Lydy's Anarchist Revival Meeting

So, I have an emotional support Discord server.  What with the Plague and all, I can't really invite people over to get drunk and watch the returns, so I'm pasting an invite link here, below.  The link should be good for the next week.  If you want to come hang out in my space and talk about the results as they come in, that'd be nifty.  I set up a channel for that discussion.   I expect everyone to be kind, and I expect no one to be in favor of Trump.  If you are a Trump supporter, please don't come over there.  If you do, I'll bounce you.

The rest of life is, well, chugging along in its usual fashion.  I had some basic medical tests which were expensive, but show that my internal organs are mostly doing what all they are supposed to do, modulo being sixty-two.  Colonoscopy prep was significantly improved by the installation of a cheap bidet.  (Thank you, David!)

I assume the stress will not kill me between now and Tuesday, so hopefully I'll see some of you on my Discord then.  Be well.  Volunteer if you can.  Vote.  My life depends on it.

Here's the invite link:

https://discord.gg/ugj8uEX2

Medical TMI, slightly gross, after the cut.

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Bodies, man, are very very weird.

So, let's just start with this: Do not read Makkai if you are in a fragile emotional space. She is utterly amazing, and I am still processing I Have Some Questions For You. She writes beautiful, structured, carefully observed and beautifully rendered descriptions of life. The Great Believers is largely set in Chicago in the late 80s and early 90s in Boystown, as AIDs devastates the gay community. So, the subject matter is pretty grim. But it is beautifully, beautifully written, and if you have the emotional space for it, you should read it.

It is not hopeful novel. Hopeful is deeply incorrect. But it is deeply invested in the project of living and loving. It depicts disaster and the mundane messiness of being human in minute detail in ways where not only do I feel seen, but I feel like I can see other people more clearly. It isn't neat, it isn't gentle. But it does a thing which is very interesting to me: it uses the modern day context, the one where AIDS isn't a death sentence, where gay relationships are much more normal, and where we all know what happened during the worst of the crisis, as an unstated part of the narrative. The hope is there, but it isn't in the novel, it's in the world we currently inhabit. And that's an interesting thing to have done.

Over and over again, I found myself noticing the ways in which the characters are making choices about what they say, how the present themselves, that are weirdly alien but familiar. And I would realize, yes, gay people used to have to do this, and they don't anymore. Makkai never makes a big deal of it, never emphasizes it. But she's such a good observer, so you can really see, really feel how things are different, now. And that is both a triumph and a grief, and again, she does it so very well.

There's a pretty good review of it in the NYT with the terrible title of "Surviving the AIDS crisis, but at what cost?" When I finished the book, that was one of the things that I was thinking about. Was it worth it to Fiona, to have survived, to have done all the things she did? But the book never, ever engages in that question. And I realize that Makkai isn't avoiding the question, that it just actually isn't a question. To ask that question is to assume that you can know the outcomes of your actions, that you can make a ROI decision tree. Life is never like that. There's a character, Debra, whose grandmother is giving away art that her grandmother had collected when she was a model in Paris before the Great War. And Debra is extremely bitter about the value of the artwork, but also extremely bitter that she, herself, has never had a great adventure like her grandmother. But Debra counts the cost. She lives her life carefully, and what she doesn't understand about her grandmother is that Nora didn't count the cost. You can't count the cost. Life doesn't come with a price tag, it's just a series of choices.

My mind keeps on returning to the book. Instead of listening to my new book, my mind kept on returning to The Great Believers while I was biking, today. This is super spoilery, so I'll try to insert a cut, here: ( Read more... ) And this is Makkai, through and through. A gift, a mercy, and a knife. So there I am, biking on the Greenway on what is a truly beautiful fall day, weeping for a fictional character who died thirty years, and realizing once again that we literally never know what our kindness means to people.

At any rate, if you have the emotional bandwidth, I highly recommend this book.

 I'm going to try to put some pictures of the Princess Shawl here.  DW does not make putting pictures in things easy!

And here's a picture of me wearing it at Minnehaha falls.  I was going to throw the shawl a party when I finished it, but COVID has made a party impossible, so I had David do a photo shoot, instead.  

 

I just looked, and my goodness, I have had serious life events since the last time I posted.  I do not have time to do them justice!

