If I only have to get up once during the night, it’s a victory. However, if I don’t have to get up at all, it probably means I’m dehydrated, and cramps will wake me up, anyway.
I’m feeling my high mileage these days, but the time it takes for me to leap out from under the covers when I feel a cramp coming on involves world class speed. Panic is a great motivator. Have you ever felt a cramp coming on, gotten your legs tangled in the sheets, and fallen out of bed on your face? Me neither.
Even a trip to the bathroom is complicated in the winter because I like a cold room and a pile of quilts. If I’m crawling out from under the covers, trust me, I really gotta go. A lot of shriveling can take place during that 30-foot trek.
I’m not sure how or when this happened, but I’ve become somewhat self-involved, fixated on my ailments, and decidedly more obtuse when dealing with social situations.
“How are you doing?” someone will ask.
“It’s the wierdest dang thing. I can’t raise my left arm.”
“You realize it was a rhetorical question, right?”
“So, you don’t care how I’m doing?”
“Dude, I don’t even know you.”
At least I know you’ll listen because you’re paying for this newspaper. You want to get your money’s worth.
Anyway, prednisone is your friend. After a couple of doses, my shoulder was shouldering again, but I still don’t know why it acted up. My right shoulder was the one I messed up playing baseball. It was also my tackling shoulder. Maybe the left shoulder felt ignored.
Clint Eastwood said once, “A man’s got to know his limitations.” Well, I’ve lost count of my growing limitations, but I do try to exercise good judgement. For one, don’t lift heavy things alone. That’s a lesson learned the hard way.
A few years ago, I decided I could move a vintage Coke machine down a couple of steps into my man cave by myself—with the proper tools, of course, a dolly. Well, it got away from me as I clung to the dolly, I went airborne, and when it stopped short, I kept going and smashed face-first into the pop machine. Loosened my teeth and got a bloody nose. Wile E. Coyote would have been proud.
I’ve been more cautious since breaking my hip almost two years ago. “Don’t do stupid stuff,” my surgeon advised after putting my hip back together with so much metal and wire, I’m guaranteed intimate moments with strangers at every airport I visit.
Unfortunately, some weeks ago, I ended up with a flat tire in Strasburg, and even though I got a hand from the local deputy, I still managed to pull a butt muscle in that hip while trying to loosen the lug nuts that had apparently been tightened by the Incredible Hulk.
Sometimes you can’t avoid doing stupid stuff. Well, I could have, but that would have made me look like a slacker. Pride goeth before the limp.
I thought I was fine until it flared up last week. It didn’t help that I had to do a lot of driving, including to Fargo for the football championships, so it stiffened up. The motel clerk watched curiously as I one-stepped and grimaced down the steps. I’m sure all the able-bodied 20-year olds got the first floor rooms.
“Tweaked my hip,” I explained.
“Maybe it’s the weather.”
“Thank you Dr. Desk Clerk.”
I discovered that by pulling my right foot in a bit when I walked, my hip felt better. However, then my knee started to hurt. After the national anthem, they rushed me into the medical tent. I’ll say it again: prednisone is your friend. The good news is, I think I’m now in the running for Comeback Sports Reporter of the Year.
© Tony Bender, 2023
