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If There Was Any Doubt

On Sunday mornings Lyle gathers with a couple neighbors and goes skiing. They’ve been doing this since the beginning of July. One texts the others and tells them what time “church” begins and off they go.

It’s been good to see Lyle a little more active. I don’t mean to say that he’s a slug by any stretch of the imagination, but he fought the idea of organized exercise for quite a while. I suppose his vanity finally overpowered the circumference of his belly. I’ve been telling him for years that exercise gives me a lot of wiggle room, but he thought activity for the mere act of exercise was absolutely ridiculous.

This summer he found his salvation on top of the water, until yesterday. As I was in the kitchen with my sister-in-law preparing tuna steaks and salads for lunch, my nephew ran into the house stating Lyle got hurt skiing.

I looked out the window to see two men hoist Lyle out of the boat and then I noticed the crutches. What the hell? Does the guy next door keep a spare set under the boat seat alongside the extra life jackets?

A couple looking at the house for sale next door happened to be on a golf cart so I hailed them down. I’m sure my antics really helped the marketability of the house, whatever. We needed a shuttle service to my car.

A long, painful five miles delivered us to the hospital. Can we have a hallelujah for Madison County Hospital – so thankful I didn’t need to cart Lyle’s not-so-happy ass into a Columbus emergency room. Percocet was a mere ten minutes away.

We were in and out in less than two hours, pretty good considering there were no protruding bones, blood or chest pains. The doc said Lyle probably strained his hamstring, but without an MRI, there was no way to rule out more significant damage. He said first they needed to prescribe rest and pain relief. Just as a side note, a couple years ago, I heard a story on NPR that reported the Japanese charge on average $300 for an MRI, compared to the $3000 billed in the United States. Why? Because they won’t pay more than that amount. Novel idea. I have enough political arguments with my dad so I feel no desire to use this as a platform for that…

While we were waiting to see if Lyle was going to adversely react to the delaudid injection, I couldn’t resist the temptation of a couple pictures. I think I may have mumbled something about wanting to record the moment because he was my muse, but mostly I’m just evil. I really wanted him to pose with the little urinal that the nurses had given him, but I opted against asking him to oblige.

The drugs kicked in and we stopped on our way home to fill a Percocet script. I attempted a one-for-you, one-for me approach when I got him home and settled, but he was none too eager for my antics. Whatever, I had Percocet after a surgery years ago and it made me really sick. Narcotics just aren’t my gig…God’s way of making sure I don’t succumb to the bad family genes on the substance-abuse front.

Hopefully a little R and R will take care of the situation because I am not a very good nursemaid. I grew up in the country, and we put down animals down if their injuries slowed them too much, too long. Yep, I’m going to hell…


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