Tuesday, February 6, 2007
The Damaged Ranzenbergers
PART ONE: It began one afternoon when Kissy Missy uncrossed her legs and stood up. She didn’t realize her foot was asleep, and in her words, “It just folded over.”
Ouch. Beyond ouch.
X-Rays clearly showed it was broken. “A nice crack,” said the emergency room physician.
She’s gotten pretty good, actually, on getting around on crutches. She reports that the motorized carts at Meijer are much faster and more fun than the motorized carts at Wal-Mart.
She’s expecting to be in her hot-pink cast until at least March.
PART TWO: Katherine says she was in gym class, doing pushups. She’s not a big fan of phys ed (takes after her father), and she suddenly heard a loud “snap” from her wrist.
Ouch. Beyond ouch.
She reported this to the unsympathetic gym teacher, who believes that Our Precious Redheaded Drama Queen has a tendency to magnify every little ache and pain to crisis proportions. Well … this time, she wasn’t malingering.
Katherine was told to go play volleyball – and she spiked a killer return. Unfortunately, that spiked her wrist, too.
It turns out not to be broken, only badly sprained. The splint comes off next week.
PART THREE: “Man, I’m really getting fat,” I thought. My belly was bloating up, but the weight gain wasn’t there. Middle age, I thought.
Then Thursday, my gut started to hurt. I recalled what Dad went through when he was in his early 50s – he called them “gut-aches,” and that’s a good description.
Through the weekend, it just got worse and worse. Monday, there was no argument about me going to see Dr. Szelag. He rushed me into a gastroenterologist, who pronounced that I have become the latest victim of diverticulitis, a particularly nasty little condition that punishes middle-aged men who didn’t eat their vegetables, fruits and roughage.
The pain, really, was debilitating. Right now, I’ve missed two days of work recovering, and it may take longer. I’m on a clear-liquid diet (“Let your bowels rest”) and I’m sleeping a lot. I’m hungry. I hurt.
Whine Whine Whine.
Well, the addiction counselors say that nothing changes until it hurts more not to change than to change. Bring on the fiber, baby! I heart oatmeal! At least, I heart it more than this!
Posted by Mark at 8:45 PM