First of all, thanks to all of you who sent me such nice comments after reading about the passing of my friend Stan. As one of my YMCA colleagues put it “. . . he’s up there putting people through the paces, just like he did at the gym.” Believe it.
Yesterday was an interesting day. It started with my doorbell ringing at about 6:20am. That’s when I rolled over, looked at my alarm clock, started screaming a string of obscenities, and jumped out of bed like my hair was on fire. I was supposed to pick my friend Amy up at 6am sharp to take her to the doctor. She was at the door, since it became obvious to her that I’d overslept. You might be wondering, “Who in the world goes to the doctor at six in the morning?!?!” Someone who’s had shoulder surgery and is now suffering from something called “frozen shoulder.” Here’s how the American Academy of Orthopaedic Suregons describes it:
“Frozen shoulder (adhesive capsulitis) is a disorder characterized by pain and loss of motion or stiffness in the shoulder. It affects about two percent of the general population.”
So, Amy falls into that two percent and has to be knocked out so the doctor can “manipulate” her shoulder. By all accounts, this involved shoving her arm above her head. I guess that made a really horrific sound. Bad enough to gross out the nurses involved. What I know is that Amy was in some serious pain, and she now has a prescription for some heavy duty pain killers.
I spent the rest of the day in bed, and then Michael and I drove to Ames for the Harry Connick, Jr. concert.
If you haven’t seen this man and his Big Band in concert, you really should. Even if you don’t consider yourself a “fan”, I guarantee it’s one of the best shows you’ll ever see. Our group included Michael’s brother Pete and his wife Kris, and Michael’s college friend Amy and her husband Russ. As we left the show, we saw people lining up outside the stage doors . . . Harry is known for coming outside after a show to greet fans. I love Harry, but it was freezing outside and my feet hurt and there were no guarantees that he’d appear. Well, he did. Michael’s phone rang as we were driving home. It was Amy, gloating about her meeting with Harry, and the autograph she got. Darn! Michael and I have decided that we want to make a return trip to New Orleans and catch Harry in concert “at home.” When we do, I’ll take a coat, wear more comfortable shoes, and be more patient after the show.
The news calls . . . thanks for reading!