Cutie Cupid

 

Ah, my life has been altered. Well, that's a bit over dramatized but I hate change and change is what I faced. Who needs change?

The second I laid eyes on my beautiful car, one of the first things I noticed about it is the license plate. I was not looking at the license plate for any particular reason, before someone thinks I'm a bit odd. Well, at times I am a bit odd, but the license plate was just something that I glanced at. 

That beautiful blue and purplish-gray plate with 205 QTE made me smile. Not the number so much, but the QTE stood out. The first thing that came to mind was CUTIE, and the car was a cute little thing. I slid into the cushiony seat for the first time and it felt good. Not the seat per se, but the entire car felt good. That was when I fell in love with my Cutie. She is a good car and is still feeling like I belong in that seat, behind that wheel. Have you ever had a car that just simply felt right? That was me with Cutie. 

But I digress ... my point was that I fell in love with the car, but those plates were so fitting. The plates were what added to the character of the vehicle. That is coming to an end. Not my love for Cutie but the love of the plates is changing. 

We received the registration papers for the car, claiming her for ours. As I glanced down the typed words on the paper, I noticed one line in particular that stood out to me. The line describing the plate number was incorrect. It had some strange number and the letters did not make sense. I reported that the plate registration on the car was wrong to my husband. He stated he would chat with them about it. 

Come to find out, the plates were being sent to us by the DMV and my QTE plates were a thing of the past now. God, how I hate change. Yes, I'm pouting. 

For the next couple of days I pouted, while always mumbling to myself about how abused I was and how life wasn't fair. You know, the regular spoiled rotten child-like, "Oh, my life is awful because I didn't get what I want." I suck. Joking aside, I was just saddened by the outcome of the notice. I hated those new plates. But wait. What is this?

 

(To be continued) ...

***

Thursday, February 12, 2026

Enough of my pouting and acting like a petulant three-year old. On to more important, vital things. 

Terry was walking out to his car to rush off to his massage appointment. I know, poor guy. It's a tough job but somebody's got to do it. 

As he stepped down onto the deck, his knee gave way. He said he could feel the knee go one way and his body moved in the opposite direction. Inside the house, I was on the phone with my daughter. We were laughing and giggling over her Xolo (show-low) or Mexican hairless pup, Toski when Terry's text came through. He informed me of his plight of being on the porch without the ability to stand upright again. I hung up immediately and rushed out the door. 

My tall, strong husband sat on the wooden deck, looking small. He could not get up because his knee was not cooperating. I was going to dial 911 until he asked for me to run into the basement and grab the crutches. I did as he asked and cringed every move he made in an attempt to stand on his feet. As I said, he is my strong sweet man, and after a small amount of struggle, he was up with crutches snuggled under each arm. 

I helped him into the car and off we rushed into the VA urgent care facility, and so the adventure began. 

Now for the wait ... 

As we waited, I searched his knee to see if it was swollen, bruised, or injured in any way. Looking the knee over, I cringed and every single nerve in my body hurt. 

Notice how the knee cap is up further than it is supposed to be?

And on the other side of the leg, I could make out the definition of the tendon that had been stretched or pulled from the bone. See that lump?

Lying on the table inside the doctor's office, you could see the lump even better. Ah, yes. He had done a number on his knee alright. See what happens when you get older? 

After spending about 45 minutes or so in the office, we found out that Terry definitely has an injury to his patellar tendon. Since Terry wears cochlear implants, we cannot have MRI's done due to the magnets inside his scalp. Imaging in this manner could either screw up the magnets or the sound processors, or could literally suck the magnets out of his head. Either way, it does not sound fun. So no MRI's. 

Without a clear vision inside his knee, it made it difficult to get an exact detailed outcome. Terry was referred to the ortho doctor's office he had been to for past ortho issues. They reviewed the referral the next day and called to make an appointment for the following Monday, February 16th. It was now time to go home and figure things out there. 

