Saturday, March 27, 2010


I need some. Now. Painkillers extraordinaire.

My knee. My aching, can't-support-any-weight-on-it, very painful knee is screaming at me. In loud decibels. And just in time for jaunty walks through my little town near the sea awakening with spring. This stinks.

An Advil junkie for over a week, I need a fix. Something stronger. Aleve? Naprosin? Will a few days of mega-usage strip the lining of my stomach and cause bleeding ulcers ... or worse a heart attack or stroke?

This girl is in utter discomfort ... and in more ways than one. Need a soothing hand. The Original Blue-Emu deep penetrating cream recommended over the phone by my cousin the orthopedic surgeon in Louisville we always call when a fall, or a twist in the wrong direction is not touching my frayed, white hot nerve endings.

There is more wrong with the previous paragraph than meets the eye. Blue-Emu oil? Deep penetrating to soothe arthritis? First this is scary. Who knew that emus have blue necks? Why blue? Hell, I don't even know if I'd recognize an emu if I saw one up close and personal. And from where do they hail? And their oil? How is that obtained? Is it extracted from their skinny neck tissue with large hypodermic needles. Or ... I shudder thinking about that one. Odor free. What does that mean? Has it no aroma? Do they neutralize the scent? For what it's worth, the expensive 4 pounce jar I purchased last week for more money than I care to let you in on at Walmart no less ... hasn't touched any pain. Not one iota. Deep or otherwise.

Perhaps a swill of 100 proof Southern Comfort might just do the trick. Where is that bottle? I bought it in the heady 70s when sex and drug and rock and roll were the rage. Oh, there it is. At the bottom of the narrow wooden steps. On the white plastic shelf that doubles as a wine cellar. The puddles from last week's stormy weather lapping at the base. That ol' bottle is gathering dust. But hey. Is it worth scooting down the steps on my derrière? It did dull Janis's pain. Why not eliminate mine? Allow me to stroll in my anodyne village a few blocks away. Albeit not in a straight line. No. Not worth the trip into my basement.

Guess I have to wait until my appointment on Monday. No choice but to pop a few more aspirins, climb under the covers and await Jum Sum, the ancient Chinese god of sleep, to lure me into his dream-filled, painless world.

If only. Cheers!


  1. Oh, my. I'm feeling your pain. So sorry. Enjoy old knee pain myself. Bottle of wine, two Advil, and a Tagamet. Works most of the time.

  2. Getting older is kind of a bitch. I don't like to think of myself as old--I guess I'm about the same age as you and your not really old--it's just that new things keep coming up as the days go by. Aches and Pains-- don't like to think about them, but they keep popping in to remind me. Thank goodness for my last Vicodin prescription, which I've tried to avoid tapping into, but these latest darn pains have forced me. When that's gone I'll go back to the doctor and she'll just say the same thing she always says -- I need to lose some weight and I'm getting older. Did I need a doctor to tell me that?