549. Surviving in New York City

 Forgive another personal anecdote.  My leg seemed to have a problem -- little bumps. No pain or itching, just little bumps.  But this was the leg whose infection sent me to the hospital recently, so a council of war ws called.  To make sure no new infection was involved, I and a select group of friends called 911 to have my vital signs checked.  And 911 came -- four husky guys with all kinds of equipment.  They checked those signs: normal.  With nothing for them to do, they left.  But a nurse was also summoned to check that suspect leg, and he repeated the vital signs check-up: normal.  

Boring, isn't it?  No crisis!  Bu there's a complication: at times I find myself beahing fast, slowing down only gradually to what is, for me, normal.  So there's lots for a doctor who makes house calls to consider.  But it will take a lot -- maybe four officers with a strait jacket -- to get me out of my beloved top-floor apartment, high above the Magnolia Bakery of "Sex and the City" fame.  I'm not ready for another hospital stay, and nobody will convince me that rehab centers are quieter and more restful than hospitals, when recent experience has taught me better.  So here I am, home again, entrenched, and hoping for better.  I love my apartment, my building, my neighbors, and the West Village, and will cling to the end.

The next post, I promise, will have no mention of me.

, for me, normal.