Take back my life

Unless you’ve been in a monastery without connectivity the past week, you’ll know about the 10-year-old girl in Ohio whose post-rape pregnancy was confirmed about one day after the 15-week cutoff for banning abortions; the pre-teen who had to be driven to Indiana to have the pregnancy terminated.

Republicans have been all over the case, with Gym Jordan calling the story a hoax, and the Ohio AG threatening to prosecute the OB-GYN who treated the child.

When asked in a Congressional hearing yesterday whether a 10-year-old should bear the child of her rapist, some anti-abortion cow prevaricated that the situation of the particular child would mean that an abortion in this case would not, in fact, be an abortion. Meaning: if it’s an abortion of which you approve, then it’s not an abortion. I guess.

And some clown named (I swear I am not making this up) Jim Bopp, the general counsel for National Right to Life (Until Birth), who has designed post-Roe “model legislation” for abortion bans, proclaimed that under his law, “She would have had the baby, and as many women who have had babies as a result of rape, we would hope that she would understand the reason and ultimately the benefit of having the child.”

Yes—a child who is probably unable to understand the fact of rape will understand the reason why she’s forced to carry the products of rape to birth, and its “benefit”.

Jesus wept.

So, today’s earworm is Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song”. I hope this child and every other one never has to fight alone. 

 

Allons!

It’s la fête nationale in France, so vive la révolution!

Sadly, France (along with most of Europe, and the UK) is experiencing a massive heat wave, and Macron is himself in some bouillabaisse chaude with the recent Uber Leaks revelations about how he shilled for the company when it unsuccessfully tried to storm the Bastille. But still—a revolution’s a revolution.

I’ll be having my customary slurp of champagne to celebrate. Maybe salade niçoise, since it is also stinking hot here in the District They Call Columbia. And I’ll leave you with my traditional mashup of “Die Wacht am Rhein” and “La Marseillaise” from Casablanca.

Taking the shot(s)

Well, sports fans, I saw the orthopod yesterday. For eight minutes.

(When I made the appointment online two weeks ago, I noticed that his time was meted out in 10-minute slots. So I checked when he arrived—three minutes late—and when my audience with him ended—one minute late.)

As is typical for orthopedic surgeons, he was not particularly interested in me; he got my name wrong, glanced at the new X-rays, looked at the knee and prescribed a cortisone shot and physical therapy. Which, for the moment, is okay with me.

I got the shots—preemptively in both knees—and will make a PT appointment with whatever local practice isn’t booked into September. I hope the latter will help with the IT band issue, but already the cortisone is ameliorating the pain, so that’s something.

As orthopods go, he’s not the worst I’ve experienced. But I have to say—I’d really have loved to have got through life without meeting any of them. Still, I happen to know this guy does good work, and he takes a conservative approach.

So, I guess it’s a case of watch this space. At least I can get my daily step count back up.

 

 

Morning jam

The other morning I was serenaded on my walk.

This is a culvert on the golf course I sometimes cut through, and I’ve heard this guy (or guys; not sure) before, usually before the golfers are out. (Completely different locale from the last amphibian rhapsody I recorded.) This time, there were several teeing off right next to the concert hall, completely oblivious.

Me—I take my music where I find it.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: knee jerk

A few weeks ago, the arthritis in my knee flared up. Literally one day I was fine and the next I was limping in pain. Then the ilio-tibial band kicked in and life was really hell.

I backed off my walking, and even canceled a yoga lesson because I literally could not bend my knee (let alone the pain); after a week I went to see my PCP.

Well, she poked around and agreed that it’s arthritis; the IT band is probably because my leg is somehow compensating for the arthritis, but all told, it’s a mess.

And I’m probably going to be looking at knee replacement. Joy.

But what I’m grateful for today is that I’ve managed to beat back most of the immediate pain, I’m still ambulatory and I have an appointment tomorrow with the orthopod to discuss options.

That’s not nothin’.