Upon arrival, the fur babies began to hang on Terry, and wonder why their daddy was broken. My fall two years earlier meant that we had some equipment that came into play today too. I pulled out the wheelchair and even the toilet riser. You may laugh but it's an overlooked fact that once you cannot stand on both legs and you are missing the use of a strong tendon in your leg, you're screwed. Simple things, such as getting off the toilet becomes difficult, especially when the toilet sits down so low. Now we wait it out until Monday, when we can find out what Terry did to his knee. 

The fur babies were concerned about their broken daddy. Snuggling became a necessity, not an option. 

Little Esme got all the attention she could from daddy and in return, she cuddled up close. 

She eventually sat up and stared at the wall for a while. 

Eventually, Valentine's Day rolled around. Terry was highly upset over the fact that he could not go to the stores to complete my gift shopping. I tried to comfort him by saying it was all good and that we could celebrate Valentine's Day on a different day, further in time so it would give him a time to heal. I just wanted my sweet man to get well, then we could get back to our normal life. But, he would have it no other way. 

When the big day did come, we walked outside to put him into the car to go to the store. Terry stopped me at the edge of the driveway and asked me to look at my car. I looked. Okay? 

He suggested I look for my Valentine's Day gift again, and to check out the car. I did. I saw dirt and mud. Yeah, she needed a bath, that was for sure. Oh, and a good vacuum. 

Terry nudged me again and said, "Babe. Look at your car." 

"I am. All I see is dirt and mud." My eyes ran from the back bumper to the front bumper and then rested on the muddy tires. Ugh. What a mess. I moved my glance toward the front windshield. More dirt. Down the hood. Dirt. Continuing downward, it hit me. My sweet baby gave me an amazing gift!

Of course, my plates do not say 00BOB on them, but I love these plates! I ran to the back of the car ... yes, a matching plate in the back (as if I was expecting anything else). And then it all came rushing into my brain. How did my sweet man accomplish this while in a wheelchair? He went to all of this trouble for me. My heart grew six sizes and beat to a new rhythm for my man. What love and attention it took to accomplish this when walking or driving was not an option.  

Tears began to flow. I hugged my husband as tight as I could without knocking him over. He was on crutches and in a muddy piece of our front yard. I was in complete amazement over how he did this. Come to find out, he had called our landlord, Jim. Jim snuck over the day before and put the license plates on, even though he hates the Oregon Ducks (blasphemy). He even muttered that quietly to Terry while handing the old plates off to Terry. My spouse shushed him and they giggled. 

The big thing here is my competence at this point. I guess more like my focus. Maybe I'm ADD? I walked both of the dogs during the evening hours, and even stopped to brush off a piece of grass that had rested on the front grille. The front grille. Imagine, if you will, the placement of the front grille in relation to a license plate on a car. Any car will suffice. I didn't see those plates. This became our new joke. 

Yes, I walked up behind the car too when returning from my walk with Togo's leash in hand. Nothing. Nada. Nothing green, nothing that remotely looked like a duck. Now that I know the plates are on the car, those green plates stand out like a neon sign in a night sky. P-f-f-t-t. No clue. None. 

Behind all of this secret mission stuff is a story. A story of love and devotion. How did Terry already have those plates? Well, readers, pull up a chair. Have some tea ...

Right after we purchased the car, Terry and I were chatting about how nice we thought it was. I mentioned that since it was white, maybe the car should have some big, beautiful silver Oregon Duck wings on the back window. Terry knew at that moment what needed to be done.

Terry knew he needed to order some Oregon Duck plates for the car instead of me putting a decal on the window. This comes from wanting to make me happy, yet avoid the decals and bumper stickers he hates so much on our new vehicle. 

Terry could not go to the DMV until the new plates arrived. You know, the God awful plates I was dreading so much. A week before Valentine's Day, Terry grabbed the yucky plates from the mail and traded them in at the DMV. With registration and plates in hand, he took them out to the Xterra and hid them behind the seat, knowing I would not be driving his car. 

When our landlord, Jim, came over, Terry stuck his hand out of the side door of the house, and unlocked the Xterra for Jim so he could get the plates out of the car and proceed with the sneaky deed. When he completed the task, Jim handed the plates off to Terry at the side door again. Terry wanted to keep the entire thing a big surprise for the big day, so he slid the Cutie plates and registration underneath our recliner in the living room. 

