NO HARM, NO FOUL

I am recovering from back surgery, the pleasure of which is now three full weeks behind me.   In the process, and for whatever reason, the accompanying changes (many of which, frankly, are drug-induced), have affected my waking hours considerably.  Every night as dawn approaches, say around three or four a.m., rather than remaining pleasantly curled up next to my sweetheart and BedHogDog (known during daylight hours as Koko Mae Barrelhouser), I find myself compelled to cheerily start my soon-to-prove meaningless day.   Today’s outset proved not to be as cheery as usual.  It began by my patiently and painfully working my way from a prone to an upright position, then awkwardly slipping on a magazine placed strategically on the floor, or perhaps it was some other near-fatal booby trap, lying in wait for me, in the pitch blackness.  The attack was initially successful, sending me lurching awkwardly (can one lurch gracefully?) across the bedroom, where I was able to avert a total meltdown by shakily grabbing ahold of the bureau.  First my feeble scream cut the quiet Juniata night, more a gasp, really, followed by Judy’s more formidable one.  When the gasping/screaming subsided, we conducted an anxious, silent inventory, holding our breath as we gently probed here and there for newly-discovered structural flaws.  (For example, a metal rod protruding from my back would have been a bad sign.)  All of this was watched with bemused annoyance by BedHogDog, who managed a yawn and a stretch, nothing more than a thinly veiled maneuver to effectively consolidating territory.  Back to the medical crisis, and conclusion - no harm, no foul.  So you may be thinking, “…what’s the big deal, anyway?’  I’ll tell you what the big deal is!  When you’ve got a multi-thousand dollar (I haven’t seen the HOSPITAL BILL yet, so let’s just “say” it’s multi-thousand dollar, for the sake of the narrative) titanium erector set supporting half the length of your spine, now charged with the responsibility of keeping you upright, and forming the last barrier between you and the dreaded Scooter Store, one doesn’t leap to conclusions.   So it’s a damned fine morning – NO HARM, NO FOUL.