Oh by the way, folks, My more serious diary: |
Today we celebrate the birthday of Queen Maria Theresa, born in 1638. She was the first wife of King Louis XIV of France. Somebody told me that a chiropractor could cure my wobbly knee, and since there's a chiropractor whose orifice is in the same building as the CD Cafe only three doors up the street, easy walking distance even with a wobbly knee, I figured I'd try it. So, here's the diagnosis: Some exotic ailment called Chondrocalcinosis, an ancient Greek word that sounds like the name of some prehistoric cave-dwelling sea monster. It's some sorta metabolic disorder in which deposits of some strange stuff get deposited in the tracks of the tendons, thus causing the tendons to jump out of their tracks, thus causing the knee to be wobbly. There's no reliable cure for it. The most effective treatment is to walk with a cane, and to take Aleve if there's any pain. Hey, I've been doing that for a while anyhow. The chiropractor says that some patients with this condition may benefit somewhat from a type of ultrasonic treatment, so I'll go in for a few sessions of that to see what happens. But at least half of people my age (71) walk with canes anyhow, and lotsa people take lots more Aleve than I do, I won't cry too much if the ultrasonic treatment doesn't work. But in any case, there's some sorta perverse comfort in knowing that the ailment has a name even if I don't even know what the name means. And now I'm wondering: At what level of endlessly increasing medical care would it be appropriate to just bag all the doctor hogwash, throw away all the pills, and go out partying every night and flame out in a blaze of glory? And so today after I get through the chiropractor apptment maybe I'll do a bit more chopping on that tree stump in my front yard and watch to see how soon the tron undergrounders snag another gas line. I'm sure the effort of chopping out the stump will be nice and easy on my wobbly knee. Happy Wednesday! OrneryPest |
Signs of life Pam's House Blend
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