When I got back from Cleveland, I took my old job at Minnesota Sleep Institute back.  It was the same, only worse.  I had never really liked one of the managers there, and he became my full-time manager.  Their policies around COVID were extremely inconsistent, and they blamed the techs for not implementing inconsistent, contradictory policies.  There was the usual issues with there being a shortage of consumable supplies, and the durable equipment not working and not being able to get replacements.  On top of that, their idea of how to resolve a personnel issue where one tech insulted and threatened another tech was to just not schedule them on the same shift, and so I got to drive to Coon Rapids once a week, which I hated.  

So, I had been looking at job listings with some  curiosity, and there was this listing for 100% travel in Minnesota.  One of the day staff in Coon Rapids had previously worked there and said that the doctor was good people, and that in general they treated their people fairly.  I applied, and got the job in June of ....  2023?  2022?  Time has no meaning, my friends, none at all.

So the gig is this:  I have two Pelican cases with all the equipment needed to set up a sleep study, including camera, CPAP machine, amplifier, infrared light, microphone, etc.  I have two laptops, a lot of ethernet cable, two wire bags with my wires, and two duffles, one with CPAP masks and one with consumable supplies.  I drive to a location  (Ortonville, MN, Benson, MN, Madison, MN, Waukon, IA, Richland Center, WI, or some other damn place) in the company car (a Subaru Crosstrek), check into an hotel, unload my personal gear, drive to the rural hospital which has rooms set aside, set up my gear, work a full shift, and go back to the hotel, sleep.  I work three nights (or occasionally 4), then pack up all that gear, go back to the hotel, take a nap, load out, and go home.  I usually work Tues. Wed. and Thurs, get home Fri.  I am responsible for my own supplies, so I have to order things as I need them.  Which means, if I run out, it's my fault.  This almost never happens.

This is a job that gives me a great deal of freedom.  I control my wires and supplies, I work alone, my hours are kinda sorta flexible.  My scheduler and my lead tech are incredibly supportive and responsive.  If I want to work a long week one week and a short week another week, they are super happy to let me do that.  I can choose which days of the week I want to work.  It is also a job that takes up most of my executive function.  I was a little suprised to find that it doesn't overmatch me, but it does sometimes leave me tapped out.

It's a lot of driving.  More than 1,000 miles a month.  So far, I've had two accidents.  One was a deer strike (and absolutely not my fault) the second was a very slow-moving slide off the road into a snow bank in Wisconsin, from which I had to be extracted by tow truck.  Turns out, Sterns Count in Wisconsin feels that ploughing highways is optional.  

This works as well as it does in part because David is retired, and can do cat petting and litter box scraping while I'm gone.

I am sure I'll have more to say on this, but that's probably the biggest development.  

I know, I know, I owe you guys, like an update. It's been ages. I'm in Minneapolis, have my old job back, and I might write more about that at some point or another. Who knows. I'm also declaring bankruptcy on DW, and going to try to keep up going forwards, but I basically haven't read anything since, um, March?

At any rate, I made a little fanfic, and I'm posting it here. It's a Count of Monte Cristo fanfic, and if you haven't read the book I guarantee you won't care about this even a little bit. If, like me, you are absolutely obsessed with the book, possibly you will care a little bit.



M. Noirtier Receives an Unexpected Visitor



Maximillian Morel looked from the card in his hand to his visitor, a slim young man standing before him. The visitor was impeccably but not ostentatiously dressed. HIs excellently tailored suit was of fine material, but subdued colors. “M. d’Armilly?”

The young man bowed. “I am.”

“And you seek to pay a visit to my father, M. Noirtier?”

“I do hope to have that honor, Monsieur. I have given you my letter of introduction.”

“Indeed. I do have it here.”

“And so? You seem to have questions.”

“I do.”

“Is the letter not in order?” M. d’Armilly was polite, but very cool.

“Oh, no,” said Maximillian, “the letter is entirely in order. But I do have questions. Among others, how came you to have such a letter?”

“Why, indeed, a mutual friend wrote it. I had asked him to introduce me to his particular friend, M. Noirtier.”

“And yet,” persisted Maxillian, “that explains nothing. M. Noirtier does not go out, nor does he receive visitors. He sees only myself and his beloved granddaughter, my wife Valentine. This being the case, I cannot understand how he could have indicated to anyone that he would be interested in receiving a person who is, you understand, unknown to me. How could have have come to know of you? Or communicated his interest in receiving you? You are aware that M. Noirtier is…” Maximillian paused, unwilling to discuss M. Noirtier’s deficiencies with a stranger, “an invalid.”

