F. Scott Fitzgerald on insomnia

Jazz Age uber-symbols, Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald madetheir wild and alcoholic contribution to the 1920s. By the 1930s, Zelda was an in-patient at a mental hospital and Scott, sleepless nearby, at the Grove Hotel, Ashville, North Carolina, wrote a series on Insomnia for Esquire Magazine.

“On the night of March 10, 1948, a fire broke out in the hospital kitchen. Zelda was locked into a room, awaiting electroshock therapy. The fire moved through the dumbwaiter shaft, spreading onto every floor. The fire escapes were wooden, and caught fire as well. Nine women, including Zelda, died," notes Wikipedia.

++++

 “Sleeping and Waking” — F. Scott Fitzgerald [December, 1934]

When some years ago I read a piece by Ernest Hemingway called Now I Lay Me, I thought there was nothing further to be said about insomnia. I see now that that was because I had never had much; it appears that every man’s insomnia is as different from his neighbor’s as are their daytime hopes and aspirations.

Now if insomnia is going to be one of your naturals, it begins to appear in the late thirties. Those seven precious hours of sleep suddenly break in two. There is, if one is lucky, the “first sweet sleep of night” and the last deep sleep of morning, but between the two appears a sinister, ever widening interval.

This is the time of which it is written in the Psalms: Scuto circumdabit te veritas eius: non timebis a timore nocturno, a sagitta volante in die, a negotio perambulante in tenebris. [His truth shall compass thee with a shield: thou shalt not be afraid of the terror of the night.]

++++

Joel’s Relevant Note:

This post serves as an appendix to my ongoing series “On the Edge of Despair.” The series examines the most pressing issue of my life. Can I continue to be independent or will I be forced into a nursing home?

  • One of several risk factors is my difficulty at sleeping regularly and on a timely basis. See: https://joelsolkoff.com/establishing-a-sensible-sleep-schedule/
  • As I write this, I am slowly recovering from five days of sickness caused by the aftereffects of stopping my pain medication. My pain medication is a blend of an opiate known as Oxycodone, which I have been taking under a physician’s orders for three years. The pain medication makes it possible to function.
  • Dr. Todd Cousins, the best pain specialist in State College, asserts that the medical profession as a whole is not sufficiently cognizant of the medical importance of controlling chronic pain. On a scale of one to ten, without medication and intensive exercise, my daily pain level is 7.5.
  • Without question, Oxycodene is a medication I would prefer not to take. Its effects and side effects are worrisome to say the least. One side effect of Oxycodene, morphine, and other opiates is severe constipation.
  • From time to time, I must risk pain, which last week caused me to weep, in order to let my G-I tract recover. The consequence has been five days of debilitating diarrhea.
  • For three days last week I was incontinent soiling my clothing and my bed sheets, requiring I wear a diaper.
  • Last year, after a surgical procedure which inserted steroids in my spine, I also experience two days of incontinence. Thus far, incontinence has been a rare occurence. Two days last year. Two days this year. The shame I feel as a consequence is enormous. I will be posting on incontinence and its potential threat that I be forced into a nursing home.
  • One solution to keeping me out of a nursing home is donations. In May, when I returned home from the hospital, my telephone service was cut off for several weeks because I was unable to pay my bill. Please donate if you can. A PayPal link is available at: https://joelsolkoff.com/part-ii-edge-despair/
  • The “Edge of Despair” series and appendices such as this F.Scott Fitzgerald essay will be forthcoming as I struggle to avoid the nursing home.
  • Especially important is that I continue my life’s work (as I so grandiously put it). Id est: Focusing on providing appropriate housing for low-income disabled and elderly individuals.
  • Specifically, I am close to completing  “Renovating existing housing to provide residents with mobility disabilities the opportunity to live independently.” When completed, the report will be published as a technical paper on the website of the Pennsylvania Housing Research Center.
  • Please help me complete this work. I am a 68 year-old paraplegic who lives alone and independently. Productivity is part of the life force that keeps me going.

++++

Returning to F. Scott Fitzerald’s “Sleeping and Waking”

With a man I knew the trouble commenced with a mouse; in my case I like to trace it to a single mosquito. My friend was in course of opening up his country house unassisted, and after a fatiguing day discovered that the only practical bed was a child’s affair—long enough but scarcely wider than a crib. Into this he flopped and was presently deeply engrossed in rest but with one arm irrepressibly extending over the side of the crib.

