For once, I have a legitimate excuse for my long absence.

During the first week of August, I broke my leg in what has to be the freakiest of freak accidents. Numerous people have asked me in the last few weeks what happened, and to this day I find it impossible to adequately describe.

What happened, essentially, was this: I was coming home from a trip to Walgreens, and just two blocks from my apartment I allowed my attention to wander for a split second. My motorized chair, which has a tendency to drift to the right if I'm not constantly compensating for it, drifted toward a section of brick wall that jutted out onto the sidewalk. My right leg got trapped between the chair and the wall, and I broke my leg trying to get free.

No, check that. It's not a garden-variety break. It's a compound fracture of the tibia and fibula, which I broke in two places. A nice little spiral-shaped section between my shin and my ankle.

Unlike most people in this situation, who are merely patched up and sent home, my cerebral palsy makes my recovery more difficult by a factor of ten. One, I can't merely wear a cast, since the extreme spasticity of my muscles would make that insanely painful. Therefore, I was wrapped in a splint and ace bandages for the first week and a half, spending eighteen hours out of every 24 with my legs elevated to bring the swelling down. I then graduated from that to a leg brace. Believe me, the splint was painful enough.

Secondly, I need assistance with toileting, since I'm non-weight bearing and unable to transfer to a toilet.

Therefore, I'm currently recuperating at a local nursing home for what looks like the next two months. By coincidence, it's the same one I went to in 2005 to recover from a broken hip.

The first thing that occurred to me is the vast difference in the way I was treated. In 2005, my TG status was far more obvious--I was in the middle of a six-year span in which I was denied hormones due to my smoking, so I looked far more masculine. My trans-ness, therefore, was treated as That Which Shall Not Be Named. I didn't get any open hostility from the other patients, but they didn't exactly embrace me, either.

Now, in 2016, it's like night and day. One, I'm treated as just another female patient by the patients here. If they know or even suspect I might be different, they've never made it known.

The biggest change, however, is in the attitude of the staff. To say they're fascinated by me is an understatement. If they're not stroking my hair, they're asking me questions about my transition--some of which cross the line into utter rudeness. (One actually asked me how I got my feminine voice, and told me, "Do your old voice for me." Erk.) I believe in education, but really....

As I settle in here, I might devote some time to writing, but don't count on it. It's not that easy typing on a Kindle Fire and Bluetooth keyboard. Right now I just want to focus on getting out of here in a timely manner.