I’d like to be writing this in Spanish – and I probably could with a little bit of quality Google Translate time, and that’d be fitting given the circumstances. But I’d also like to “strike while the iron is hot”, while I still appreciate what’s gone on the last couple of hours.
So, something’s gone wrong with my shoulder. The musculature might be inflamed from my uncomfortable bed or some sleeping quirk that worsened the “thickness tear” in my shoulder. Doesn’t really matter. The point is the pain has left me largely unable to use my right arm. I’ve been unable to concentrate on my studies, on my homework, etc. for several days now. Putting on a shirt in the morning has been torture the last couple days. My lovely diligent, organized, caring wife has been scrambling to find me timely medical for my return to Arizona the day after tomorrow while also juggling my father-in-law’s needs. But meanwhile, I’m in intractable pain.
My morning teacher adapted the class for my infirmity. She actually started writing down my notes for me because I’d wince each time I’d lift my arm to use the pen. Points for that. Instead of continuing in the coffee shop, we headed out and checked out some local architecture. Nice distraction. The class (my penultimate one) ended with best wishes and my thanks. Spent the interval between the classes feeling sorry for myself, having the ritual supermarket sandwich I’ve come to rely on, and a short siesta (without lying down) in between the two classes.
The second class started much like the first: “what did you do over the weekend”, “how are you” etc. The response, however, was completely different. We didn’t head to our usual afternoon cafe. I had asked her the word for a “sling”, and whether a pharmacy should carry it. She translated the word (I’ve already forgotten) but instead of leaving it like that, she brought me to a shop that sells them, then on to a pharmacy. Along the way, she asked what I was taking for it, and as an aside mentioned she’d worked for 3 years in a pharmacy, and what I was taking wasn’t going to do it! Which… I knew.
But wait, there’s more: earlier in the day, Lovely Wife had inquired as to whether I could buy a medication called “Tramadol” for her dad. I confirmed with a pharmacy that I in fact could not, without a prescription. However, as it turns out, pharmacies often have a doctor either on staff or nearby. The consultation is free. She got the referral slip from the pharmacy, we walked to the doctor’s office literally next door. He asked some pertinent questions, I answered most myself, the Teacher helped with some. I was proud of my understanding as well as grateful for her help.
The irony? The medication for which I got a prescription… TRAMADOL. Coupled with a sling (so I not longer have to hold my arm across my chest, which “gets old” quickly), I’m no longer writhing in pain. It still hurts, I’m still broken, but I can function. “Yezz” (my teacher) is an angel, and my wife a saint.