Hours later he was awakened by what seemed to be a pin-prick in his finger. He shifted his arm sleepily and dozed off again—to be again awakened by the same feeling. This time he flipped on the bed-light—and there attached to the bleeding end of his finger was a small and avid mouse. My friend, to use his own words, “uttered an exclamation,” but probably he gave a wild scream. The mouse let go. It had been about the business of devouring the man as thoroughly as if his sleep were permanent.

From then on it threatened to be not even temporary. The victim sat shivering, and very, very tired. He considered how he would have a cage made to fit over the bed and sleep under it the rest of his life. But it was too late to have the cage made that night and finally he dozed, to wake in intermittent horrors from dreams of being a Pied Piper whose rats turned about and pursued him. He has never since been able to sleep without a dog or cat in the room.

My own experience with night pests was at a time of utter exhaustion—too much work undertaken, interlocking circumstances that made the work twice as arduous, illness within and around—the old story of troubles never coming singly. And ah, how I had planned that sleep that was to crown the end of the struggle—how I had looked forward to the relaxation into a bed soft as a cloud and permanent as a grave. An invitation to dine a deux with Greta Garbo would have left me indifferent.

But had there been such an invitation I would have done well to accept it, for instead I dined alone, or rather was dined upon by one solitary mosquito. It is astonishing how much worse one mosquito can be than a swarm. A swarm can be prepared against, but one mosquito takes on a personality—a hatefulness, a sinister quality of the struggle to the death.

This personality appeared all by himself in September on the twentieth floor of a New York hotel, as out of place as an armadillo. He was the result of New Jersey’s decreased appropriation for swamp drainage, which had sent him and other younger sons into neighboring states for food.

The night was warm—but after the first encounter, the vague slappings of the air, the futile searches, the punishment of my own ears a split second too late, I followed the ancient formula and drew the sheet over my head.

And so there continued the old story, the bitings through the sheet, the sniping of exposed sections of hand holding the sheet in place, the pulling up of the blanket with ensuing suffocation—followed by the psychological change of attitude, increasing wakefulness, wild impotent anger—finally a second hunt.

This inaugurated the maniacal phase—the crawl under the bed with the standing lamp for torch, the tour of the room with final detection of the insect’s retreat on the ceiling and attack with knotted towels, the wounding of oneself—my God!  After that there was a short convalescence that my opponent seemed aware of, for he perched insolently beside my head—but I missed again.

At last, after another half hour that whipped the nerves into a frantic state of alertness came the Pyrrhic victory, and the small mangled spot of blood, my blood, on the headboard of the bed.

As I said, I think of that night, two years ago, as the beginning of my sleeplessness—because it gave me the sense of how sleep can be spoiled by one infinitesimal incalculable element. It made me, in the now archaic phraseology, “sleep-conscious.” I worried whether or not it was going to be allowed me.

I was drinking, intermittently but generously, and on the nights when I took no liquor the problem of whether or not sleep was specified began to haunt me long before bedtime. A typical night (and I wish I could say such nights were all in the past) comes after a particularly sedentary work-and-cigarette day. It ends, say without any relaxing interval, at the time for going to
bed.

All is prepared, the books, the glass of water, the extra pajamas lest I awake in rivulets of sweat, the luminol pills in the little round tube, the note book and pencil in case of a night thought worth recording. (Few have been—they generally seem thin in the morning, which does not diminish their force and urgency at night.)

I turn in, perhaps with a night-cap, I am doing some comparatively scholarly reading for a coincident work so I choose a lighter volume on the subject and read till drowsy on a last cigarette. At the yawning point I snap the book on a marker, the cigarette at the hearth, the button on the lamp. I turn first on the left side, for that, so I’ve heard, slows the heart, and then—coma. So far so good. From midnight until two-thirty peace in the room. Then suddenly I am awake, harassed by one of the ills or functions of the body, a too vivid dream, a change in the eather for warm or cold.

The adjustment is made quickly, with the vain hope that the continuity of sleep can be preserved, but no—so with a sigh I flip on the light, take a minute pill of luminol and reopen my book. The real night, the darkest hour, has begun. I am too tired to read unless I get myself a drink and hence feel bad next day—so I get up and walk. I walk from my bedroom through the hall to my study, and then back again, and if it’s summer out to my back porch. There is a mist over Baltimore; I cannot count a single steeple.

