Is anything for sure, the hypochondriac wondered
as he sat with his leg up on the ottoman
and the computer on his lap.

The knee is almost fine he wrote while the ache in the
back of the knee grew worse even
as he typed the words.

Nothing major he wrote based on the physician’s diagnosis
and prognosis, but really, is anything for
sure he wondered again.

The physician had said give it a couple of months to heal
and the knee will be good as new but,
to be honest,

the physician seemed somewhat distracted in the examination
room as he spoke and then he admitted to
having had a serious

illness that almost took his life fifteen months ago, so if
he was so distracted, how would the man know that
his knee cap won’t fall off

and he would lose three inches on that side of his body and
if he does, that will throw off stability and
balance and symmetry

and he will wear out the other side, too, eventually walking like
Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. I am doing moderate
exercise he continued to write

as if the writing itself would convince him that “All shall be well;
all manner of things shall be well,” with
appreciation to Julian of Norwich

and I am doing cold laser therapy with a little red light laser
pointer even though the FDA hasn’t
approved it for therapy.

Hey it was $20 versus $500 for the approved kind. I’m sure I will
be jogging before we leave for AZ, he wrote declaratively,
but the pain moved around

to the meniscus and he thought about arthritis cutting off any
further movement and circulation and
gangrene setting in,

thus necessitating amputation above the knee. Therefore, he
wrote, we shall leave Dec. 21 spending
a night in Chicago and on

the road seriously, Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise,
(Lord willing he won’t be having a
MRI on that day and

major surgery a week or so later he thought) on the 22nd.
Probably, (really?), we will
spend Christmas day in

Flagstaff before the final and easy ride all downhill into
Phoenix on the 26th. Merry Christmas.
Love, Dad