So, if you follow my blog, or at least stumbled across the last post, you'll know that I broke a rib some weeks ago.
Long story short, it hurt and still does, this after the doctor promised (or at least hinted) that the rib could be on the mend in three weeks. Alas, this does not seem to be the case. Even now, doped to the gills with Pharmecol, I'm still likely to whine to anybody that will listen. I'm so sorry Twist, so so sorry that you have to listen to your pitiful master, but it really hurts!
Of course, I"m not exactly helping matters. A tennis addict, I've tried to sneak in a few hits. I can't serve, hit a backhand, or move any faster than the man-turtles at the beginning of Biggest Loser, but I can't help myself. I must go to Chi Chi Bu and take some cuts with my boys. A lot of this is the camaraderie experienced with my buds that I can't do without, but I truly love the sport as well. And each time I've pushed the limits of what my broken body can do, I've come out the worse for it.
Heading into week four with this thing, I'm hoping (dare I say it as an atheist, praying!) that my rib will fill in with some kind of calcium epoxy bridge and I'll be good as new. Unlikely, I know, but for once I'm gonna don my pinstriped optimism suit and think happy thoughts.
No comments:
Post a Comment