Sunday, November 24, 2019
The Late Years Fifty-Seven
Mature bald eagle near Visitor Center facing camera of Doc Ellen, DVM.
The Late Years Fifty-Seven November 24, 2019
Yesterday Tim did a lot of dog-drying.
He was determined to dry their muddy feet.
Sometimes successfully. The chickens
who sleep in the backyard were puzzled.
“What’s the point of drying feet? They
get wet again anyway.” Since I fell on
Tuesday, I don’t do much. Make the
meals, at least supper. And I wash the
dishes, make my bed. Baths will have
to wait until I can get out of the tub by
myself. I read my book a little. I renewed
them all since I couldn’t get them returned
on Thursday. I see better without my
glasses. The frames got bent. It’s hard
to believe I can do all the things I was
doing so easily on Monday. I will
heal. I’ll get my bounce back. I’ll learn
how to slow my pace even if I have to
use a cane to do it. Blasted things,
canes. I’m more likely to fall with
a cane than without it. Still, I try to
be sensible. I haven’t been this inactive
since 2017 when I fell in the road, running
from a speeding car. At least she didn’t
hit me. That was a comfort, though one
neighbor spread the word that she did.
This time hardly anyone knows. My
doctor worries. I worry, too. Will I be
okay? Will I truly recover?