Pain Management for Writers--Reb MacRath
Write what you know, they all tell us..so that's exactly what I'll do in narrating the supreme adventure of an adventuresome life: my battle with a devil I had to call my friend.
With your kind permission--thanks--I propose to jump right into this. Speed forward from the Seattle injury that left me with a wounded knee no surgeon or therapist could help. Onward past the walking sticks, then canes I'd come to rely on as a, gasp, disabled senior.
Ah, here we are in Tucson, Arizona, where I moved impulsively in August 2022. Cheaper rent, better weather (except for the blistering summers), a fine forever home in almost every way except--I could not see myself as a stooped geezer hobbling with his walker for a cup of morning tea. Nor could I accept not being able to travel with my unbending knee. Worst of all, however, I loathed my terror of trying one more time and the screaming pains of kneehab.
Jump cut--sorry, one last time--to the office of the one surgeon willing to consider my case. He reviewed my X-rays and chart notes, then laid out my options, with the advantages and risks of reach. In light of my age and knee history, we settled on a revision procedure, with the clear understanding that most likely this time would have to be It. And consequently that would mean absolute adherence to all rules and protocols, of the surgery itself...and unwavering endurance of the physical hells that would follow.
Now, at last, we've come to the dance I'll perform on the head of a pain--I mean pin. Forget the three months of preparations. I awoke, feeling lucid and pain-free. And instantly the game was on as I was transferred to Recovery, fitted with IVs . They wanted me moving instantly. The exercises started on the spot and they continued with gentle admonitions to try a little harder. Good, now we need you to stand on the surgical foot. Say what, I cried, but I did.
And three days later a friend drove me across town to PT. There I had the good luck to land a rugged New Zealander I came to call Sergeant Rick. When he asked to see my knee flexion, he sneered and muttered, "Christ, mate, is that the best you can do?" I saw red and snapped, "Let's try again." He smiled. And I had a partner. Here are the lessons I've learned since that day.
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