The woman screamed

You need a doctor! She was only trying to help, I know . I popped into the  CVS to pick up  gauze,  tape,  non stick  dressings,  antibiotics. You know, the stuff one usually ends up buying after the first day of a 100 -mile  bike  trip.

I looked like an extra from a zombie movie. Blood, every color of the crimson spectrum, flowed down my left leg, pooling on my high tech  sock. The effect was, and is, highly Hollywood, the zombies have taken an unhealthy bite from my kneecap,  and rivulets of unclogging clot  are starting to saturate my clothing.


Fun day, right?  The path to gore town is too tediuous to relate here, but includes new blood clots, anti coagulants and most importantly, a fall from my bike exactly 47.5 miles ago when I was the proud owner of 5 quarts of blood.
But that isn't the point of the story
Honestly, how do you women do it? How do you casually manage  5 quarts of sticky embarrassing red ooze while trying to have a life filled with dinner parties, white outfits and , more to the point,  vigorous exercise that  tends to unleash the red sticky flood gates?
I am falling.  I am falling behind.
The family, yours truly non withstanding, are going through miraculous rebirth. I burst with pride over Cyn who is thriving in a potential new managerial job. My heart sings for jeff, starting his second year at med school, cool and confident, reassured he chose the proper path in life.  Abber Dab is growing too, starting her new job, driving the roads in her 2011 silver honda civic. And dan.... Well,  as they say, he is well along his chosen career path, world domination.
And then there's me. My feet are doughy little muffins , the result of a lack of anti coagulation. The river of death actually courses down my left leg.  Cyn is negotiating a new contract , and she has used the phrase " my chronically sick husband" in her negotiations and here's the sad part: it's true.  I'm not fooling anyone " you're getting better" she says, but she says it in the same tone they use to describe the dead guy in the Monty Python " bring out your dead" sketch.  I am falling / I am falling/ and she is calling..
Kafka is such cliche but here I am ,Gregor Samsa, clinging to a wall as my family waits . We know how the story ends.  They are moving on and I'm scaring a  poor woman at the Northampton cvs

At what point do I run dry?

My dear brother just called in a panic, apparently  the blog implies I am  hospitalized.  I am at home,  Cyn cleaned up the mess at the Hotel.  Thanks, hon.

Falling, I am falling, but she keeps calling me home again.
Cant leave the stage  when I have such a devoted audience.