Thinking of Guadalupe

Had a sharp physical pain today that got me thinking what do I do here? My hip replacement is years old at this point. I haven’t done anything out of the ordinary. But walking, sitting, and standing back up suddenly required stability of furniture, not to hang onto, but touch for orientation. Hard to explain. Not for support. A mental reassurance.

Anyway the hip joint caught in a painful way, almost popping. I looked up Dr. Robert Mayle, who did the surgery and thought about contacting him. Of course that would take a list of protocols to get through. Better to take extra strength Tylenol and wait. It’s back and forth. I remembered some of the instances before dealing with the now needed cane.

In 2003, I went to Guadalupe, the French island in the Caribbean, not the city on the West coast of Mexico. I was using a cane post foot surgery and got a taxi from the hotel to the beach to go swimming. You may not have had the occasion to swim with a cane. It is awkward . The hand holding the cane is compromised and that arm drags. More importantly, the cane is useless aiding movement in the water and on wet sand. So, I was stuck in water up to my neck. I waved my free hand at a man swimming nearby. Fortunately, he responded. Asking for help to get to shore, he agreed. I put my arms around this stranger’s neck and he transported me back to the beach, depositing me at the base of a tree, per my request. I was correct that the tree would enable me to stand up. Here again is the need for an orienting object.

After resting, I went to a cafe across the street, ate and asked for a cab. It seems there was only one taxi driver in town, Frédérique . Over my stay, we got to be friends, as he drove me wherever it occurred to me to go. Most memorable was asking him to take me to a music club. After all, this was the Caribbean. He did. I love to dance, but I really couldn’t. The music was good and warm, happy. And when I was ready to go, Frédérique was waiting. He also gave me a ride to the airport when I was departing. This time, he had his girlfriend with him. I had oodles of time before my flight, so I asked to stop at a fabric store. I shopped very fast with the meter ticking. That’s hard to do buying fabric in French, converting yards to metric. One of my selections was ‘Rasta’ plaid. The yellow background with red and green criss crossing. Not to be found at an airport gift shop.

The reason for this trip was that Mel had suggested going there together (no one was considering mortality, specifically his). In his thoughtful way, he knew I liked to swim and my French was assez bien. Disconnected thought about Mel’s generosity: one time we were out to dinner with another couple in Paris. Mel asked me to ask the waiter to give him the bill directly, so he could take care of it and there would be no confusion or question. That went smoothly.

Yeah, so this hip. Maybe it’s time for another pain pill….