I fell again last night. I’d been to
dinner with friends who kept remarking on how well I was walking. And I did do
well at the restaurant, etc. Came home and fell flat in my own dining room. I
know exactly what happened—occasionally the ball of my foot hits before the
heel, and it’s like putting the brakes on forward motion. I was down—splat!—before
I could help myself. Friends were here, but I managed to get up on my own, and
this morning the only damage was a stiff and sore knee and a fat lip where I
must have rammed my teeth into my lower lip. Still, it is an unnerving
experience, one I’d like to stop repeating.
This afternoon I had a long
appointment in the department of manipulative medicine at the local osteopathic
college. Two students worked on me for quite a while and did get some motion
and ease into my hip. My brother, meanwhile, was being treated by the doctor I’d
come to see, and eventually both of them came into the room where I was. More
treatment ensued, but the wonderful part was that I saw my brother in action as
a teacher…and he’s inspirational. I’m sure the resident in the room, with whom
he mostly worked, won’t forget the lesson he demonstrated and had her duplicate
about “reading the body.” I watched the joy in his face as he talked, watched,
explained—I’m sure a part of him misses teaching. From what I gather, part of
what he was trying to convey is that it’s intuitive—you get beyond thinking in
terms of individual muscles and nerves and focus on the problem as a whole, the
whole body. And me? I think I’m better, but I also think all that being worked
on is tiring. I’m exhausted and ready for bed at 8:30.
I’ve been in front of the classroom
enough times to know that I’m not instinctively a teacher—it’s not easy for me,
and I think students sense that. I’m good at workshops, where everyone
participates, but teaching a piece of literature or a literary principle—not my
thing. I’m grateful that my brother found such joy in his teaching career.
Don’t like Central Standard Time. My
body is not adjusting well.
1 comment:
Ok, Otis, quit hitting the bottle. I only joke, because I know you are ok.
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