"This fellow is wise enough to play the fool..." (Twelfth Night)

.....I imagine that everyone (Ha! Everyone? How many could there be? Count them on the comments--that is, if you can find the comments for the previous blog posting.  It's like a treasure hunt.)  Any hooo--I expect that all the treasure hunters (I count about five) are concerned about my recent stupid accident.  I cannot blame myself for it because I happened to see my degrees hanging on the walls (like MDs do) so I figured I was smart enough not to fall off the scooter.  So, who can I blame, if not myself?  The engineers who put that monstrosity together are to blame.  The slightest movement of the driver's body to the right or to the left would cause the scooter to flip over--along with the driver.  It's been two weeks now since that unfortunate, unexpected surprise.  Yes, a surprise.  As I lay upon the ground in the parking lot with part of the scooter resting on my ankle, I asked myself, "Why are you falling again?"  Surprise!  I had no intelligent response, therefore I had no choice but to remove all the degrees from my  walls.  So, now , instead of just pain in my left foot there is now pain in my right foot.  This time, however, it took several stitches and a few staples to bind the wound.  For this indignity I cursed Office Depot.

.....However, I was used to being stitched like an Afghan quilt because only a few weeks earlier I had stitches put in my face after the dermatologist extracted whatever little cancer happened to have taken up residence there.  But I'm bearing up under all of this painful activity, because I've had much worse "wounds" to carry around with me for much longer periods of time.  Now, I have to admit that if not for Rhoda, my life would be much more difficult now.  Unca Phil hit the nail on the head or is it "...hit the fly with the swatter"?  She is a caregiver to me, at the same time that she is having serious medical issues of her own which is taking an unfair toll upon her life in these "golden years".  I can't begin to write of the help she is to me, as Hindy is to Phil, and I am mortified at having to depend upon her for some things I cannot do for myself -- at this time.  Yes, I have to use a walker, but I hope to graduate to a cane sometime in the future.  It is much more "genteel".  And if I grow a beard on my chin, just think how professorial I would look.   Oooo Haaah!