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In my last blog entry, I neglected to thank all those friends who came to see me while I was in the hospital and rehab center. In each, I felt like a stranger in a strange land, dressed only in a shapeless hospital gown with my no-butt butt hanging out the back. It’s interesting how quickly one looses one’s modesty under such circumstances. Visitors are a reminder of that other life we lead, from which we are temporarily divorced and to which we hope to soon return and are a much needed breath of fresh air. One of my guests even went so far as to suggest that my room in the rehab center needed some decoration, and brought on a subsequent visit a lovely plant and a small lithograph. How thoughtful!

It also occurred to me that I should have included the current outcome of my time incarcerated in our Great American Health Care System. My spine specialist, seen almost immediately after leaving the rehab center, x-rayed my lower spine, told me to throw away the brace and come back to her in 30 days when the compression fractures should be healed. Just don’t lift anything heavier than 20 pounds. Although my lower back aches most of the time and I take many seated rests during the day, I’m optimistic that when the fractures have healed, the aching will go away and I won’t need any further treatment. I saw my primary care physician – although I had to wait two weeks for an appointment – and he took over management of my various ailments as I had wanted him to do. On the presumption that my dizziness was actually caused by temporal, positional vertigo (although that had never been diagnosed), we discontinued my meclizine and the dizziness has not come back. Thank God for that! My doctor also referred me to a neurologist for consultation on the neuropathy in my feet. Of course his first free appointment slot is in the latter part of August. Meanwhile, I’ll continue to take the neurontin we presume at least lessens the pain. The pain in my gut continues but we presume it to be only sore muscles from my various falls combined with the traditional and ever present grumblings from my irritable bowel syndrome.

My physical therapy team, both Mary Sue in the rehab center, and Jason in my out-patient center, have each recommended – no, insisted – that I throw away my Crocs. They tell me Crocs provide absolutely no support for my feet and that my various falls in the last year are probably due to my stubbing my left toe and then losing the balance I might otherwise have with studier support. This is hard news. I’ve worn nothing but Crocs for years and as a result they have become a kind of signature, a trademark for my personality. Following their advice, I bought a new pair of sneakers that are comfortable enough in size 12, but hard to drag into and out of my car in that small crack allowed when the door is open. Parking slots do not provide enough room to make getting these gunboats in and out easily. In one recent case, I had to take the shoe off in order to get my foot through the small crack in the door. I guess this is a small price to pay for more support that might prevent another fall. I’ve stacked the Crocs in my closet but I haven’t yet passed them on to Goodwill or thrown them away.

All in all, I’m grateful to be recovering. It has been a very long six months. I can walk now without assistance (although not yet very fast, very far or for very long), drive my car and generally go about my usual routine. I’m not yet ready to stand long enough to prepare a dinner or brunch and so have not yet resumed my entertaining. I hope my friends will understand that when I do I may serve them a meal of Popeye’s fried chicken, cold slaw and a corn pudding. I think I could probably manage that.

Finally, my trip through the Great American Health Care System reminds me of the many years my aging mother spent in this strange land and has given me at least a glimpse of what lies ahead in my future. It’s not a pretty picture.

Stay tuned.