You can just call me Calamity Jane.

   If there's a way to fall and hurt yourself, I will find it. Let's just say coordination is not in my gene pool. I had a slight fall the other night (in the middle of the night, no less), and I will not share the particulars that prompted this most undignified fall, but I found out it is not a good thing to fall on a two-week post-op knee.
   The knee prosthesis is, thankfully, fine, but the left medial hamstring is not very happy. This is therapist lingo, in case you were wondering. I really don't know diddly about such things. But I am learning. Oh boy, am I learning. I had deep tissue "massage" as my dear therapist, Che Che, calls it. I nearly came off the table. It was not massage, it was torture. And to think my insurance pays for that. And while insurance may pay the cash cost, but I paid in groans, signs, and repressed screams. It was torture. Plain and simple.
   As a result of this, I have earned myself a few days on the walker. I was so proud of the fact that at Day 12 Post Op, I was on the cane.
   Oh well, you know that Scripture: "Pride goeth before a fall..."
    Well I just proved it to be true.
Yours truly,
Signed Humbled and Hurting (but not too much!)