A few weeks ago I had to go into the doctor's office for my bi-annual epidural in my lower back. A cocktail of lidocaine, cortisone and various and sundry magical concoctions that let me maneuver my manly bulk with less pain.

As I jumped up on the table to wait, I got a severe twinge in my right shoulder from my torn rotator cuff from my too many sports days. My left is torn as well, but it doesn't get the use that my right arm does. Deep breaths and flexing help.

Then the door opens and the nurse steps in to tell me that they now have a bed for me, so I jump down to follow her and feel that sharp pinch in the outside of my right foot. I'm thinking I broke that damn bone again. I've broken it seven times in my life. It is a small diameter bone on the very edge of the foot, and it now has a permanent weak spot. I've actually broken it just climbing a ladder.

By now I'm following the nurse down the hall leaning to one side, limping, and shaking my right arm. When I finally get to the room with all of the bright lights, surgery table, and tray with syringes and needles about 6 inches long, the doc sees me stumble through the doorway. Then I see him look down, open my chart again and check my records. He shakes his head and says "you're a mess." I just say "Yeah. Do you have a shot for that?"

The actual shot isn't that bad. You feel it, but they give you enough "daylight" drug to make the time pass. Only takes about 30-40 seconds for the process but it seems much longer when you are face down over a pillow with your ass tilted upwards. I can think of worse options.

They make you have a designated driver. So recovery is a part of the drive home I guess. Either way, as I sat there basking in my diminishing back pain, I started to think of my current situation.

I started to take stock of my aches and pains. Broken foot. Bad knees. Herniated disks. Bad shoulders. Migraines. Vertigo. Yada.. Yada.. Yada…

At what point is there a purpose to duct taping myself together each morning to face another day? I feel like one of those wooden string puppets that are all wobbly and unstable unless you pull the strings tight.

It used to be that I would wake up each morning and think of all the things I could get accomplished that day. Now I think of all the things that I really don't need to do and how much I can get away with.

What purpose is there to a life that feels so pathetically endured? Why do I continue to trod forth in such a broken gait?

Then… my grandson comes through the front door. As soon as I look into his eyes, all my questions are answered. "For me Gampa. You do it for me." And just like that, all of my duct tape turns to armor, and I rise once more, never to fall in my grandson's eyes.