Once more to the study, where my eye is caught by a pile of unfinished business: letters, proofs, notes, etc. I start toward it, but No! this would be fatal. Now the luminol is having some slight effect, so I try bed again, this time half circling the pillow on edge about my neck.

“Once upon a time” (I tell myself) “they needed a quarterback at Princeton, and they had nobody and were in despair. The head coach noticed me kicking and passing on the side of the field, and he cried: ‘Who is that man—why haven’t we noticed him before?’ The under coach answered, ‘He hasn’t been out,’ and the response was: ‘Bring him to me.’
we go to the day of the Yale game. I weigh only one hundred and thirty-five, so they save me until the third quarter, with the score….” But it’s no use. I have used that dream of a defeated dream to induce sleep for almost twenty years, but it has worn thin at last.

I can no longer count on it—though even now on easier nights it has a certain lull
The war dream then: the Japanese are everywhere victorious—my division is cut to rags and stands on
the defensive in a part of Minnesota where I know every bit of the ground. The headquarters staff and the regimental battalion commanders who were in conference with them at the time have been killed by one shell. The command devolved upon Captain Fitzgerald. With superb presence
but enough; this also is worn thin with years of usage. The character who bears my name has become blurred. In the dead of the night I am only one of the dark millions riding forward in black buses toward the unknown.

Back again now to the rear porch, and conditioned by intense fatigue of mind and perverse alertness of the nervous system—like a broken-stringed bow upon a throbbing fiddle —I see the real horror develop over the roof-tops, and in the strident horns of night-owl taxis and the shrill monody of revelers’ arrival over the way. Horror and waste -— waste and horror—what I might have been and done that is lost, spent, gone, dissipated,
unrecapturable. I could have acted thus, refrained from this, been bold where I was timid, cautious where I was rash. I need not have hurt her like that. Nor said this to him. Nor broken myself trying to break what was unbreakable.

The horror has come now like a storm—what if this night prefigured the night after death—what if all thereafter was an eternal quivering on the edge of an abyss, with everything base and vicious in oneself urging one forward and the baseness and viciousness of the world just ahead. No choice, no road, no hope—only the endless repetition of the sordid and the semi-tragic. Or to stand forever, perhaps, on the threshold of life unable to pass it and return to it. I am a ghost now as the clock strikes four. On the side of the bed I put my head in my hands. Then silence, silence—and suddenly—or so it seems in retrospect—suddenly I am asleep. Sleep—real sleep, the dear, the cherished one, the lullaby. So deep and warm the bed and the pillow enfolding me, letting me sink into peace, nothingness—my dreams now, after the catharsis of the dark hours, are of young and lovely people doing young, lovely things, the girls I knew once, with big brown eyes, real yellow hair. In the jail of ’16 in the cool of the afternoon I met Caroline under a white moon. There was an orchestra:

Bingo-Bango
Playing for us to dance the tango
And the people all clapped as we arose
For her sweet face and my new clothes –

Life was like that, after all; my spirit soars in the moment of its oblivion; then down, down deep into the pillow


“
 Yes, Essie, yes.—Oh, My God, all right, I’ll take the call myself.”
Irresistible, iridescent—here is Aurora—here is another day

–30–

http://theessayexperiencefall2013.qwriting.qc.cuny.edu/files/2013/09/Sleeping-and-waking-by-F.-Scott-Fitzgerald.pdf

Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald on their wedding day April 3, 1920. Years and misery later, Scott sat in his room at the Grove Inn and wrote "Crack Up" and other essays, such as the one above for Esquire Magazine. He wrote about his insomnia, "In the deep night of the soul, it is always three A.M."
Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald on their wedding day April 3, 1920. Years and misery later, Scott sat in his room at the Grove Inn and wrote “Crack Up” and other essays, such as the one above for Esquire Magazine. He wrote about his insomnia, “In the deep night of the soul, it is always three A.M.”

How I use physical therapy to reduce pain

“Unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification.” –Miriam-Webster’s fist definition of GRACE

“Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is glue.” –Eugene O’Neil

Learning to manage pain

This is part of the story of how I am learning to manage pain.  At first, I thought of this as  a  “war story.” After all, I am a 68 year-old paraplegic. I live in an independent residence for 100 disabled and elderly residents. It is commonplace for us to sit in the bingo parlor across from my apartment and talk about our complaints. “It hurts here. It hurts there.”

