You'll never hear a nurse say, "Doctor there's a Hurry Up in room four that needs urgent attention." You'll never be asked "Have you ever been a Hurry Up of ours before?" Why? Because the people who make stuff like that up know that it takes for fucking ever to heal sometimes. And that healing can often feel worse than the original injury. And healing doesn't follow insurance company guidelines and federally mandated protocols for doctor patient relationships. Healing has a life of its own.


Healing can be incredibly demanding and inconvenient. And it really does seem sometimes to take for sweet ever and ever. It gets exhausting.

Being a bad patient/hurry up is something I'm not proud to say that I am a professional at but it's true nonetheless. The best years of my life have been spent in and out of surgery, waiting rooms, recovery rooms, triage stations and ER beds. I'm not kidding. Exhibit A:

Ask my wife who started this whole journey with me on our honeymoon in Greece and half way to Norway watched me jump off this galloping Charlie Sheen of a horse. I got up to find that my fingers were snapped back and touching the backside of my left hand. My pointer finger knuckle was also poking through my skin like someone left a large white pebble on my palm. Instead of going home we continued to party our way to Norway. When we got there the stitches got taken out and my hand butterflied open again.  This is what happens when I don't stop and heal.

The poor doctor was so traumatized that he light speed sutured me back up and prescribed me pain medication in a large dose which is very rare in Norway. He was also so traumatized that he forgot that they make that medication NOT IN A SUPPOSITORY FORM. Needless to say I had mixed emotions about "taking my medicine" by day 4.

This is what it looks like to be a hurry up. I've learned the hard way. More than once. I'll tell you what happened after that some other time. It's a miracle I still have a hand.


"Slow your roll Mo" is something that someone much stronger and wiser than me at dealing with horrible sensation used to say to me. This guy walked with a hunch, a wince with each step and no pain meds, cane or anything. He carried his own bags. He drove all over NYC. He spent more time caring for other people and giving rides, listening to those in need of an ear, and taking people for coffee than he did thinking about his Ankelosing Spondelitis. The guy's sensation was "off the charts" he would confess to me from time to time if I asked.


He was able to do all of this because he did everything he did slowly and deliberately. One. Breath. One. Step. At. A. Time. All. The. Time. When I asked him for his input on anything the first thing he said to me was "Slow your roll Mo. Slow. your. roll." He spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent that reminded me of Goodfellas. "Slow your Roll Mo".

He was the ultimate patient. He took his time, used his breath, and found love to drive him into service letting his sensation motivate his love into action. Should I aspire to do anything less with my cranky cervical sensation?

IF I can get out of myself enough today by helping another that my discomfort subsides, who is the real beneficiary of any effort I put to that end?

Wherever you are today--home alone in bed writhing in unfortunate and passionate discomfort, or climbing an Alp with your bare hands and feet, whether you have a hang nail on your pinky toe or you're just walking to the corner store for tampons and beer--if you have some sensation that you hate, TRY THIS...

Stop. SLOW YOUR ROLL. And find someone else to help, encourage and love on today who needs it today. 

Find your breath. Be a Patient.

I'm doing this right beside you all the way!