Last one.
Well, this beats being paralyzed all to hell. My leg strength and mobility clicked yesterday morning. And I was doing this as of an hour ago. I walked 56’, then 72’, 50’, and 30’ to finish. Astounding. My therapists are most pleased.
Okay, enough with the updates, hospital pics, and relatable content. Back to business. Thanks to everyone who clicked and commented. It has meant a lot. Going home Friday—finally.
The first ten seconds of this clip of Billy Connolly and Sting on Parkinson is one of the funniest things I have ever seen. It is loaded with tiny details, which I have discerned by watching it fifty times.
https://youtu.be/ZvE4C4acCvg?si=voI6zoKLJ-Fc_gRH
Not sure what you were doing at 5:30 this morning. I was kindly being provided transport by Superior Emergency Services to my procedure.
They wheeled me into the hospital and I saw a sign that said, “Same Day Surgery.” I found this deeply upsetting. Same Day should be hyphenated. It’s a compound adjective. [sigh] Get a grip, Northwestern.
So, I got my procedure done. The catheter has been sucked out. We should see results soon. I said should.
I have been for days at the Shirley Ryan Ability Lab in Chicago. They swapped out the high-octane stuff in my pump for some low-octane. My pump is set at 96 (not 75) micrograms a day, which is the lowest setting for the high-octane stuff. However, that leaves the drug in the catheter.
Left on its own, the line will clear in ten days. [wrong answer buzzer] So, there’s a procedure for sucking out the catheter—whereupon they can dial down the pump even further. I will therefore be going back to Northwestern for the procedure.
Other than that, much physical therapy. And teaching classes online from my
bed—what I call the “Hospital Lectures.”
The view from my room is tough to beat. Just beautiful. The sunrises (I keep strange hours) are breathtaking. And the clouds mixed with the lake call to mind the paintings of John Constable, maybe Turner. I love Constable (and Turner) and have two framed prints of his in my bedroom/library. And a framed Turner.
But in the building to the right of my view, there is an eery silhouette of what looks to be a man in one of the windows. It never moves. I suspect it’s a sculpture. God, I hope it’s a sculpture.
I also included a Constable for your enjoyment: “Weymouth Bay, 1816,”
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Don’t despair, Harris voters. The Democrats might finally give some thought to actually becoming a labor party. I understand why folks are frustrated with the government. They just ran into the arms of the worse candidate. It happens.
French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre was probably being provocative when he maintained that Paris was freest under Nazi occupation. However, I take his point. And those who voted with the welfare of others in mind, you will weather this curious chapter in our country’s history. I promise. Take solace that you are free. The occupant of the White House does not define you or the country.
The people who voted thinking of themselves instead, of their bigotry, and who proceeded with their willful ignorance might one day face their decision making. The documentaries alone that will eventually assess this disgrace will be devastating.
America and its democracy will prevail. Yes, he will do damage: at the Southern border, regarding global warming, to the working class, and I suspect my health insurance is not long for this world. But, we will suffer and endure these slings and arrows of our outrageous fortune.
A friend of mine asked me after the elections, “Are you afraid of things getting bad enough where they might begin rounding up any vocal critics?” And I very quickly replied—perhaps to my own surprise—“I’d be proud to die in prison.” To die morally clear and intellectually free as a political prisoner? That’s an honorable way to go.
But, until such a time, there is much to do. And one of those things is to walk with a spring in your step. Because the vulnerable need us at our best.
Sure, you might be tired of hearing about me and my issues; but what … are you gonna read the news?? Yipes.
Kate is too good to me. She brought me TB and a couple Coke Zeros. I’m spoiled.
I’m likely getting too much Baclofen, so they will likely ship me out to a different facility. There, they will dial down the pump and get Gregory moving again. Due to the overly high dosage I’m receiving, I have had paralysis in my legs.
Friend Michael, upon learning this, asked, “Do you have a headache?” “No,” I replied. He then said, “At least you’re not paralyzed *with* a headache.” Hilarity ensued.
A shave, a freshly buzzed noggin, and Taco Bell? It’s Christmas.
I also have a box of Milk Duds. My students told me Milk Duds are gross. They are, of course, wrong—damn kids. This took me back to a recent conversation I had with Kate about bad candy. My top ten disgusting candies:
1. Circus Peanuts
2. Choward’s Violet
3. Bullseyes
4. Peanut butter Kisses
5. Horehound
6. Cadbury Cream Eggs
7. Boston Baked Beans
8. 3 Musketeers (anything with nougat makes me angry)
9. Almond Joy & Mounds
10. Moon Pies (maybe not candy, but they’re terrible)
Dishonorable mention: Mary Jane taffy.
In other words, if you were ten years old hanging out at the five and dime in 1937, your options were … limited.
A substantive (close to two hours) discussion of my most recent book, No Politics, No Religion?