What Would YOU Do? The Big Question
I was the model P.T. patient for my very young, very cute female therapist who again was surprised l didn’t need the walker. She re-instructed me on getting in and out of bed, how to get in and out of a dummy car they had in the PT gym across the hall on my floor, even how to navigate in a shower As l played the attentive pupil l scanned the gym for my fellow classmates. Either they were frail and old or Jennie Craig failures.
“So what’s BLT?” asked my pretty therapist at the conclusion of my session.
“No bending, no lifting, no twisting.” Then l added, “l’ll never eat another BLT again.”
By Day # 3, Saturday, l was itching to get out. Frank, who had stopped in on Friday to let me know he had contacted George who would in turn call my sister, was on standby to come over and get me as soon as l gave him the high sign. Thankfully my miracle worker, Dr. C, who was flying down to Columbia to visit family that Memorial Day weekend, agreed l was ready after my nurse removed the incision drainage bottle and redressed my wound. (A wound care nurse would be visiting me at home daily until my followup visit with Dr. C.) I felt for my roommate Carlos who was still at pain level 9, and l had about had it with his wailings.
But l think the happiest moment of that morning came around 5 when l realized l had a woodie. After months of putting off the surgery for fear l’d be left with a piece of dead meat between my legs, l thought to myself, “Hallelujah!”
When famous movie actor Clark Gable came back from active service in World War Il to star with another famous actress of the day Greer Garson, MGM’s publicity department proclaimed, “Gable’s Back and Garson’s Got Him!”
Well, lying in that hospital bed, feeling my stiff cock with my hand beneath the sheets, l shouted to myself, “Mr. Peter’s Back and Ray’s Got Him!”
It’s been almost two months now since my surgery and after that first week of discomfort ( l relied on my pain pills only a few days) l have almost forgotten l had the operation. While l can’t do any bending or heavy lifting until Labor Day, l can drive and get around and do the treadmill at the gym and have fun with my fuck buddies and any other gentlemen callers with no problem.
So what can l attribute my good fortune? Good genes? Maybe. The fact l had never abused my body with heavy drinking or smoking or drugging? Perhaps. To the magic mineral vitamin IV drip my testosterone regeneration doc gave me before and after surgery which supposedly promotes healing? Could be. Or the fact l was not overweight, in fact slightly underweight, and in decent shape for an otherwise old fart?
My only regret was that l hadn’t done it sooner.