Then I sought to describe the physical therapy life has imposed on me. It was with a catalog of exercises in mind that I mistakenly began this posting in January. Yes, there are exercises here–exercises to be  performed  daily.

Today is March first.  Yet I have not obtained mastery of movement as I continue to revise. Slowly, I am learning how gentle continual movement is key to transforming pain. I have been impatient to describe truths that seem all-encompassing. Now I realize the most  difficult truth is  how to narrow my  focus  to the achievable while recognizing there are limits to limitation.

No longer do I think of this post as a personal filing cabinet, a tool for organizing handouts from physical and occupational therapists–the consequence of physicians issuing prescriptions to conform to tedious Medicare regulations. Now I realize what I truly require:

  •  Grace
  •  Joy
  •  Doing the tango from a wheelchair
  • Fred Astaire wearing spats dancing with Ginger Rogers who reveals a lot of leg.

Frequently used scale for measuring pain.

Sadly, this or a similar frequently used scale for measuring pain does  not solve the problem. Defining the "problem" of pain and providing a solution is the central focus of this essay. I recognize that what works for me might not work for you. I do hope that my efforts may provide comfort to my fellow chronic pain sufferers.

++++

My pain pain comes from four sources

In October, 2014, the pain in my deteriorating spine became crippling. Crippling it has remained. Daily the pain level is 7. 5 on a scale of one to 10. This is a frequently used scale, one with faces, shown in emergency rooms, hospitals, doctors offices. Anything over 5 is serious. If you reach 7, you are entitled to morphine–initially quick acting and wonderful. Yet 45 minutes of 4 mg is wonderful once. After the initial for 4 mg you want 6; I want 6; 8 mg 45 mg 45 minutes later. You can’t always get what you want.

Music helps

++++

The safer bet is Oxycodene or Percocet, another flavor of the same drug. Herein the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, Oxycodone–vanilla or chocolate–is the favorite illegal drug, more popular than heroin. My friend Ben said he read in the Atlantic or Harper’s that religious fanatics who worship snakes have been too high to bother.

Dancing helps even when it seems impossible

++++

For me the alternative is New York City where Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center referred me to Columbia Medical Center at 168th Street for a spinal stimulator. This technology has been available since the Sixties. Soon spinal stimulator inserted with the remarkable skill of Dr. Christopher J. Winfree will be available. Soon is not now. Despite medication and steroid injections, there are days when I roll up in a ball, clutching my legs–an infant of 68 rolling on the floor in a fetal position. Yet, even then there is hope. One source is technology.

“Courage is grace under pressure,” Hemingway said famously and incorrectly.

What I am writing here has nothing to do with courage. Yes, it is difficult to write about pain without mentioning pain hurts. As with so many limitations of post-Tower-of-Babel language, the lexicon requires revision. I am not being brave. I am solving a problem. Here with discussion of pain rating charts that tell me I am experiencing “great pain,” the information has limited utility. When the nurse asks for a rating (how bad is the pain?), the answer helps her because if  I say “seven” she administers medication; “two”  no  medication. For me the question is more complicated. What am I doing here?  Isn’t my presence in an emergency room a riddle I have yet to figure out. Clearly,  I require reform. Yes, I will write about the spiritual aspect of pain.

Language fails. The urgency to find relief sometimes fails because I did not understand the larger implications. Expressions such as "fighting pain" are dangerous because the key is not battle. Yes, at times like these, I regard pain as evil. Fighting evil idirectly is counterproductive.
Language fails. The urgency to find relief sometimes fails because I did not understand the larger implications. Expressions such as “fighting pain” are dangerous because the key is not battle. Yes, at times like these, I regard pain as evil. Fighting evil idirectly is counterproductive.

Seven months ago the intensity of the pain was so great,  I called 911, an ambulance arrived, and I was wheeled on a gurney to the Emergency Room at Mount Nittany Medical Center.

++++

Going to the Emergency Room for pain, even State College’s pleasant and well run ER is a mistake for a variety of reasons.

Isadora Duncan, co-founder of the modern dance movement, demonstrates her belief that human beings should move freely and without restriction (such as ballet slippers).
Isadora Duncan, co-founder of the modern dance movement, demonstrates her belief that human beings should move freely and without restriction (such as ballet slippers).

