My physical therapist and I had a clever idea today: if my bicep’s overcompensation is delaying my progress, why not shoot it up with muscle relaxants and proceed from there? Her colleague jokingly suggested Botox. Hey – if it can paralyze the wrinkle-causing forehead muscles of Park Avenue socialites, why not use it to make my naughty bicep behave?
Meanwhile, have made several dear out-of-state friends ill with my new scar link. I warned them – no eating 20 minutes before or after viewing! I have to look at it every minute of every day, except for when I’m sleeping. Then I have nightmares about the three crows who have taken up residence in my yard – they like to stare at me. It’s very disconcerting. They’ll actually line up in a row in the front yard and watch me put the key in the lock. Mom thinks they’re my three grandmothers watching out for me since the surgery.
Well, ok. It’s not as strange as the time I felt my (dead) great-grandmother’s presence in my kitchen as I picked up one of her old pans. That happened around this time of year. My grandfather, her only child, was going in for some sort of exploratory surgery, and it was close to both her birthday and the day she died. As I was telling my mom about the incident, my father (the taciturn, cranky, rational one of the family) said: “She was here, too.” Then he left the room.
As my mother escorted me out to my car, she said “Don’t worry, Grandpa will be fine.” Huh? I hadn’t heard anything about his surgery. No one ever tells me anything. We then realized that if such things are possible, Grandma was probably checking in on each of us to make sure we were all ok. It’s comforting to know. But this crow thing has just got to stop…