Needlework

I feel like I’m walking with someone else’s legs.

I got my cortisone shot this morning in an effort to relieve the dreadful pain that has defined my life for the last three weeks and, well, so far, so good…

The doctor told me it would take anywhere from three to seven days for the effects to kick in, but I have to say that right now—knock spine—I’m feeling better.

While I feel some numbness in my legs, I’ll gladly take that to the agony I’ve been forced to endure since the beginning of the month.

How long this condition will last is another question and I may have to get a second shot in the next week or so. I’ll do whatever’s necessary short of selling my soul to Satan to avoid surgery. And I’m not entirely ruling out a deal with the devil.

God, it feels so good to move around without wincing, moaning, and swearing.

It’s hard to believe I’m the same guy who was limping to the bus stop so badly this morning that a little girl walking with her father stopped and stared at me as if I were the Mummy stalking out of Universal’s backlot in search of fresh victims.

I was torn between giving her a reassuring smile to show I meant no harm and screaming, “don’t eyeball me, you obnoxious little monster!”

I decided it was probably best to just keep walking and pretend I didn’t notice her.

Tip of the Spear

The ride into Manhattan was horrible as the anguish—and my reaction to it—got progressively worse. By the time I reached Union Square I was running on pure self-pity and cursing anyone with a working set of legs.

And then I walked into the hospital and I saw...people. People in wheelchairs, on walkers and on crutches--people who were in much worse condition than I was.

Moments later I was facedown on a table with my hindquarters exposed and my doctor was going in for the kill.

“Tell me if you feel any pain,” she said.

Oh, yes, on that you can rely. I was ready to shriek like Fay Wray in King Kong at the first hint of discomfort.

I closed my eyes and tried to think about anything but a needle penetrating my lower back.

The procedure was over in a minute and I was soon walking—not limping--down the hallway. I felt so good I chatted with a woman in the elevator as we rode to the ground floor.

“You’re done?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s painful, but I’m glad I came.”

She was wearing shorts in response to the hideous heat we’ve been suffering through and I looked down to see terrible scars on both her knees.

“Here’s hoping we both feel better,” she said, and blew me an honest-to-God kiss.

Now here was someone worth emulating. No childish complaining, no “why me” whining, this woman was able to see beyond her own problems and show compassion for a total stranger.

I left the hospital feeling humbled but happy. I’m walking normally now and I’m praying the Mummy returns to his sarcophagus and never comes back.