“I am aware of M. Noirtier’s situation.”

“Then how is it that you have been in communication with him, since M. Noirtier sees no one?”

“Why, nothing is simpler!” exclaimed M. d’Armilly.

“I pray you, explain,” replied M. Morel.

“M. Noirtier has, you perceive, an excellent servant, Jean-Louis.”

“Why, indeed, I hired him myself. He was acquainted with M. Noirtier’s previous servant, Barrois, who was sadly…” Maximillian trailed off, unwilling to divulge the details of the family tragedy which had led to the excellent Barrois’ death.

“Indeed. And Jean-Louis, as I am sure you know, is a devoted servant, and moreover, is well-lettered and writes with a good hand. And because he is discreet and loyal, he manages M. Noirtier’s correspondence. You may not be aware of the fact that M. Noirtier has been maintaining a lively correspondence with our mutual friend, M. d’Amiens. And, indeed, how should you know this, since Jean-Louis would by no means divulge the private affairs of his master to anyone. I am certain that the labor necessary to create a letter for M. Noirtier requires no little effort, but I am assured that this young man thinks it nothing to work diligently for such an excellent master as M. Noirtier. In conversation with M. d’Amiens, he mentioned that he knew a famous revolutionary, and indeed, I was intrigued by such a statement. We fell to talking of the redoubtable M. Noirtier, and eventually, I sought a letter of introduction so that I might meet this person, once so vibrant and magnificent. Although I do not, myself, have a revolutionary spirit, nevertheless I must honor a man who so spent himself in such a cause. I am fully informed of how to converse with the poor invalid, now so reduced in circumstances, and I assure you that the effort involved is nothing to me, so much do I desire to speak with such a formidable personage.” M. d’Armilly delivered his speech with such passion that his eyes flashed, and it seemed that attempting to dissuade him would be impossible.

“I will send for Jean-Louis,” said Maximillian, “He will take you to his master. But I ask that you be gentle with the old man, for while it is true that he was a powerful man in his prime, he is now quite frail. He is not only unable to speak or move, but indeed, his health is quite delicate these last few years, after the, ah, sudden deaths in his family.” M. d’Armilly assented readily.


Jean-Louis, a young man of twenty or twenty-five, led M. d’Armilly to the parlor where M. Noirtier spent most of his waking hours. Jean-Louis smiled at the visitor, and said, “He will be delighted for a visitor, Monsieur. He sees so few people, and I think, indeed, that he may be bored.” M. d’Armilly was surprised by this impertinence, but perceived it was born of a true affection.

The parlor was a small room, carefully laid out so that M. Noirtier’s chair could be moved easily about it. Despite its large windows, it seemed small and close. M. Noirtier was sitting near the window looking out upon the street. His intelligent eye met that of M. d’Armilly, and seemed to ask how it was that he should have a visitor. M. d’Armilly turned to the servant, saying, “I thank you, Jean-Louis. I would prefer to converse with M. Noirtier in private. I assure you I will ring if we need anything of you. I am perfectly aware of the means by which M. Noirtier communicates.” Jean-Louis looked to M. Noirtier, and receiving an eye-blink of consent, left the room.

“Oh, sir!,” cried M. d’Armilly, almost overcome. “I am so very pleased to meet you, at last. But, you do not know who I am. I confess, I forged my letter of introduction. I do beg you to forgive me.” The old man’s eyes twinkled with amusement, and then he looked commandingly at the nearby sofa.

“You invite me to sit?” A single blink. “Oh, sir, you are too kind. But, I must introduce myself. I apologize for my deception. I assure you, I mean you every good thing, and no harm at all. You see,” and here the visitor removed his hat and shook his curls gently, “I am not, in fact, M. d’Armilly, though I have been styling myself so for some few years, now. I am, in fact,” the visitor hesitated, “I am Eugenie Danglars, the daughter of Hermine Danglars.”

M. Noirtier’s eyes flashed with amusement. Then he fixed his eyes on the sheet of letters which he used to communicate his thoughts. Eugenie understood him at once, and quickly spelled out the words “why”.

“I perceive you are asking a great many questions at once, are you not?" M. Noirtier assented. “You wish to know why I have come, why I have changed my name, why I dress as a man, and very probably what I know and how I come by this knowledge.” M. Noirtier blinked “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Indeed, I wish for nothing more than to explain all this. I have your permission?” Again, the blinked assent.

