Monthly Archives: June 2013

The Deed is Done

I would like to thank all the great nurses at the hospital today.  They did an amazing job, and made a very long, and somewhat painful experience almost tolerable.  Thank you for your patience, and no offence, but I hope I wont be seeing you any time soon.

Keep up the great work.

atfter the surgery

And as for that evil window well, I heard you laughing as I got home today.  You may have won the battle, but this is now war.

Or maybe i need to cut back on those drugs.

Pain, Pain, Go Away

There is a nasty rumor going around about how I hurt my shoulder.  It is one those stories that grows with each telling, and when last I checked, it had developed into a wild tale of my lovely wife getting into a tussle with a bouncer at one of our local taverns, and me trying to pull her off the guy as the police were arriving.

Although somewhat believable, the story is a lie.  I hurt myself ignoring my wife, not because of my wife.

To be truly fair, the injury itself is probably very old.  The doctor explained that I was probably walking around with a torn rotator cuff for many years.  I do remember a time way back around 2006, when I was about 40 pounds lighter, and I thought I would start lifting to tone up my newly smaller frame.  But the weight program was short-lived as I soon discovered that a simple bench press, even with a minor amount of weight, created quite a pain in my left shoulder.  So I abandoned the idea of becoming a bulked up stud, and returned to my cardio based workouts.

My point being that based on this history, the injury was bound to happen eventually.  It is a very thin excuse, but unfortunately it is really the only defense I have.

You see, on the fateful night, I was warned.  A voice from above, my wife, standing above me, asked if I should be doing what I was about to do.  I believe my answer was, “I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.

It all started with the turn of a key.  Literally.  As we were exiting our house, I turned the key to lock the front door, and suddenly I was standing there with a small stub of a key in my hand, and the rest of the key still embedded deep inside the lock.  I may have said a bad word at this point.

We were in a hurry as we had to be somewhere quite a distance away, so without much of a choice, we left this problem, choosing to deal with it when we returned home.  And when we got home, the broken key was still stuck in the lock.

There were several failed attempts by both myself and Maureen to remove the broken piece of key, but when it started to snow we realized our efforts were futile.  Maureen called a neighbor and got the number for Larry the Locksmith, but I decided to give it one more try to get into the house without forking over $100 to Larry.  As a teenager, I had a secret way to get into and my parents house if ever I was locked out and no one was home.  I would leave one of the basement windows open just a smidgen, just enough so that I could slide a fingertip into the opening, and then drop down into the basement of the house via the window well.  So now the adult me, thinking maybe my own teenaged children had also set up an emergency way back into the house, was preparing to drop down into that window well to check it out.  That was when the warning was sounded.

“Have you thought about how you are going to get back out if the window is locked?”

“I’ll be fine”

Turns out my children do not have a secret way into the house, and it also turns out that my window wells are quite a bit deeper than the ones in the house I grew up in.  Chest deep in the window well, I placed my hands firmly on the outside ground and pressed my body up to make my exit,  That is when it happened.


“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine.”

Only now I was stuck.  I pressed my back against one side of the well, and propped my feet up against the other side, and I managed to “Spider-man” my way up to the top.  I then kicked one leg over the top, and then managed to flop out of the window well.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine”

It is now three months later, and tomorrow I go under the knife, as the doctor needs to put several pins in my shoulder to re-attach the muscles, repairing my dislodged rotator cuff.  I am told the first week is going to be hell, and it will be followed by six weeks of keeping my arm immobile so that my body can knit a web of tissue over the pins.  Then it can take several months of physical therapy to get my shoulder almost good as new.  Something tells me this is going to cost a whole lot more than $100.

Which of course we ended up paying anyway, so that Larry the Locksmith could spend about five minutes removing the broken piece of key, and getting us back into the house.