I woke up this morning hearing that in the back of my head. I’m the “other guy’s” trash bag on the old Hefty commercial. Remember? As soon as someone pulled it out of the trash can, it split open and nastiness fell all over the kitchen floor. That’s me. Wimp extraordinaire.
I got a cortisone shot in my shoulder yesterday. My new friend, an orthopedic doc, wants me to try this to see if we can avoid surgery. It hurts pretty bad this morning, and I just don’t want to move. I know it will feel better soon and I am over-the-moon happy that surgery might be avoided. But I’m feeling sorry for myself.
Around here, knee and hip replacements and ACL tear repairs are so common that surgeons are regularly discussed over coffee: “Oh, you’re having your knee fixed? Who is doing it? Oh, he’s great. Good luck!” At my son’s ski academy, by the end of December, the number of kids making their way down the halls in wheelchairs and crutches multiplies almost daily.
I know I’m fortunate. Aside from those who have had pins and screws and rods drilled into their bones, there are some out there living with chronic pain. My brother, for one, was diagnosed with advanced Lymes Disease many years ago and has suffered unending, horrible pain in his back and joints. Some days are better than others, but I’m not sure he ever really gets relief. My heart goes out to him and others like him.
So, that’s enough wallowing. Time to get off the couch.
Hefty, Hefty, Hefty!
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