Most significantly an ER is a mistake because pain medication is temporary. What is required is a different mind set–a perspective to managing pain that incorporates movement, joyous continuous movement.

+++++

image

++++

The spinal pain is the worst. It is a consequence of the massive radiation which cured me of Hodgkin’s disease, cancer of the lymphatic system,  preventing me from dying at  age 30 .

To relieve spinal pain.Alicia J. Spence, physical therapist extraordinary, Phoenix Rehab recommends my ing basic stretches to relieve tight, tense shoulders due to bad posture, slouching or sitting for long periods of time.

This Yoga video is also helpful.

++++
Previously dislocated right shoulder

image

++++

Arthritic neck and upper back

crawling

++++

Inflamed feet and lower legs:

https://www.mayoclinic.org/symptom-checker/foot-swelling-or-leg-swelling-in-adults-adult/related-factors/itt-20009075


Bicyle

Why am I am writing this?

I believe the disabled and elderly should be encouraged to develop their talents, overcome obstacles, and be productive. In the 21 years since I became a paraplegic, I have been beset by health problems. I have close to death so often  Joanna, my elder daughter tells me, “Nothing  can kill you, Dad.” Yet a lot can slow  me down.

Sigmand Freud may not be your flavor of the month. Yet, he expressed this truth: “Love and work… work and love, that’s all there is.” Despite having survived cancer three times, I could live another thirty years, In April I will be a grandfather. In August Amelia Altalena, my younger daughter marries. There are friends and loved ones who surround me. I publish regularly. I have dreams I would like to build into communities.

guinea-pig---tan

The time to think of the disabled and elderly as a drain on resources is over. The Baby Boomers, smart, educated, firm believers that “if I am not for myself who is for me. Together, my landsmen and I will change our world for  the better. First, however,  I have to learn to manage my pain. To  move continually with joy. To reform including making a healthy sleep  schedule (asleep by 11 pm; greating the morning at 6 a reality and not merely a resolution. Think of me as a a guinea pig–your gunia pig.
++++

Hilman’s Stretches for Back Pain Relief, How to Stretch Routine, Beginners Home Yoga”

--Philo Vance, S.S. Van Dine's eccentric detective. Scarlet Murder Case.
–Philo Vance, S.S. Van Dine’s eccentric detective. Scarlet Murder Case.

++++

Jen Hilman says about her stretches for back pain, “Incredibly relaxing and stress melting, this yoga for flexibility will be your favorite video yet. Feel some back pain relief after following along to this stretch routine.”http://www.JenHilman.com

BicyleTo manage the intensity of pain so I can exercise:

I must use pain medication such as Oxycodone and  steroid injections.

Each medication may have dangerous long term consequences. Instead, at the suggestion of State College pain specialist Dr. Todd B. Cousins, he suggested I can eliminate medication by going to a specialist in NYC to insert a spinal stimulator, [5]

+++

Dislocating my right shoulder is a story I told on WPSU radio.

Toe-Hold++++

Maimonides says the highest form of charity is to give a gift, loan, or partnership that will result in the recipient supporting himself instead of living upon others.

++++

Inflamed feet

When I broke my left ankle in August, my feet and legs became painfully inflamed.

To prevent an ugly condition called "pitting" Phoenix Rehab's Alicia prescribed: 1. Elevating my feet above my heart (shown here) to stimulate blood flow to my lower extremities. To prevent an ugly condition called “pitting” Phoenix Rehab’s Alicia prescribed:

++++

1. Elevating my feet above my heart to reduce intimation to my lower extremities.
3. Applying cold compresses.

Example A. Stationary cycling.

4. Using motion to increase circulation.
 
From: FLASHDANCE
http://youtu.be/8NjbGr2nk2c
Example B: Motion for reducing swelling. Here, I am leaning against a large pillow on the wall adjacent to my bed. My legs are stretched across the bed so they reach the scooter. The scooter is locked so the seat will not rotate. I push the bottom of my feet against the rigid scooter chair. Focusing on reaching the pressure point, I push out hard. This brings pressure promoting circulation. 

Example B: Motion for reducing swelling. Here, I am leaning against a large pillow on the wall adjacent to my bed. My legs are stretched across the bed so they reach the scooter. The scooter is locked so the seat will not rotate. I push the bottom of my feet against the rigid scooter chair. Focusing on reaching the pressure point, I push out hard.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8wEORnZxdg

Arthritis

When I went to the emergency room for spinal pain considerably higher than 8 on a scale where 10 is highest, I was x-rayed. Arthritis in the neck and shoulders.