Sneaky, sneaky man. Of course, it helps that he has a wife who is completely oblivious to time and situations happening around her, including when she flicks a piece of grass off the car about two inches away from the new plates. WTH?

We went to the store and shopped for each other. I grabbed Terry a card and a pair of nice, thick sweats for his cold nights outside with his cigar and book. Of course, some sugar free candy followed too. Nothing better than a Lily's very low sugar, milk chocolate candy bar. Good bars. 

Terry, in return, gave me a dozen red roses. 

He gave me a card too, plus a nice Oregon Ducks football gear shirt. 

My new shirt claims, "Real women love football. Smart women love the Ducks." 

And the plates! Those awesome, best-gift-ever Oregon Duck license plates for my car! Okay, it's official. I'm in love this Valentine's Day ... and every day. Thank you, sweetheart. You know me well. 

***

Terry and I went to the orthopedic doctor's office on Monday. Two doctors entered the room. My heart sank. Is he that bad? 

After an examination by one doctor who is Terry's actual doctor, and a lesson learned by the resident doctor following him around, we all learned that Terry had ripped his patellar tendon completely off the bone. Shit. I could hear the heavy, dramatic beat of drums in the background to complete this scene. Terry was on the table being very quiet. I sighed deeply and thought about my poor baby going through surgery. It was an ominous moment, at least for me. 

Terry has a different approach to medical issues. He is on the opposite end of the spectrum from what I feel about it all. Not that I'm looking for the worst, but I simply do not like a knife cutting into someone I love and care about while they are sedated by a medicine that I really do not trust. Terry spoke up, breaking the silence. He asked some typical questions and we headed home. The surgeon was going to make a strong attempt to fit him in on Wednesday. Not bad. Two days away. 

***

Wednesday, February 18, 2026

Terry's daughter, Mallory, had called the night before to ask if she could come to the surgery. Terry and I felt that was fine since he thought she could keep me company in the waiting room. I was good with that and appreciated another person being there. My girls are in Eugene and had just been down to see Terry a few days before. They all sent their wishes for a speedy recovery. 

We were waiting on "the call" but in the meantime, we got to meet a celebrity. 

This is Miss Lily Jellystone. She met us with her surgical cap and a smile. Lily is the first therapy dog in Mercy Hospital and she is proud of that title. She greets you with those big brown eyes. The golden retriever and black lab mix loves people. Miss Jellystone left us with a lighter heart and some giggles, making our day much better. It's amazing how much animals can bring a healing vibe into the fold. 

If you would like to follow Miss Jellystone on Facebook, click the link above. She has a lot of fans and the number is growing on a daily basis, but you can never have too many friends.

The medical staff called us back. Terry was asked to step into a room where there were a few beds, all with curtains. There were only about two other people in the multi-bed room today, so it was not bad. Soon there were swishing of curtains and people whooshing in and out. Within a few moments, we had the anesthesiologist and a couple of nurses hanging about with needles and various other instruments in their hands. Hmm. That's a long ass needle in the anesthesiologist's hand. It's time to head to the restroom and give these people some room. 

I returned quickly to see a screen set up over Terry's bed so the anesthesiologist could concentrate on the needle he had in Terry's leg. He was trying to give locate a nerve to give a block. I looked into Terry's face and he was doped up by this time, I could tell. At least he didn't see or couldn't feel the huge needle in his leg. 

Terry's eyes popped open at one moment. "Ouch. That hurt." 

Okay. So he's not quite as far out as I thought he was. I stood and asked if I could watch the process. He recommended that I do and flipped the screen over a bit to give me a great view of the situation. In the imaging, I could see Terry's nerves, his knee, his tissue, and that huge ass needle the doctor was shoving around to find a nerve. As he found it, he injected his "poison" and retracted the needle. Interesting. As long as that isn't in me, it was interesting. 

Two years ago, when there for my fall, I received a nerve block. However, I got the block after I was knocked out. By the look of things, that's a good move on their part. If I had seen that needle heading toward me, I might have a few strong reactions, including a not-so-nice four-letter word, followed by a "you!" Ugh. Not good. But my man stood strong. He endured it all and kept joking. 

