It’s big, it’s nasty, and it’s heading this way.
That may sound like a description of the nun that used to monitor my grammar school cafeteria, but I’m actually referring to Hurricane Sandy, aka “Frankenstorm,” which is currently churning its way up the East Coast and heading straight for my house.
And just in time for Halloween…
New York Governor Andrew Cuomo this morning ordered the suspension of all subway and bus service, the schools are being shut down, and residents of low lying areas are being told to pack up their troubles in their old kit bags and get the hell out of Sandy’s way.
There’s talk of heavy winds, sheets of rain, and a possible guest appearance by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse as all Hell literally breaks loose in my hometown.
Okay, I may be feeling a little paranoid, but I think I’m entitled. I’m still in a lot of pain from chronic back trouble and I’m supposed to get both an MRI and my flu shot tomorrow—the very day that this meteorological monstrosity is set to hit New York.
The last time we were slated for annihilation was August 2011, which was the first time my back went out. I wonder if the two are related.
Maybe my bulging disc is some kind of early warning system. Maybe we should stock up batteries and canned beans every time I start gimping around the living room.
Or perhaps it’s the other way around. Maybe every time my back goes out, it starts a chain reaction that rocks Mother Nature right down to her undies and she reacts by drop kicking the solar system. It really is all about me, isn’t it?
Last year’s dire predictions turned out to be a bust, at least for New York City, and I’m really hoping we have a repeat non-performance this time out, but I have my doubts. Frankenstorm appears to be all too real.
There's the Rub
Luckily I had time to squeeze in a therapeutic massage before the world ends.
The masseuse rubbed, stretched, and pulled my aching anatomy around like a giant wishbone. It was a very strange feeling, being worked on for a solid hour, but I think it’ll be good for me in the long run. That is assuming my home won’t be washed away in a weather event straight out of the Book of Revelations.
I don’t suppose we could get a break from the mayhem and the misery, could we? We’ve got a presidential election coming up, violence and insanity all over the globe; I guess it’s too much to ask for blue skies and sunshine.
The business with my back is making me loonier and loonier. I can feel my body and my mind decaying and the pep talks I’ve been giving myself haven’t helped much.
Yesterday morning I managed to bang my head into the freezer door while cleaning out my refrigerator and I let out a roar that would have terrified the MGM lion.
A short time later I put on the glass teakettle to boil some water and for reasons known only to God my kettle decided not to whistle. It didn’t even hum.
No, instead the plastic cap just melted—dissolved into some foul-smelling liquid at the bottom of the kettle. I didn’t suspect a thing until the hideous stench assailed my nostrils and by that time it was much too late.
I put the kettle in the sink, turned on the water, and the thing cracked to pieces…sort of like my spine. That kettle had been in the family for years, absorbed all kinds of abuse, and I managed to destroy it. I’m the son of Frankenstorm.
Right now the sky is a creepy shade of gray and it feels like the entire ecosystem is holding its breath in anticipation of all kinds of doom. I’ll have to reschedule the MRI, which means a delay in knowing what’s wrong with me and how to treat it.
Pain has become such a part of my life that I’m not sure if I can live without it. But I want to give it a try.
Be gone, Frankenstorm, be gone. And take my back pain with you.