There are useful head rotation exercises I will tell you about.

++++

 Previously dislocated shoulder

image

Twenty years ago when I became unable to walk, I fell over my toes, hit the sofa and dislocated my shoulder. Several times my shoulder dislocated again not healing properly. Now stretching not only alleviates pain, stretching preserves my ability to dress myself. The following link to WPSU-FM tells the story. http://legacy.wpsu.org/radio/single_entry/LL-1756/

++++

Before using the pulleys, I must prepare by doing these exercises Alicia handed me. I just paused writing to clasp my arms together, slowly raise them above my head, lead back including my head_neck in the stretch, then returning to this post .
Before using the pulleys, I must prepare by doing these exercises Alicia handed me. I just paused writing to clasp my arms together, slowly raise them above my head, lean back including my head_neck in the stretch, then returning to this post .
My son-in-law former Marine Jade Phillips installed this pulley which I had purchased from Phoenix Rehab.
Friend and neighbor John Harris photographs me usin the pulley.
Friend and neighbor John Harris photographs me using the pulley.

 ++++

Crawling as exercise

Crawling, photograph by Elaine Meder-Wilgus at Webster's Bookstore and Cafe
Crawling, photograph by Elaine Meder-Wilgus at Webster’s Bookstore and Cafe

Therapists

  1. Allicia J. Spence, Phoenix Rehab, State College, PA
  2.  The physical and occupational therapists at HealthSouth, Pleasant Gap, PA.
Phoenix Rehab's brilliant and elegant therapist Alicia J. Spence helps me use fore-armed crutches to walk. With the proper movement performed religiously each day (and the use of a device that directs electiricity to my ankles (see footnote 12) I might be able to walk someday. First, however, I have to master the pain. Alicia suggested a wonderful exercise that slowly reduces spinal pain when I lie on m stomach.
Phoenix Rehab’s brilliant and elegant therapist Alicia J. Spence helps me use fore-armed crutches to walk. With the proper movement performed religiously each day (and the use of a device that directs electricity to my ankles (see footnote 12) I might be able to walk someday. First, however, I have to master the pain. Alicia suggested a wonderful exercise that slowly reduces spinal pain when I lie on m stomach.

October 27, 2015 HealthSouth Physical Rehabilitation Hospital, Pleasant Gap, PA. Occupational Therapist Megan Brown considers the problems involved with driving my mobility device into the bathroom.

Meanwhile:

Dancing helps

Isadora Duncan, co-founder of the modern dance movement, demonstrates her belief that human beings should move freely and without restriction (such as ballet slippers).

Isadora Duncan, co-founder [with Martha Graham] of the modern dance movement, demonstrates her belief that human beings should move freely and without restriction (such as ballet slippers.

You should see me dancing while sitting in my power operated scooter.

 —30–

++++

Footnotes

  1. Joy of Motion [1] is essential for managing my pain
  2. I am writing this because I believe the disabled and elderly should be encouraged to develop their talents, overcome obstacles, and be productive.
  3. When I was born, Hodgkin’s, a cancer of the lymphatic system, was regarded as universally fatal. The linear accelerator which cured me in 1976 is regarded today as primitive. The radiologist who treated me was killed by exposure to his own machine.
  4. For twenty years I have been a paraplegic as a consequence of radiation burning a hole in my spinal cord. Now the radiation caused devastation to my spine has produced pain beyond description–eclipsing the other sources of pain which are part of my daily life.
  5. A nurse took a photograph of my back immediately after surgery. So skillfully did Dr. Winfree insert the test stimulator that on December 22nd upon examining my back, Geisginger internist Sepana Menali could find no surgical scar.

Pape Monk

References

  1. http://www.drugs.com/oxycodone.html
  2. McGonigal, Phd. Yoga for Pain Relief [2009]. Oakland, CA. New Harbinger Publications, Inc.
  3. Log onto
  4. Log onto
  5. Log onto

Pape Monk

This post copyright © 2016  by Joel Solkoff. All rights reserved.

–30–

"I love  every movement/ There's nothing I would change/ She doesn't need improvement/ She's much to nice to re-arrange/"