Now that is over, Terry is prepped for his surgery. I was fine with everything until that last second when something hit me. I didn't want him to go. Immediately a strong feeling of "not good" came over me. Mallory caught the tear welling in my eye, and she said, "Mom, he'll be okay." Immediately, this brought on a swarm of nurses and doctors letting me know he will be fine. I mustered a smile, and said, "I know," trying to cover the unsure feelings.

Part of it was because I had come down sick a few days before. I lost my voice and felt, well, like shit to be blunt. I was wearing a mask and kept it on the entire time. The mask was also worn around home to protect Terry's day of surgery too. 

I leaned in to put my face on Terry's face in a mock kiss position. Because of my KN95 mask, I could not get skin-to-skin but I felt as though I did the best I could, all things considered. The medical staff grabbed his gurney after I said goodbye, and rushed him off behind those doors we are never allowed to open. 

Mallory and I stood there, lost. She was talking. I heard her voice, but what she said, I have no idea. I was focused on the empty feeling I had around me now that my Terry was gone. Sucking in a deep breath to get my bearings, I focused on Mallory. I asked her if she would like to go to the cafeteria to grab a soda or water. She wanted to get out of there as badly as I did I believe, so off we went to locate the small in-hospital eatery. 

A tiny bowl of fruit, a bottle of water, and an hour later, we decided to return to the second floor to see what position Terry may be at now. The board showed us he was in the OR still, so we sat in the waiting room and ... well, we waited. 

During our wait, we found humor in some happenings around the hospital. It didn't take us long to find something to laugh about. 

This man was on a mission. He climbed aboard his low rider and took off for the streets, or hallways as we see here. It wasn't so much the fact that he was riding the machine as it was when we first saw him he was holding a mop behind his back, sliding it along the floors as he traveled along the hall. I don't know. Something about it all made us laugh. When he became visible, with his mop dragging behind him, all I could think of was the song, Low Rider sung by War. 

Mallory got up a few moments later to head into the bathroom. I began to peruse my phone, hoping to find something new. Suddenly, the room was darker. I looked up to find Terry's doctor standing in front of me. My heart went into my throat. He was very early compared to when he told me he would be finished with Terry's surgery. 

I guess he was just quick that day, as he completed the work on my husband's knee, and reported it all went very well. Now Terry would remain in the recovery room for a little bit until he was awake and coming out of the anesthesia. During our conversation, Mallory made an appearance too and was able to meet the surgeon. 

Approximately half an hour later, we were called back to see our Terry. 

As I walked around the corner, I saw him attached to some sort of machine. It looked like a cooler with a hose coming out of it. It was rather confusing. 

Come to find out, it is a cooler of sorts. This cooler has a hose connected to the brace and bandages that are around Terry's knee. Inside the container is ice and a fan. A new contraption that helps with swelling and pain. It was rather interesting. We brought the machine home with us as prescribed and it has been an awesome addition to his care. 

***

Saturday, February 21

Here we are, a few days later and Terry is dropping the crutches into the corner of the room. For the most part he is walking already, with his brace on. The brace is set to keep his knee completely straight. No excuses. Keeping it straight was the only warning they gave him. He can put weight on that leg as long as his knee remains stiff and straight. 

Terry will attend his first appointment for physical therapy on March 6th. March 2nd is his follow up appointment with the ortho surgeon. They will remove bandages and see how the incision looks, along with checking up on his knee in general at that appointment. He is moving along quickly and I'm proud of him for that. 

***

Our post will end here. Tomorrow is Sunday, February 22, 2026, the finale of yet another weekend. We had a progressive weekend, with Terry making a lot of great strides toward healing and walking, even after only three or four days. 

I am still sick in the aspect of my voice is gone. This cold created not only a miserable existence, but I can't talk either. This too shall pass. 

***

We do wish all of you an amazingly happy, laugh-filled week with abundance and prosperity in your life. Thank you so much for reading the blog. We appreciate each and every one of you. Hugs!

Terry & Vicki Macrae

Two broken old people sharing love and life