From the bloggers at Box Canyon Blog.
“It could be worse,” I whisper—a mantra so overused lately it’s as pointless as a dried out, sun rotted rubber band, the one that falls into as many pieces as Patsy Cline’s poor broken heart.
Funny how a couple of weeks can feel like an eternity. It’s like I’m 15.95 years old, itching to get my driver’s license, or like the time my high school girlfriend had to go on summer vacation with her parents to Washington DC. As the Superglue that welds my incision slowly begins to flake away, I can almost hear Karen Carpenter crooning from her anorexic grave, “We’ve only just begun…”
For a restless roamer to have his lifeblood outdoor activities curtailed to pretty much breathing, eating, and sleeping, well, it’s like losing the reason to wake up every morning. It’s like being put out to “pasture” when you can still run. The only thing missing from my “nursing-home” is the smell of urine. Who knows, maybe that’s next.
So far, the only exercise I get beyond padding around the kitchen island is the occasional cough or sneeze… something that could have me spelling “disaster” with the alphabet soup I had for lunch. You see, a cough or sneeze puts a force of over 200 pounds per square on your lower abdominal area. Not so good when the only things holding one’s insides in are a few fancy stitches.
To read the full story by Box Canyon Blog, click here.