Pardon my interruption

PLUS: The wonders of Krzyzewskiville

Yours truly, in a car service vehicle yesterday at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport, about to embark the ride home to San Antonio.

Many of you are already aware, but to my readers and subscribers who aren’t friends or acquaintances, or who don’t follow me on social media, I apologize for being out of action since the middle of last month. While visiting my dear friend Rob Marks from my high school days in Massachusetts, I fell and injured myself pretty badly.

Earlier, my friend and I had spent much of the afternoon touring the magnificent Durham, North Carolina, campus of Duke University, his alma mater. After a final swing through Cameron Indoor Stadium and someplace called “Krzyzewskiville” (more on that later), we hacked around briefly on a nearby Frisbee golf course. I had heard a lot about pickleball, which is sort of like paddle tennis, and wanted to see what it was like. So we grabbed a pair of paddles and a ball he keeps in his car and then began hitting the ball around on a public tennis court in Durham.

At one point I approached the net to return a short ball. In attempting to pull up before the net and lift the ball toward my friend, I skidded on a some debris (likely a twig of some sort), tumbled onto my right side and then rolled onto my left. It was obvious to me right away that something had gone terribly wrong.

Given the excruciating pain, walking away was out of the question, so an ambulance was called. I wound up at Duke Regional Hospital, where I was treated for what turned out to be a broken hip. Three days later, I underwent surgery to replace my hip and repair the fracture high up in my femur. I spent a total of three weeks in the hospital, and will spend countless more in physical therapy. My wife rushed from San Antonio to Durham, where she executed logistics and cared for me when staff were not able to.

Yours truly attempting to get back to work in my office nook at our apartment complex in San Antonio. -Laura Smith

To say that I am grateful for my treatment is an understatement. My favorite was the Duke Rehabilitation Institute, whose staff worked wonders on me. The physical and occupational therapists told me they especially love their work because they get to help patients improve and witness their progress in a relatively short period of time.

Even the dedication of the nurses aides astounded me. At one point, my roommate created some kind of mess in his bed. An aid spent about 45 minutes frantically cleaning it up with her boss. After the aide was finished, she poked her head into my alcove, her voice full of compassion, and calmly asked, “Can I get you anything, hun?”

I told her whatever I needed could wait: “You’ve just been through hell in there, m’am.” Still, she insisted on checking my chart and saw that I was due to take one of the many medications I had been prescribed. So she went and got it and fed it to me. That’s the kind of dedication I saw at practically every level at Duke Regional, and I will never forget it.

At one point, I was in so much pain and had such a long convalescence in front of me that I was not sure if I had the strength to continue. Since I am not religious, I could not call on god for strength. So I thought about my six-month old grandson and how much I wanted to see him grow up and be a part of his life. It worked. Emmett, young man, you are officially my savior!

As the days roll on, I expect to gain more energy — and that’s a good thing because there is so much going on that cries out for comment. We have shifted from the California wildfires to the opening days of the Trump administration, which features, among other follies, a proposal from the real-estate developer president himself (since walked back by some of his aides), to seize the Gaza Strip, relocate its beleaguered inhabitants to parts unknown, and transform the rubble into “the Riviera of the Middle East.” And of course there is the question of what to do with the maniacal Hamas, the heavily armed terrorist group that has controlled the strip for decades and probably has its own ideas about Gaza’s future that don’t include luxury condos.

Meanwhile, the illegal dismantlement of portions of the federal government — much of it at the hands of an unelected personality who also happens to be the wealthiest man in the world, continues largely unabated. Calling the courts. Please come in …

BONUS Image:

Krzyzewskiville -TC

Named after longtime, NCAA championship-winning mens basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski (a.k.a Coach K), Krzyzewskiville looks like a homeless encampment on one of the America’s most elite university campuses. Instead, it’s full of students waiting in line for tickets to the the biggest contest of the year; Duke vs. North Carolina.

ESPN has dubbed the encampment, first erected in 1986, “college basketball’s most famous village.”

Until next time …