More Harry Hogan stories!
Harry Hogan left the doctor’s office, feeling optimistic. It could have been worse. Every time he hurt the knee that he’d injured in a college hockey game, he feared the worst – possible surgery. However, the doctor said it was simply a case of arthritis settling into an old injury, which often happens, but surgical intervention wasn’t needed at this point.
“If Acetaminophen controls the pain, there’s no need to worry just yet. Continue to walk normally but just around the house for the rest of this week, no outdoor walking and no driving,” the doctor had said. “The shock from your recent fall just aggravated the situation. But come back immediately if the pain gets worse, or if there’s any swelling.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
“Go home Mr. Hogan, park the truck in the driveway, and leave it there for the rest of the week. The only other suggestion would be a change of diet. The ‘Mediterranean Diet’ is an excellent guideline,” the doctor said.
“You want me to go on diet? How will that help?”
The doctor shook his head. “No. This is mostly a guideline to focus more on healthy foods. Many people do benefit from it.”
Harry shook his head. “That’s something I never thought I’d have to do.”
“Don’t look at it that way, but more as a healthier lifestyle. Start with one or two small changes at first. When you get used to that, make a couple more. Start with changes that you know you won’t have any problems with. And instead of giving up your favourite foods, have them as occasional treats.”
“Where do I get information on this diet?” Harry asked, with a sigh.
“On the Internet and if you have any questions…” he handed him a card “… here’s the number of a good nutritionist.”
Harry nodded and left, mumbling to himself as the door closed behind him. “If I have any questions, I’ll call Moe.”
Driving home, he acknowledged that he had only himself to blame for this mishap. He should have descended to the bottom of the ladder, instead of jumping from three steps up. Instead, he landed on a rock and twisted the knee as he fell. Now he was stuck at home for the next few days.
To his way of thinking, ‘normal’ walking included going from his front door to the garage – now his office. The concrete walk was fairly new, almost as smooth as the interior floors, and there were just a couple of steps on each end to navigate.
When he retired from the police force, he’d thought briefly about trying his hand at writing, maybe a detective novel based on personal experience, but quickly decided that writing fiction wasn’t for him. Instead, he decided to write something more like a memoir, for his children and grandchildren, including everything he knew – or could remember – about his wife, Mildred Stone.
