When I ruptured my quadriceps tendon some seven, long weeks ago, I knew I had a mountain to climb before fully recovering.
There’d be the pain, of course. And, the daily, life-threatening challenge of hobbling along Manhattan streets doing my best to avoid potholes, multitasking Millennials and tourists pointing their cameras skyward. Talk about defensive hopping!
What I caught me by total surprise, though, was the sheer brutality of being encased in a hip-to-thigh leg brace that:
- A) Weighs 10 pounds
- B) Takes a good 10 minutes to properly fit each morning
- C) Spurred on by southern Florida swamp-like weather, has lit up my leg with a nifty case of contact dermatitis.
Were I still attending Saint Francis Grammar School, I’d gladly “offer up” my suffering to “the poor souls in Purgatory.”
I’m open to that idea, but have been faced by two insurmountable obstacles:
1.) I still can’t figure out exactly who these poor souls are. (Are they among the 30 million Americans living below the poverty line, lifelong Mets fans or regular NJ Transit commuters)?
2.) Why would He send them to Purgatory in the first place? Why not Breckenridge or Jackson Hole?
Alas, I see no solution, secular or spiritual. And, so, instead, I merely reach into my jar of Beelzebub-endorsed ointment and rub it all over the affected area.
It strikes me that Big Pharma, with their trillions of dollars, might take pity on those of us forced to hop around in leg casts in late-Summer humidity that rivals New Orleans in August, and develop a balm to preclude such distress.
Then, I came to my senses:
Big Pharma isn’t interested in preventing Big Pain, Big Disease or Big Illness. Big Pharma wants the Big Bucks that go leg-in-cast with developing remedies for illness, disease and pain AFTER the fact.
And, so, a quick note to Sister Julia Michael and her fellow misnamed Sisters of Charity: I’d gladly offer up my suffering to those poor souls in Purgatory IF one of them could recommend a sure-fire treatment for the dermatitis.
If he or she could pull off such a miracle, I’d use my limited influence with the Vatican to fast-track said lost soul to sainthood. Would that then make her or him a found soul?