Lo,these many weeks have brought a dilemma. I can no longer count to twenty….at least if one would ever believe the old joke about needing all ten fingers and toes to reach that number. It’s generally thrown at hillbillies or other forms fo life deemed to be inferior to the speaker.
Well, as of 8 days ago my ability to use the unsophisticated method of counting has been diminished by one, the work of a demonic doctor who, even as we speak, is undoubtedly wearing the little digit from my right foot as a souvenir of his vicious attack on me. Oh, yes, there are some who share his strange teachings that would have you believe robbing me of my precious toe pinky was actually for my own benefit, the infection raging inside my foot considered to be more dangerous than mere lopsidedness. DEATH! HA! I spit in its face!
I have learned those medical degrees do have meaning after all and the knowledge they signify has been put to good…not nefarious…use.
I will spare you the details but suffice to say the entire experience has not been nearly so pleasurable as you might believe.
Too, within this process I ave discovered something called “blood sugar” mine apparently being at a level not heretofore seen since the sugar embargo was implemented against Cuba. Surely I must have billions of tiny Cuban sugar refugee granules seeking asylum within the borders of my body.
BUT……and a terribly big but (or butt, in my case) I have been instructed in how to dispel these refugees from my shores. All it takes is paying attention, following doctors’ orders, and self-discipline. None of these characteristics were ever explained to me by Mrs. Steele in 3rd grade so this 66 year old dog must now become familiar with some new tricks. WOOF WOOF!
One of the ways I am being treated is with a “wound-vac”. That is a device which is attached to the wound on the side of my foot creating a vacuum and a small machine with the decibel power of the annual Sturgis Motorcycle Rally does its sucking. The tubing from foot to machine is clear so I have the added advantage of seeing those globs of poison being evicted from my system.
I am also undergoing rehabilitation, though not for anything those of you who know me well would have ever suggested an intervention. Rather I am whiling away my days demonstrating that I can walk and lift 5 LB weights for an hour.
Seriously this is a rehab hospital that does great work with severely injured or ill patients to help them live better lives. It has a dedicated staff that really seems to care. I’ve needed more assistance doing everyday things the past ten days than I have in a very long time and no reasonable request has been denied.
Perhaps more on this topic later but I’ll leave you with this. A good friend…a fraternity brother…has suggested my primary loss is that I will no longer be ables to go “wee, wee,wee, wee, wee!” all the way home.