Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Post-Ortho Boot Complications - Poems: Exercise Helps - They Wander

Image result for willow grove physical therapy Margaret Fitzpatrick owns her own physical therapy practice.

Woke up this morning around 5 am and was in excruciating pain. It took me 10 minutes to get up my nerve to get outa bed.

Just like sciatica. Only this was a pain in my hip.

Managed to make breakfast. Decided to go to the ER.

No, why don't I see a PT at Margaret's place?

These good people called Ann, who was off today, but she drove in so she could give me a one-hour assessment.

First, tho, I had to have my primary doc fax in a script.

It's the left buttock. I did exercises with her and then did them twice at home.

I think there's a 25 percent improvement. After I blog, I'll hit the floor and exercise again. I do it on the new champagne carpet downstairs.

Threw boot out with Thursday's trash.  Many parts inside.


Ate a mighty salad dinner at the Giant. How all that roughage goes down I have no idea. Esp delicious was the egg salad. And black olives. I always get a glass of water tho they were offering free beer in tiny cups.

Afterward I went upstairs to talk to community coordinator Robin and told her my idea. Not a single person in my support group responded to doing something fun on one Sunday a month. She said, "It's a great idea!"

We'd play games like Scrabble, perhaps take turns reading a great short story, and would also bring new or used books, games or toys to donate to a women's shelter. That was my dtr/law Nicole's idea.

The ideas I get for poetry are often gotten while I'm driving.

Went down Ball Road to get to the Giant and passed the home of a former asst principal of my town. The words "They wander away" slipped thru my mind. I wrote em down.


Stepping carefully into the champagne-
carpeted basement I sniff the new
carpet smell, then select the
perfect spot to exercise.

Can the deer outside hear me
moan as I lay face down and
lift one leg, then the other
as the picture demonstrates?

I focus on the pain. Why not?
Let's call it a large dental
drill with spikes boring
deep into my tender
white flesh.

Then, with a groan, I
roll over onto my
back, rest and pant.

Up go the legs one at
a time, touch the ceiling
with each one, moan,
and then the pain stops.

Once I was a little girl
who got her diaper
changed this way. Cloth
diapers back then. Now
it's Depends. Will that
indignity assault me too?


Gramma Lily did it
so did the assistant principal
on the neighboring street
their minds shattered like glass
they simply walk out
but why?

They seek their youth
their childhood
the glory days
when they were someone
someone other than the
crone they see in the

Eyebrows a wild caterpillar
tangle of gray, unruly hair
like tangled spider webs

Like it or not, their earthly
journey is not done. They'll be
tricked and put in the station
wagon and driven to homes
far away, where their radios
and clothes and jewelry
will be stolen by aides

Victimized, our aged ones,
punished for the crime of
being old. Put on The
Moonlight Sonata and let
it soothe you to your
final sleep. 

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