Mornings are always refreshing, and looked forward to with great anticipation, but also with a recipe of mixed anxiety.
I usually lie in bed a few minutes watching sunlight filter through the bedroom curtains, or listening to welcomed raindrops or gusty wind. All while doing mental calisthenics in hopes of sending subtle messages to my body, warning that it will shortly be commanded to move and fulfill an obligation of activities that has occurred for over seven decades.
Wiggling my toes is the first exercise and always meets with success. Then I turn my head, stretching my neck to rid the kinks that may have lodged there during the night. So far everything is generally okay, but it is a long way from your shoulders to your toes.
Photo: envato elements
I roll onto my right side because movement causes a terrible pain in the left shoulder. The pain pauses in that shoulder, as I work my left arm by raising it high into the air. The shoulder seems to ventilate and then drips pain into the left elbow. The doctor says I have tennis elbow, which is an interesting diagnosis since I have never played the game once in my life.
Now the trending occurs. With the left shoulder and elbow hurting, the left knee joins the crescendo of agony, tempting me to wish all my limbs were on the right side. On occasion, the left knee nuzzles and whispers something to the right one, causing it to attempt a swelling fit, while screaming at the top of its little knee voice for the Ben Gay.
Why do things like this have to happen to me, and I suppose many other folks in my age bracket? Is my past so hideous that I am being punished in the present? I have not raped, pillaged or plundered, or lived in the camp of the Huns or sailed with the Vikings, but feel as though the maker of pain has sworn an oath to believe such accusations.
One of the nice things about having pain is that everyone has a prescription for eradicating the nuisance. One friend told me to quit eating potatoes and turnips except when the moon is full. Another suggested that the soda industry was out to get bad-jointed-folks by placing a poisonous sweetener in the beverages that makes one infertile. And all this time I thought that arthritis was the culprit concerning my knees when the problem was infertility. Wow, I feel better already.
Photo: envato elements
Listening to me complain publicly about the pain, a colleague recommended a particular kind of drug that was new. I had heard it advertised on television, so I thought I would give it a try. The label boasted that the medication was good for aches and pains in all the body’s muscles and joints. But there was a warning. Although the drug was wonderful, there were some cautions.
You were not to use if you had brain, heart or liver problems, if you had ever had ulcers, diarrhea, were breastfeeding, had thoughts about sex the past decade, or within 18 hours of eating. After applying the ointment, you should not drive, sleep, watch television, or talk on the phone. One could experience hot flashes, cold flashes or just flash brightly after application. If nausea, fainting spells, and constipation should persist more than 7 days it would be wise to contact the doctor or a plumber. It would also be helpful if you memorized the poison hotline number. There was also a place at the bottom of the label that listed local funeral homes, pro bono attorneys, and organ donor centers.
Well, after using the miracle salve, I began to feel much better. Yet I did develop a slight headache, and my elbow and right knee began to light up. I tried to focus on the soothing warmth in my shoulder, but still had a great desire for a large order of fries and a quarter-pounder. For several days after application, all the women looked wonderfully beautiful, and I began to have thoughts that I haven’t had since I was in the army.
I used the medicine for almost two months. Since I have been confined here at the center, my shoulder and knees have really started to bother me. I’m not sure it is arthritis and I don’t use the medicine anymore. It may have something to do with the restraining jacket they make me wear here at the hospital. Oh well! There is always the Christmas furlough to look forward to.
Durhl Caussey is a syndicated columnist who writes for Texas Hill Country. He may be reached at this website or [email protected].
