" I am cabin'd, cribbed, confined" (Shakespeare)

.....I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined.  What I mean by that statement is that I cannot go anywhere because I can't drive.  It also means that I cant walk.  I have to depend on a scooter to do that.  The doctor says that my hip is completely healed.  When I ask him why I have so much pain, he says that he doesn't know.  So what do I need him for?  The truth is that the pain that I have prevents me from walking.  Rhoda drove me to the clubhouse where I attended the theater arts class.  No one appeared to want to learn how to act.  They started out by saying "a,e,i,o,u."  Then they did tongue twisters, a useless bit of fluff. Finally, everyone had to read a monologue, and that's exactly what they did, they read it. No attention to diction or acting at all.  They simply read their monologues and that became really boring,  So, I left early.

Unfortunetly Rhoda is tied down having to care for me.  She refuses to leave me alone in the house, so we bought one of those alarm mechanisms that you hang around your neck or on your wrist, so that if you fall down, you press the button and soon the medics show up.  And that's the situation here.  What is exciting is the change our apartment has undergone.  The carpet in the living room and den was pulled up and wood replaced them.  In fact wood had been installed in every room except in the master bedroom and the two bathrooms.  It's a different look and I have to get used to it. I have a different look, also, and I have to get used to it.  I cant walk and I have scorpions in my brain; this too shall pass and perhaps too late.

"...if only we could wear jewels;as symbols of pain rather than wealth."

.....I know it's been a few days since I posted this blog, but I'm certain that my loyal readers will understand the reason--I've been battling the pain that accompanies my hip surgery and the sore I have on my left heel that brings up the pain level whenever something touches it.  Far be it for me to complain; it does no good.  I told the doctor about it, but his answer was that everything has healed.  When I asked why the pain now, his reply was that he didn't know.  If the doctor has no answer why complain?

.....At the moment, I am fairly immobile; assigned to a walker or a scooter.  With the scooter in the house, I fail to understand the formula for avoiding bumping into walls.  I am grateful that a license is not a requirement for scooter driving. Nor can you get pulled over for DUI; I occasionally imbibe a beer.  One event here involves my wearing a necklace at the bottom of which contains a button. If you fall and hurt yourself and can't get up, you press the button and all hell breaks loose!  The police are alerted and the medics arrive with full siren blasting even unto the parking lot so that neighbors are alerted and thus lured away from the television.  I agreed to wear this alarm button for Rhoda's sake; she says she'd feel much better about me being alone.  The button is hung around my neck with a string--which is a cheap way to be wearing a necklace.  Next time I go to a flea market, I'll get a chain of gold.  Not real gold, of course; it' $1500 an ounce!  And maybe I'll have that button engraved with the symbol of a lion, the representation of Columbia U.  If I am forced to wear an alarm button around my neck, at least it will have some class. 

".....there shall be no more crying...neither shall there be any more pain." (The Bible)

.....Well, I took my oxycodone and it doesn't appear to be doing much good.  I still have pain emanating from a sore just behind my left heel. It's the size of a dime. Whenever it comes into contact with anything--like a thumb or the floor, you can hear my hollerin' from here to Tripoli.  I hope it does them some good; at least more than it does me.  Then, of course, there's the problem with the hip surgery.  It's been two months now since then and I still have pain in the pelvis when I try to use the walker.  Today we have an appointment at the wound center, and perhaps they have some solutions to these problems.  I don't intend to spend the rest of my life in pain.  Actually, I have no idea how I will spend the rest of my life.  Perhaps one of my former students has a plan--or Phil or Ruth or Emry or Anonymous or Ellin, or anyone else who reads this journal.  It might be that 10 aspirin is the answer to my affliction and can alleviate my sufferance.  I don't believe that I deserve this torment, but who can say that anyone deserves anything?  

.....I can now understand when a student comes in, confronts me, and claims that his essay does not deserve a C-.  That's a pretty flunky grade and he insists that his paper rates a C.  Well, that seems to solve the torment he experiences but what about me?  I think the paper deserves an F or something worse, and I tell him so--and I tell him to go home and rework it.  That solves the problem for both of us.  He gets another chance and I'm off the hook.

.....Just got back from the wound care center and the doctor thinks the sore looks infected, so he has the nurse x-ray it and has me give blood.  I have no idea what these two procedures will prove.  And not only that, but he prescribes an anti-biotic pill after which I have to drink 8 ounces of water and continue to drink water throughout the day!  Problem is, I'm not a water drinker, and if I do what is prescribed, I'll have to remain by the bathroom door.