Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Through The Fog

So here's the deal. We've been in Mexico for the wedding of an old friend of our son, now living there for about ten years, and making a living as a successful fashion photographer. His wife, a Mexican beauty of staggering proportions, is someone we'd met a couple of times up here in the northlands, and is as warm and impressive as she is gorgeous.

Her dad is evidently a well-known, respected, and highly successful businessman, who put on a wedding the likes of which I'd never seen before and won't ever again. If I gave a shit at this point, I'd write more about it.

What did he just say? "If I gave a shit?" Well, here's the deal. Without going into details and explanations, while in Mexico I managed to damage my back to such a degree that I was bedridden for a few days, during which time, as I contemplated the impossibility of managing the complexities of getting home, I figured the only solution was to kill myself, and let Judy bring me home in some sort of ceramic container. I didn't see any downside.

Well, with the passage of time, and what might have been hilarious under other circumstances, the delivery to our room of drugs in the care of a house-call doc in six inch heels and bearing impressive d├ęcollatage, the wearing of a back brace, and a reasonably high pain tolerance (tested to the max), I managed to make the trip to that wedding and, a day or two later, back home.

However I'm still needing the help of mild narcotics. Thus the ungiving of a shit. In med school I had my hand operated on for a rugby injury incurred when I went back to my college for a weekend and played against my former team because the opponents were down a man. In the recovery room I got a shot of demerol, and it made me understand the meaning of the word "euphoria." I never took another shot, nor did I when I had my ankle operated on years later. Too appealing. In times like these, even more. And whereas codeine is nothing like demerol, I'm finding myself a little less concerned about the world around me.

Or maybe it's the pain itself, indescribably less than a few days ago, but omnipresent. (When it happened, the most intense pain I've ever experienced, from which I actually passed out -- unprecedented for me -- I recall a millisecond's worth of thinking things would never be the same.) Or, maybe, the trip which was fun before the fall, as it were, and made me want to rethink my priorities. Or maybe it was a recent comment on this here blog. Anyhow, whereas I'm still paying a degree of attention, it's happily attenuated. I'm about ready to try getting along on ibuprofen alone, and want to as soon as possible.

After which, presumably, the misery will switch from the physical back to the mental: the perfect state for blogging.

P.S: Had it not been for the lucky presence of another good friend of our son, and a guy who's been in many ways a godson or something, and who speaks fluent Spanish, and who helped Judy in many ways (and too many other wedding attenders to count), I might have had to execute, as it were, plan A. So, thanks Britt. And to anyone else planning to visit Mexico, I recommend taking Britt along. It'd be a good time.

[Image source]


  1. Ouch, Sid! Hope you recover fully. Sounds painful, but a nice respite from the burden of caring about a frustrating socio-political quagmire. Just remember to come back to us....the new, mellower Sid.

  2. I know the euphoria of which you speak. I remember once being in the recovery room after a Jim Facer septoplasty, and thinking "I'm floating and I don't want to ever come down!" I am sorry you have traveled so far in the opposite sensory direction, and hope you make a complete recovery.
    Mark V

  3. Was it like this:

    It hurt so bad, you were glad it happened, because it felt so good when it stopped hurting?

    Been there!

    Get better quick!!


  4. Sid, I see you have not lost your sense of humor....just got around to reading some of my old blogger buddies. Still live here in So. Cal and not quite embalmed in pheno or cooped up in the ceramic jar.

  5. Thanks, Mark.

    I'll let you know, Eugene, when it stops hurting.

    Good to hear from you, Gary.


Comments back, moderated. Preference given for those who stay on topic.

Popular posts