Hello, I’ve been absent for a while. I had right shoulder replacement surgery, got home from the hospital, sat around for about twenty minutes, got up to get something from the kitchen, stepped on my left leg and broke it at the ankle. I went down, my shoulder experienced paroxysms of pain, and my foot flopped about awkwardly as I struggled to get back in my chair and phone for help. Meanwhile I tried to get my foot to pop back in. Nothing doing. I waited with sideways foot, excruciating pain, shoulder sutures bleeding and a regal bearing. Apparently physical pain I can handle; it’s mental pain that slays me. Even the ambulance driver said I was a tough guy.
I’m in an in my home convalescence period now and the problem is I’m having problems concentrating and for thirteen days I didn’t write. But now that’s changing, until the pain and a general don’t move and only watch TV hopeless sort of impulse comes over me again, and I disengage from even reading activity. I can barely play guitar. I tried and though my jam partner said it sounded good, I couldn’t go on. The home health care worker asked me if I was depressed and I said yes. I’m in a wheelchair, my shoulder is infected and draining, I’m eating antibiotics and on Monday at 8:00 AM I go back for an emergency appointment with the doctor if I don’t go to ER sooner. What’s more, I ran out of weed. I’m trying for brutal honesty here. If it’s too much for you, hey stay anyhow! Yee-haw!
I read some poetry. For me it was good poetry, but of course they published one of mine at Mad Swirl so I go there to read it and make me mistake of reading the other contributors works. They all were so good! And I’m wonderin’ “am I worthy?”
Stellar cats those other contributors. If I read too much really good poetry I start getting emotional inside. I start thinking so much so good out there. And I in no way do I want to push it to try to stack up and lose my poetry ubiquity. I must go beyond, below, and above, but not exactly too much with the general flow.
Now watch me heal, get even better than I was – more knowing of pain, injury and disability challenge – and head off into the Philippines to find a mate. As for you-all continue writing and sending poems. We’re addicted. Thank you all, lovingly.
Dr. Randall Rogers
Rapid City, South Dakota, USA.