Around lunchtime today, we walked over with some sourdough bread and chicken salad to visit our friend Mary who is recovering from knee replacement surgery. Mary looks good; she may be giving Heidi a run for her money in the medical miracle category. Even though the surgery was just last Thursday, Mary met us at the door with only a cane. "Oh, I walked upstairs the same day," she shrugged modestly. "It's what they tell you to do." She went on to report that she had had a nerve block before the procedure which helped with the pain but was also pretty disconcerting. "I couldn't move my leg for a million dollars," she laughed.
Her story reminded me of the time in seventh grade when I broke my arm. Back then, they didn't call an ambulance for such injuries, instead my mom picked me up from school, where I had slipped on the basketball court during PE and fractured my ulna, and drove me to the hospital. It was a compound break, and they gave me a brachial block in the ER even before they x-rayed it. I remember lying on the gurney behind one of the curtains with my mother at my side, waiting for the orthopedist to come and set the bone.
"Your hand is so warm!" I said to my mom.
She looked momentarily confused. "You're not holding my hand," she told me.
It turned out I was holding my own hand, but since I couldn't feel anything, I couldn't even tell!
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