“You perceive, sir, that I am Hermine Danglars nee de Servieux’s daughter. You will also know, because your own son M. de Villefort formed an unlawful attachment with my mother before her marriage to my father, that my mother is not the most chaste of women.” M. Noirtier’s expression was amused. “Well, sir, her predilection for alliances outside of marriage did not end with her unhappy affair with your son. Indeed, I believe she is currently disgracing herself with M. Debray, but that’s of no matter, here. My mother is a passionate woman, but she was not an overly attentive mother. When I was a quite young child, she permitted me to play in her boudoir when she was entertaining friends, some of whom, I now realize, were also her paramours. Never particularly discreet, she talked vivaciously about all manner of subjects, and one of those subjects was, indeed, yourself. She was much entranced by your story of revolutionary ardor, your great courage and wit, your perspicacity and strength. Indeed, at some points, I sometimes wondered if she had been more attached to you than she was to your son.” At that, M, Noirtier actually huffed a little, and his eyes sparkled.

“She was also, you understand, pierced with great emotion about your sudden reversal, and described your current pitiable state in great detail. And so, from a young age, I was fascinated by your history, and yourself. Moreover, I was slightly acquainted with M. Franz d’Epinay, and so I heard from him the story of how you rescued your granddaughter from an unwanted marriage. I was struck, Monsieur, by how you were so very capable of imposing your will upon others, despite your physical infirmity. When the unfortunate events precipitated by M. le Comte de Monte Cristo caused so many tragic events, including the disgrace of my own father, I was forced to leave Paris rather abruptly. I left with only my own jewels and a traveling companion, my music teacher and,” Eugenie stopped and blushed slightly, then pressed ahead, “my lover, Louise d’Armilly.” She looked anxiously at M. Noirtier at this point in her story, seeking approval or disapprobation. He looked at her without any sign of emotion, then bade her to continue.

“It came to my attention, while Louise and I were traveling, that you had preserved both your life and the life of your granddaughter by your own perspicacity and force of will, a thing which I much admired. I thought on it, from time to time, as we continued our travels. You perceive, I think, why I have chosen to change my name, and dress as a man. Many troubles are thus averted, and I am able better to protect my beloved Louise, who is a most gentle, sweet, and delicate young woman. I do so hope you will permit me to introduce you! But, I digress. My father in disgrace, and I unwilling to live as a woman must — a dependent upon a man — and moreover, wishing to provide for my own beloved, I have taken to, ah, highway robbery. Our funds were played out some little time ago, and while I am always careful to never harm anyone, nor take from those who have little, it is, you perceive, a perilous career. Nor is it entirely suited to someone of such a sensitive nature as Louise has. Indeed, she suffers most dreadfully from worry while I am gone to procure us the next bit of funds. The time I was shot, I do think she nearly died of fright, though it was truly just a graze. But I am sure you are wondering what this has to do with you.” This was met with an affirmative blink.

“I must confess, Monsieur, that I am presuming greatly, at this point.” M. Noirtier’s eyes seemed to find this an understatement, although he retained his amused aspect. “It seems to me that a man such as yourself, trapped and immured in a body that will not answer your commands, but a man used, for most of his days, to the most vigorous exertions of mind and body, may be, I think, a bit bored. It is clear that, given scope, you can bring your mind to bear on difficult problems. The stories told of you before your sudden stroke are stories of a man of great cunning and extensive knowledge. I beg you to believe I am not attempting to flatter you, but rather to describe a thing which I believe to be the case, that you have a great mind and an iron will, and that if there were a good purpose, you would put them to use once again. I know that you love your granddaughter Valentine greatly, and she you, but I must ask you sir, if you do not fine this life too confining?’

Using the letter card, M. Noirtier said, “Possibly.”

“Sir, I have a proposition for you. I am brave, agile, and strong, even though I was born a woman. I am an excellent shot, fair with the blade, and have a good singing voice. But I am not, I fear, a brilliant tactician. What I most desire is to set up my dear Louise with a small country home, with a garden and a few servants, a music room, and to play her genteel husband for the rest of our days. She could take in music students, if it would please her, and I could grow pears or roses or something of that nature. But to do this, we must find, or to be more honest, steal a sufficient amount of capital for this to be achieved. And while I can implement any manner of bold and resolute plans, I do not have the ability to create such plans. And you, my dear M. Noirtier, I believe can make such plans.”

