Good to be King
By King Harris

Don’t you just love all the pharmaceutical ads you see on TV these days? All of them are pushing drugs or medications or prescriptions that guarantee your life will immediately improve no matter what impairment you might have, if you are willing to risk all the side effects which ultimately might include insanity or death.
“Ask your doctor if this drug is right for you,” the announcer concludes.
“Hey doc, if I take this will I live longer or die trying?”
The big pharmas don’t care. Better living through chemistry, right?
The reason this has come to my attention is that I’m watching way too much television these days, and the reason for that is that I can’t walk. The reason for that is because I ruptured my left Achilles tendon several weeks ago, and I’d like to say it was a result of a skiing accident on the Alps, or a surfing mishap off the coast of Maui. But the cause of my injury was far less romantic than that.
In mid-March, I started noticing that I began to limp, and couldn’t come to a full stride. So I went to see my primary doctor, who observed that my Achilles tendon wasn’t performing as it should. “Did you injure or aggravate it by exercising or playing sports?” she asked. “No,” I replied. “No running or jumping or lurching. It just seemed stiff when I woke up one morning recently.”
“Were you taking any drugs or medication you don’t normally take?”
“Yeah, about 10 days ago a doctor prescribed me some antibiotic to help ward off an infection that he thought I might have.” Suddenly her eyes lit up. “Did you condition begin just about the time you started taking the antibiotic?”
“Now that you mention it, yes it did.”
“Was the antibiotic called Cipro?”
“Yes, indeed.” She rolled her eyes, and now I know why.
According to the manufacturer, “Cipro may cause swelling or tearing of a tendon [the fiber that connects bones to muscles in the body], especially in the Achilles’ tendon of the heel. This can happen during treatment or up to several months after you stop taking ciprofloxacin. Tendon problems may be more likely to occur if you are over 60, if you take steroid medication, or if you have had a kidney, heart, or lung transplant.”
Right after I saw my doctor for all this, my Achilles tendon popped, sending me to the floor. So I went to Med-Plus the next day, where doctors there told me I had a ruptured Achilles tendon, advised I see a podiatrist, and gave me a pair of crutches and a special boot to limit my mobility.
Something told me I might not be walking for a while. I was hoping I could let it heal on its own and avoid surgery. I could put up with trudging along like Captain Ahab.
But this scenario was not to be. My foot doctor told me in no uncertain terms that surgery to repair the tendon would be needed, and that I would have to not use my left leg for at least six weeks, possibly longer.
“How do I get around?” I asked him.
“You don’t, at least not very easily.” I thought of all the alternatives, like crutches, which are fine if you’re a kid but unstable if you are older. And I’m unstable anyway even without crutches.
The walker. I could and did borrow one of those but hopping just doesn’t cut it for me. Besides, I don’t have the patience. The procedure is too slow. By the time I parked even in a disabled stall the store would close by the time I got to the doors.
The hospital finagled me a wheel chair to try out, and while I could navigate most of our house, it was too big and cumbersome for any bathroom we have. So I settled for one of these knee-scooters, a four-wheeled gizmo where you put the knee of your limp leg on a pad and scoot it along with your other leg.
It, too, has its drawbacks, but at least it turns and has a brake. And I’m happy to say that my homebound dilemma doesn’t come without a nurse who happens to be my wife, Sara, who I shall praise while I’m undergoing therapy and long after.
I think this is wise. A Ratched at this point is not something I need.