This time last year I was close to getting my arm out of the sling, and thinking that would end my misery. In fact things were about to get a whole lot worse. Confining a joint for 3 months atrophies the muscle and cartilage resulting in this case with a condition called “frozen shoulder.” To move it beyond its stunted radius was to feel broken glass grinding in the socket. The pain meds were gone. The howling nightmare of withdrawal was swooping in with a black lust. I was so fatigued I couldn’t walk to the mailbox and back without getting winded.
Then things got worse.
By September I was sucking the scum off the bottom of the barrel. Somewhere deep inside my heart I found a little courage and I fought back. One step at a time. One grain of brown rice at a time. I shut out the world and all earthly pleasures save for sweat and a search for a new way. I stacked the words of the doubters like bricks in my ramparts and thought of the day I would launch my opening salvo. –
For them all a feast of crows. Patience is its own reward.