Introduction & Early Stages

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July 2004

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

This weekend I got a firsthand lesson at how well my medicine works. On Saturday I forgot to take one pill – I mean the really little one – and in a haste to get outside and enjoy the weather, went for a long walk around Central Park.

Figuring I wouldn’t even feel it I set out to walk about 60 blocks – or 3 miles – downtown. It wasn’t 5 blocks that I began to grow weak-in-the-knees. I took my time, slowed my pace, but nevertheless grew more and more uncomfortable.

Returning home that afternoon, I naturally doubled my usual dose and then again on Sunday. Only the next time I set out for a walk, I felt remarkably better. To compare the two was amazing. One day I struggled to walk five blocks, the next day I was practically fine. And all for what – about $10 worth of medicine? It was incredible.

My Mr. Roger’s experiment aside, I had a really great holiday weekend. It was fun being in New York City while its usual occupiers were either making noise on Long Island or making trouble by the Jersey shore. It’s a great feeling to have time to yourself, no set schedule, and no phones ringing for three days straight. It was a taste of retirement, with the added bonus of the arthritis.

Thursday, July 15, 2004

The other day I had a cervical MRI scan done to find out why I can’t turn or move my head some days of the week. The thought of having another MRI, this time with "full penetration" (not just sticking a leg in there), wasn’t exactly making me happy. But I figured I had a lot going for me: I was t he first scan of the morning, so there wouldn’t be a wait, and – get this – I had just missed all the celebrities not 24 hours earlier. We’re talking the third string of the New York Giants…the guys who get so beat up they get an MRI on their head once a month. I was immediately star struck.

My flair for celebrity near-encounters had died down considerably after the first ring of scans went through. "Loud" is not an appropriate adjective to describe the next 30 minutes of my life. I felt like I was being slid into a Pratt and Whitney engine head-first, and held their for four or six minutes at a time. A 30-minute episode of "Sex and the City" goes by in a flash. A 30-minute MRI goes by about the same length of time it takes to do Sarah Jessica Parker’s makeup (long time).

But at least you get headphones, right? What they don’t tell you is that it’s so noisy in there you can’t hear anything except your head hurting for the remaining 27 minutes. And have you ever played the game where you try counting in seconds the amount of time that passes, and see if it matches their time? Take my word, it’s a dumb game after half a minute.

So I guess the best thing to come of my MRI experience is the fact that my wallet wasn’t stolen during the test and I remembered to take out my earring before being put into my magnetized coffin.

I convinced them to throw in a set of reprints and two 5x8’s.