The Sunday Memory Drawer - That Was The Week That Shouldn't Have Been

Richard Chamberlain and Raymond Massey as Dr. Kildare and Dr. Gillespie.  A cute way to start this week's memory.   And, indeed, keep in mind that that memories can go back decades or, in this case, seven days.  As you will read, the latter is one that I will vote to disappear if I ever suffer short term memory loss.  
A week ago last Friday, I made a rather noteworthy comment to my physical trainer, Christina.   It turned out to be one of those foreboding statements.

"Gee, my knees feel terrific right now."

Lots of hard work on my part.  And hers.   And then there was Saturday morning.   The very next day.   An incident that I would ultimately blame on the Los Angeles Dodgers.

Huh?

Well, had the Dodgers beaten the Mets in Game 5 of the NLDS, they likely would have beaten the Cubs in the NLCS.  That would have set up all the World Series home games for Los Angeles on Halloween weekend.   I would have been planning my trip to Dodger Stadium on Saturday morning as opposed to running out to the super market.

Well, not running.   I was literally walking.  And, as I approached my car in the garage downstairs, my right foot skidded on something.   I'd later find an oil stain on my pants.  Well, my left foot then caught.  I tripped forward and landed on the concrete.  Banging my right knee which my fans will know is my bad knee from gym class in high school.   I hit it hard on the cement.   Oh, and, by the way, thanks to the late summer of Los Angeles I was wearing shorts.

Yup.

I writhed there in pain for about thirty seconds and then went on my way.   I climbed into my car...a SUV, praise the Lord...and proceeded to the super market.

Yup.  

And I pushed my cart all over Ralph's for the week's essentials.   The knee hurt and it felt like it was getting swollen.  But I made it from fruits and vegetables all the way to the deli counter.

By the time I got home, my knee looked like the biggest planet in the solar system.  Hearing my trainer's voice, I went to the ice pack.   A fat knee's lot of good that did me.  By 230PM, I couldn't put weight on the damn thing.   By 330PM, I realized that this was not going to be a Bayer Aspirin moment for me.  
And, after all this time, the situation was finally going to be reversed for me. After years and years of taking dozens of friends and relatives to the emergency room...from my parents to my writing partner...I was finally going to be the one being shuttled into the ER.

Yup.

I chose to go to St. John's Hospital in Santa Monica for a variety of reasons.   One, my internist works out of there.   Two, I have taken people there myself and was impressed with the facility which reminds me of a throwback to the days of the above physicians working in Blair General on television.   And, three, they already had a ton of my records from those blasted gall bladder and liver tests last spring.  

Wise move, Junior.  Because, within five minutes of my arrival, I was already on a gurney and getting attention by a physician's associate, who is really the life blood of any emergency room.  Within fifteen minutes, there was an X-ray machine in my room and a technician speaking perfect English (!!!!!) was telling me to make my knee smile for its close-up.

It didn't take these guys long to figure out what was wrong.   A fractured patella.  Kneecap, for those folks who never watched "Grey's Anatomy."  They quickly immobilized the knee with this buckle and Velcro laden contraption and, easy peasy, I was on my way home in four hours.   Of course, when the nurse asked me if I wanted a shot of morphine to go, I raised my hand high.   This also prompted not one, but two Billie Holliday jokes.    I was told by all the folks to follow up with my internist and a knee specialist.

And then I was home.   Hobbling around on crutches like the opening credits of "Double Indemnity."  

Now what happens?

Well, not a lot.   You suddenly learn how to manage with just one good wheel.  I got on a fast track to see an orthopedist, which meant I got to wait only five days to see him.  Luckily, most of my work these days can be done at home so have laptop, will type.  I quickly figured out how to shower, wash my hair, and shave without putting weight on one leg.   I learned the wonderful benefits of gym shorts with pockets.   

I couldn't beat myself up about this clumsiness, because it's fruitless.   I went through the ER and most of the week with a sense of humor.   And I learned some things that I never knew.

I never realized just how entertaining Kelly Ripa and Michael Strahan are in their opening monologue every morning.   It goes at least 25 minutes without a single commercial break.  

How many court shows are there on TV?   Are there that many petty crimes going on in America today?

I wish Judge Judy was on the Supreme Court.

I already knew that actors on daytime dramas were super talented.   Hell, I know a few of them and hopefully will be working with some of them soon.   But I got a new appreciation of what they can do as I watched the bold, the beautiful, the young, and the restless go through the days of their lives.

But, trust me, the week just passed wasn't all fun and games.   There was throbbing aches and pain killers I had to stop taking because they were screwing up other stuff.   I'm tired of my apartment and will burn my comforter as soon as this is all over.

But what can I do?  You just fight through it and make it work.   

Those are the days of my life.

Dinner last night:  Chinese steak and noodles.