The letter card and dictionary were used, and M. Noirtier said, “I could make plans, how would I explain plans?”

“Why, nothing is easier, my dear M. Noirtier. Have you heard of Morse code? The telegraphs use it, you understand.”

M. Noirtier’s eyes lit with interest. Eugenie removed a piece of paper from her pocket-book which described the system, and in a remarkably short period of time, M. Noirtier’s blinks were transformed from merely conveying yes and no to words and numbers. M. Noirtier was clearly delighted. “So, my dear girl,” he blinked, “this is a great gift, but I do have a further price for my assistance.”

“What is it, Monsieur?”

“Steal me away. I love Valentine with all my heart, and Maximillian as my own son, but this house is dull, and I am protected from every thing, permitted to do nothing. This body of mine prevents me from rescuing myself, but you, child, can do it for me. I can do exactly what you desire, I know of several treasures easily stolen, and several more easily gotten by deception, but one more week in this parlor I do not think I can endure. Promise me that once you have installed your Louise in her lovely little house, and you there as her husband, you will still, in secret, engage in such schemes as we can devise together.”

“Oh, sir!” cried Eugenie, passionate as an Italian, “I promise that we shall have many, many adventures, you and I.”

I’m not sure why it feels important to say all this, but it does feel important.  I’ll start out by saying that I’m, as of the writing of this, fine.  And yet.

 

I have some significant mental health challenges.  Always have.  I was suicidally depressed when I was 16…not that anyone noticed.  Getting through my teens and twenties was difficult, exhausting, and hard on everyone around me.  I’m 58, now, and I’ve come to appreciate certain things about myself.  One of them is that I have, by and large, substituted routine for resilience.  I am strong, but brittle.  A too-hard hit from reality, and I shatter.  When that happens, I dissociate, and it takes me time to reassemble.  So far, I have always managed the reassembly.  But it scares me, and I worry about the day when that happens and I can’t find all the bits of myself.  It is possible that I am wrong, but I do truly think that it remains one of the possible outcomes.  And that is one of the reasons why I rely so heavily upon routine.  

 

At the end of 2020, I was looking at having my unemployment run out, and the profession I work in was not doing much in the way of hiring in Minneapolis.  There were a few casual jobs, which were mostly being taken by people with a lot more experience than I have.  While there were some day jobs, I was very worried about working a day shift.  I have not had a significant recurrence of depression since I started working nights, and I think it extremely likely that there is a connection.  I applied for a Traveler job and as a night tech, because on balance, it felt like upending my living situation would be less destabilizing than upending my sleep schedule.  I took a job in Cleveland.

 

I want to pause, here, and stress how incredibly brave that was, for me.  Other people have other challenges, and I am aware that for some people, this kind of thing would have been a doddle, and for others, unthinkable. For me, it was exactly at the edge of what I thought I could manage and do.  I made lists, I pre-packed for weeks, I made arrangements with my family, I fretted, and I cried a little bit.  I asked David, repeatedly, if he thought I could manage this.  He said he thought I could, and that I was doing all the things necessary to make this work.  And I was very, very afraid.  

 

Right before I headed for Cleveland, I was just a wee bit sick, with a symptom which is sometimes associated with COVID, but was much more likely to be the Brussel sprouts I had eaten the night before.  However, because I was going to be in direct patient care, and to give myself peace of mind, I ordered an at-home COVID test.  I didn’t tell my family because I really didn’t think I had COVID.  Yeah…about that.  I should have told my family.  I was irresponsible. 

 

I was diagnosed while on the road to Cleveland, and had a full-on melt-down in the parking lot of a rest area.  After that was over, I mustered up every bit of bravery I had, called my family, called my girlfriend that I had potentially exposed, and then called my employer.  Being halfway to Cleveland, I went on, and after getting talked through my terror by a good friend, I called my Airbnb hosts, and told them I was positive.  They were unhappy, briefly thought about not letting me check in, but in the end were very nice, so I did.  Again, I cannot explain how much bravery this required from me.  It was so far out of my comfort zone I can’t even describe it.  But I did it.  

