Things Are Looking Up

By: Ralph Gamelli

First, I’d like to thank everyone who has sent me good wishes during my lengthy recuperation. No one could have predicted the unlikely series of accidents and illnesses that led to so much physical difficulty on my part. Fortunately, even though I’ve still got a long way to go, things are beginning to look up. For example:

I can now wiggle my toes with no problem. Stopping them is another matter.

As of last week, I can turn my head to the left without it resulting in a gushing nose bleed. No luck turning to the right yet, but the doctors are optimistic.

The muscular spasms have almost completely subsided. If you come to visit, your chances of getting elbowed in the face have never been lower.

Opposable thumbs. Never thought I’d be able to say that again.

I have absolutely no memory of anything that happened to me before my thirty-fourth birthday. Luckily, everyone insists there isn’t much to remember.

I’m once again able to use my left buttock while sitting. Thank you to the anonymous donor.

The drooling has reached acceptable levels.

I can blink in unison again, as long as I limit myself to no more than one blink per minute.

The pain in my limbs is mysteriously lessened by a good fifty percent whenever I hear someone speak in French. As soon as they stop, however, the pain comes back full-force and is accompanied by dizziness, stomach cramps, and itchy back.

Good news: my eyebrows have grown back. Bad news: both of them are stacked over one eye.

The nightmarish prophetic visions have stopped. Now, whenever I touch someone, I only see a rerun of Gilligan’s Island.

I was having a bit of a midlife crisis before all this started. What’s the meaning of life? Why am I here? What’s the point of it all? I don’t ponder philosophical matters like that anymore. Instead, I prefer to focus all my mental energy on staying conscious.

I’m able to stand for several minutes at a time now, unless someone taller than me enters the room, at which point I collapse in a heap. Might be psychosomatic.

They managed to sew one nipple back on. They’re still looking for the other.

I begin to sweat profusely the moment the temperature hits seventy. Conversely, I get severe chills the instant it dips below sixty-five. Otherwise, I’m good.

That headache I had where it felt like someone was pounding an anvil with a sledgehammer? Turns out there was actually someone outside my window hitting an anvil with a sledgehammer.

That about covers it for now. As you can see, I’ve made some real progress. Unfortunately, it seems that it may soon be necessary to transplant my brain into the body of a gorilla. They tell me this is just one more step on the road to complete recovery, but I admit that I can only view this as something of a setback, as I’m not particularly fond of bananas.


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