, and have a follow-up x-rays here. Things still hurt lots and lots and lots, but it is actually less than two weeks ago. Improvement is happening; it's very slow.
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Plague diary: update

I have made an appointment with the follow-up orthopedic doc for Thursday the 17th.  They will re-x-ray, and the receptionist says that's the fracture is not displaced and I might just have a cast for six weeks. Guess we'll see what we will see.  If anybody uses the dictation function on a macintosh, can you tell me why it types my clauses in this twice.  The editing is actually a pain in the ass.
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Plague diary: in which biking in Cleveland is a bad idea

 Hi guys.. I fell off my bike yesterday very hard,, broke my arm in two places in two places.. Work contract canceled Work contract canceled.. Oh it was my right arm isn't that special. Not sure what's going to happen next, I'm using dictation software which is terribleI'm using dictation software which is terrible.  Oh and I'm also going to probably need surgeryOh and I'm also going to probably need surgery.  And no I don't have health insurance.  Wish me luck guys bye