Sanuk D: “Are you in very much … um … I mean, does it hurt?”
Subdude, without irony: “Well, I think they gave me two shots of morphine at the hospital, and I take a Percocet every four hours. So, you know, I feel it but it doesn’t hurt.”
I should certainly hope not, given that level of doping. Loyal readers will recall that the Subdude slipped several days back, being rewarded for his efforts to get the mail with a compression fracture to the T5 vertebra. Just one vertebra, not two vertebrae. (See how I manage to slip both my astounding knowledge of Latin declension and a word containing “bra” into the post?) As possible outcomes go, this is one the “better” end of the spectrum. All indications are that a resumption of all normal activities can be expected at the end of the recovery period, however long that turns out being.
Some slips are not so limited in their impact or certain in their recovery. A friend of mine, like Dick Van Dyke walking on the roofs of London, got too far from the center of his life and wound up sliding down to a place he did not really want to be. No one would want to be there. Cautiously, he is trying to find his way out. I’m cautious too, but I still hope to count as a friend.
Most people I know are aware of when they have screwed up. Wanting to admit it can be an issue for me, but I know. Guilt is something we are pretty good at manufacturing for ourselves — often needlessly — and I certainly don’t need to produce more for someone else. It’s possible that this approach is too easy on a friend. Maybe sometimes we need a hard ass in our lives, or so some theories would have us believe. Well if you want a hard ass, call Pat Conroy’s dad. I’d rather kill the fatted calf when the boy gets home.