 

Remember that thing about routine?  Yeah, I was flying blind, with no instruments, no map.  But I stayed in the air.  I got the apartment set up.  I set up some basic routines.  I found the Trader Joe’s near me, the grocery store near me, got through my quarantine period with some added grace time to be safe, got my badge for work, and I was feeling incredibly brave and accomplished.  I was alone, in a strange city, but my network of friends and family had sent care packages, taken frightened tearful calls, offered various bits of assistance, and I felt loved and cared for, not at all isolated.

 

Then I broke my arm.  My work contract was cancelled, I was unable to care for myself, and the entire adventure was a terrible failure.

 

David came out, and has been wonderful.  After two months, I have most of my range of motion back, although the arm is incredibly weak.  My contract with Cleveland Clinic, which was cancelled after I broke my arm, has been reinstated, and I start work on 2/22.  And, yeah all that seems great.  So why was I weeping in terror and despair last night over a broken printer?  

 

Because it’s all been entirely too much.  I have been the bravest I have ever been in my life.  I have exhibited more resilience than I thought I had.  But as of last night, I still had a document I needed to get to my employer, which required I print out a physical form, and the printer that I bought for that purpose was defective, and I could not do that.  Also hanging fire are the medical bills for this disaster. I do not have health insurance, and my phone appointment for medical assistance is tomorrow.  David is leaving Wednesday.  I have to move house at the end of the month because this unit is being rented to someone else, and they declined to switch to another unit. And, honestly, every bit of this is workable.  I have a person to contact who can move my stuff into my car, and then out of my car to the new unit. I have already rented that unit.  David figured out a different work-around for my paperwork, and the employer has said it’s fine.  

 

But, dear friends, it really is too much.  And what I don’t know, can’t know for a while, is how much of this is stuff I’ve dealt with, and how much of this is stuff I’ve dissociated, and I do not know what the final bill will be.  I do not know if I will actually survive the reckoning.  I mean, if I were a betting person, I’d say I can probably survive.  I’m fifty-fucking-eight.  I’ve made it this far.  I’m unlikely to just shatter.  But…there isn’t certainty.  I need you to understand that.  I need to understand that.  I am not fragile, but I am brittle, and I do not know if I can survive my future.  I am afraid.  

I have spent four years studiously not thinking about the facts that Trump had control of the nuclear football and that he thought that nuclear bombs were kinda neat.  There was no point in thinking about it, so I didn't.  And today, I can stop not thinking about it.  Thank god. 

- I can now touch type for brief periods of time.

- I now have two body positions in which I can sleep, which vastly reduces the amount of pain I experience upon waking.

- I still hurt a a lot, but a fair bit of that is the result of doing more with my arm.

- I resurrected Hermione yesterday afternoon, and made fry- bread.  She is looking reasonably cheerful and bubbly, after having spent almost a month in hibernation.


I might try to make bread, today, though I would need David's help for some of the bits, and we'll see if he's amenable.  

Excelsior!

I saw the doctor on the 17th. I was uncomfortable with David in the waiting room for more than 30 minutes when it was just not well ventilated not well spaced so I saw doctor by myself.  I would've liked a second person there to hear what the doctor said but I just did not feel it was safe for him. Safer for me because I theoretically have some immunity.  The doctor said first of all that the break is in two places on the "ball" of the humerus, but it's nice and tight and it is not a place that they feel that they can put a cast.  He wants me to take my arm out of the sling and let my arm hang straight for a while and also to raise and lower the arm at the elbow to keep the elbow from getting stiff. I have been doing this, and also putting jock itch powder on it twice a day because I got a yeast infection on the skin from leaving it in the sling for a solid week.

I saw the doctor again on the 23rd.  They re-x-rayed the arm, and the doctor says that it looks better than the first set of x-rays done right after the accident. He said that he would be willing to operate but that he does not see the need. Moreover while the operation might be an improvement there is no guarantee because of the way he would need to move the muscles and tendons out-of-the-way in order to get to the bone. He wants to re-x-ray in two weeks and see how it's going. He feels that I will get back about 75 or 80% of my original functoinality back, but because the shoulder is so mobile I will not notice the deficit much. He also said that I should be able to return to work in about four more weeks. David and I have had a quick conversation and decided that for a variety of reasons including the fact that I will be better able to help with the driving in a fortnight and continuity of care it probably makes sense to stay in Cleveland for at least another two weeks, and have a follow-up x-rays here. Things still hurt lots and lots and lots, but it is actually less than two weeks ago. Improvement is happening; it's very slow.