Apologies for the fuzzy image of the Lessner print. It was the only one that I could find online.
In the continuing saga of my battle with septic arthritis, I now have a compression sleeve on my arm. I mentioned this to two separate people and they both responded with a version of “Just like Iverson!” Yes. Just. Like. That. I’m not sure why Allen Iverson wore a sleeve. He was pummeled mercilessly on a nightly basis throughout his career so any manner of injury may have befallen him. I have a sleeve for the next two weeks because I had fluid drained from my bursa sac. “Sac” is right up there with “moist” and “succulent” in terms of my least favorite words said out loud, which is good enough reason to stick to a blog and not wander in the world of podcasting. I barely wanted to type “sac” much less say it.
If you are curious, the procedure involves the doctor giving you a localized anesthetic, draining the sa-…area…and the filling the area up with antibiotics. After that you’re fitted with a compression sleeve. My doctor was nice and said something like, “This anesthetic has an acidity to it and the way that it wears off and disperses will burn because it’s basically getting rid of the acidity. So it’ll burn a little but that’s why.” I was fitted with the sleeve and then another layer of elastic bandaging was wrapped around it. The person that wrapped me said, “If it’s tight, loosen it a bit.” Keeping all of that in mind, flash forward to me 10 minutes later at a stoplight with a purple hand and my arm feeling like someone had set it on fire while simultaneously jabbing icepicks into it. It took a couple of hours for the “acidity” to burn off. That was not pleasant.
Everything is fine now and my elbow is starting to look like an elbow again, but now the sleeve is making my wrist enlarge a bit. If you know me, you probably have noted that I have two of the narrowest wrists among any male on the planet. They are uncommonly skinny. I showed the drawing posted below to a gallery owner one time and she said, “Is that you on both the right and left?” I said, “Yeah, I modeled for both of them.” She said, “I could tell it was you on the right” and then she pointed at her wrists. Noted.
This current predicament has answered a years-old question for me. What if I had “normal” wrists? Most people have questions about their body that they would never be able to answer without surgery or Photoshop. I probably get to live with this for another two weeks and I will cycle through a few opinions, but for right now, I’m not impressed with my new look.
The household had a number of issues to deal with this week other than my random build-ups of fluid. We’re looking for a new rhythm to keep things moving forward. Once again, my time for writing had to be sacrificed for more important matters. I’ll make a serious go at things next week. I had a blog that I wrote for a number of years and retired it about 10 years ago. I did it for two reasons: crazy internet stalkers and the feeling that it was an obligation rather than a pleasure. My only goal this year was to put up something every week. I didn’t think I’d go 52-for-52 in terms of quality material. l’ll regroup and try again next week.
I’ve been thinking about the importance of humor is southern aesthetics. Maybe I’ll take a run at that.