On Sunday, October 12, I go
to a screening and Q&A after. I then
walk about a mile to meet Alexander for dinner.
At the restaurant, out of nowhere, I feel a sharp pain in my right
hip. So sharp, in fact, that the motion
of sitting down then standing up literally causes my eyes to tear up.
I ask Alexander to
untie my shoes and take them off. It is impossible for me to do this. I think if he weren't home, I'd be sleeping with my shoes on. He is not thrilled with this task. Then I see a fuzz
ball on the floor that I let just stay there. I don’t want to overtax my son.
Sleeping that night is
awful, as every bit of movement wakes me.
After two days, the pain is marginally
better but still there. Walking and
moving are fine; sitting then standing, or any kind of bending, are not — though I have improved enough to be able to get my shoes on and off.
Today is my father’s
unveiling and I don’t go. Sitting in a
car up to Boston and back would be impossible. I offer to fly (or take the train) but my mom
says, “Don’t be silly. You’ll come
another time.” It isn’t a big affair — just my mom and two sisters. But still, I do want to go, and feel bad that
I can’t.
I have an x-ray taken on
Saturday and my doctor gets the results today.
Of course I fear some hidden big mass and a solemn call from my internist. But fortunately the news isn’t that. Instead, I have something called calcific
tendinitis of the hip abductor. Translation:
not life threatening; see an orthopedist.
The pain doesn’t seem all
that bad now that I know it isn’t going to kill me. And I know my dad well enough to know he understands.
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