When one breaches the confines of his own muse, and tells stories on himself he doesn’t really want to tell, but can’t avoid telling, he is obliged to get back on the horse that threw him, as soon as is humanly possible, after the breach of his confidence in his muse has occurred.
It’s kind of like having hip replacement surgery. The very next morning after surgery, there is the physical therapy team coming into my hospital room getting me up on my feet again. I thought they were nuts. Me? Get up on my feet and walk? But they were there with a plan, and plenty of help to get me up and going. I’ve been walking ever since.
I did quite a bit of walking with a wheeled walker for several months, and then got my confidence going even further about a year ago. I dared to go back to using my cane, successfully at that, and I’ve been walking with my cane ever since. Walking after a hip replacement is not really as daunting as it sounds. The surgery fixes the broken hip problem, and one has access to pain killers, whether one wants to use them or not. At least one has options. I scarcely took any of the pills, the whole way thru rehab.
I found that my mind was less boggled than it had been recently, with the accidental overdose of my medications which I’d been battling for several months. I became fluid of speech once more, and only lacked interlocutors until I moved to Ginger Beach, where I had a cool hundred other residents to interact with, three times per day at the dining room. I’ve been here better than a year, and have a lot of friends here by this time.
My brother saw to it that I got a good laptop to work with, straight away when I arrived in his hometown. I’ve been writing ever since. One of my critics calls my stories meditative, which is just exactly the right idea. I’m trying to listen to my heart, and report the many things that are there to be reported about the pondering of my heart.
If one really wants to read the story that my muse betrayed me into creating the other day, one can look for the story in one of the anthologies. It was a personal confession of a bit of an embarrassing story, and I must say I’m somewhat abashed by the candor of it. I’m not offering it singly, only as a part of an anthology, and I don’t remember which one.
I’m passing out the condiments, in order to make the sharing of that story more palatable to the discerning reader. One might want to have a little cream and sugar with their coffee, and a donut, to have while they listen to the sort of tale I tell in that story. I’m not accustomed to being that open, even though I pride myself in my candor as a stream of consciousness author.
There are such things in a person’s life which are intimidating to the author, anyway you look at them. The story came out of me whole, and I’m not about to put it into the trash can, just because it embarrasses me. I’ll get over the embarrassment shortly enough. The story is well written, and begs whatever audience it will pull. I won’t forbid it from circulating, just because it’s a little too forthright about my personal issues.
The rehab which was elected to teach me to walk again was a pleasant place, by enlarge. One of the therapists there was always wanting me to stand up. I found I was more competent at that task than I anticipated. I was trying to get to the bathroom a lot sooner than I was provided with my own personal walker to make the trip with, while I was in rehab. Whenever I’d get caught, I’d get blessed out by one of the staff, about how vulnerable I am, with my hip replacement, the way it is.
I learned to rely on my walker for quite some time. I’m concerned that, as vital as it is to my good health as it happens to be, I don’t ever fall again. The problem with falling is not that the titanium alloy which was used to replace my hip would be breakable. It’s just all the human stuff around it that can so easily be irreparably damage, to the point of possibly keeping me from ever walking again within my lifetime. I want to avoid that eventuality, if at all possible.
I took the admonition seriously, but still wanted to begin the process of overcoming my constant incontinence ASAP. I can’t stand fowling my bed, if I can do anything to avoid it. Making myself house broken again after surgery was a task I could scarcely manage for awhile there. But after I’d been in the psych ward down here in Dixieland, I found that I could walk unaided, around my suite. Shortly after that benchmark was achieved, I was discharged from rehab altogether.
I had to do it, anyway you look at it, and I’m not interested in imposing on others to keep my bed clean without my participation. After a short while, I found myself able to walk around with alacrity, and started right in on waking myself up in the middle of the night whenever I had to go. There were several months there, where I couldn’t get up in the night to walk to the bathroom, whether I wanted to or not. I’ve grown beyond that point now, to a large extent.