Survival

Can only admit now was overcome with fear at the last post, about to undergo a second spine surgery toward the end of the month: last week.  I behaved alternately on a daily basis for weeks as if I would not survive, and as if I would. 


As the days before grew shorter, revising the healthcare proxy was in order.  It was only downloaded and completed along with a living will the night before the procedure, at the hotel where my sister had flown in to stay and assist during the surgery and immediate recovery period.  It included funeral arrangements, songs that were to be played during a memorial service, and the division of assets that would remain available.


The day of pre-ops, something happened in the evening where I felt a snap in the back left pelvis, where rods had been extended for stability during the first procedure.  By the following week, an additional or subsequent part gave way and I was barely able to walk the weekend prior to the scheduled time.
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Something had popped in the back right months before another test had been administered with images and showed no signs of deterioration, so when the left began my concerns were minor, as the other had healed.  What happened a week later was of more concern.  I was grateful the date was approaching so that it could be seen and addressed.


Was still walking very slowly when Sis arrived and in less pain.  She noticed the change, however.  We were an hour late for the scheduled arrival time for pre-admission.  Traffic had been unprecedented on the way.  The procedure before ours had complications. It would be another couple of hours or more before I would go in. 


The most recent events were explained to the surgeon, along with having communicated by email following the weekend.  He didn't seem to take it seriously at the time, also stating there would be images taken during the procedure to check the area where new pain had been felt for days.


My sister asserted the anesthesia be administered so that I would be unconscious upon entering the operating room.  I thought it was standard after not being given the option three years before during the first surgery.  I didn't really have an opportunity to give a second opinion before the needle went into the IV.  The thought of seeing power tools for bones wasn't something I had been looking forward to.


I awakened in a recovery room that was very dark.  It was late.  The surgery had taken over seven hours, more than half the planned time for an upper spine correction.  A rod at waist level had broken.  My sister explained so I would understand while heavily medicated.  Then she was immediately gone. 


I finally found a comfortable position to sleep with an attentive nurse until monitoring approved moving into a room.  It had been a late night for the surgeon, yet he was there at 8:00 a.m. when I awoke to give his version.  Two incisions, two draining units attached with tubes, an extra two days in the hospital, still shorter than the first extensive procedure that had me testing the limits of what it could do as well as hunching forward another eight degrees at past two and a half years.  One draining unit then. 


Inflating 'blood clot prevention' on both legs.  Adhesive covering bandages from the top of my neck to the tail bone that would soon begin to itch.  A bed that set off an alarm if you got up on your own, and I would later discover cameras overhead as well, as you don't have a choice if males or females are attending you during any particular shift.  Before leaving the bed, most everything that was attached had to be mounted on a walker just to go to the bathroom, which could not be done without assistance. 


Medications and vitals every two hours on average.  Additional monitoring for low blood pressure.  The same questions repeated every time.  A world class hospital.  Expertly trained staff.  The best hospital experience at a global destination for its expertise, still one did not want to stay any longer than necessary.


I went back to church thinking I may not have survived the last one.  Went into the second thinking maybe I was only wrong the first time.  There was lots of prayer for me to come back, by a lot of people who didn't know me three years ago.  I assert prayer works. 


I drove myself back from the airport after Sis got us there to catch her return flight, a day after discharge.  The first night's short sleep before checkout at the hotel was blissful in contrast to nights just before.  The apartment and pets are not back to normal, nor am I, as I move slowly, testing limits less.  Pain meds only twice today, not three as on the label.  When it comes to bones, knowing where limits are may be best unmedicated, until it becomes necessary. 


My gait is better, I'm standing taller, and the waist is back: an additional bonus.  Had given away lots of figure flattering clothing with waistlines, assuming not having one was permanent.  No regrets.  I'm still walking; still wanted and needed on the planet.  Prayers continue, to fulfill the mission according to a Will that isn't my own alone.

Anniversary, Again

He called tonight, the one who was big news sixteen years ago.  A life changing surprise.  He didn't know I had tried to call before; he didn't know how to access the voicemail from a land line.  It wasn't his phone.  His had been taken away for a time.  He should have been here; hearing his voice from his call was the next best thing, and not a short conversation either.  It was quality, among many that simply couldn't be, and too many that have been an inappropriate 'replacement' for not being together.

I took a walk per doctor's orders, as other families and children observed the holiday.  It didn't make me feel any worse; I just wish my son could have seen it. 

I don't remember going so long without working, though I have in the past.  Looking for work is a job of itself, with no compensation for the duration.  It's harder recovering from life-saving surgery; being alive now has a different meaning.  It would have been a slow deterioration otherwise. 

Today I was able to get up onto a chair and change light bulbs in a ceiling fixture, after trying weeks before and not being able to get up on the chair for fear of falling and not being strong enough.  Today I can turn on the light again and not have to use a smaller one in a corner, after several weeks.

Still not feeling strong enough for many things, though eventually more strength will return.  Walking more upright, a little taller, and more stable.  It was the best possible outcome, that came with high risk; the alternative would not have rendered a quality of life to fulfill what had been started.  Preparation was required in advance.  Life before was much about preparation, having no idea what would be on the other side.  As it got closer to the day it was very difficult; only family made it bearable.  Hearing my son's voice was healing of itself, yet still lacking.  I couldn't dwell on it, for him; I simply had to pull through: a metaphor from the past, for the future.  I don't remember if I told him about the anniversary; I think I did, wondering if he remembered, too, without making it a topic of conversation, for a reason connected to why he's not here, now.

Under Cover: Under Siege

Not the first time; hopefully nearly the last, though I'm not counting on it. Seems it comes with the territory of making big changes. There are always those one leaves behind in order to meet the next group of allies. Teams run most efficiently with all talents maximized, not exploited.

Really hate engaging in playing games, yet that's what it is to others. Unfortunately, it's a survival skill to get past the gauntlet into the light, to learn and so that others can as well, the ones that will carry the torch for some sort of positive progress, as opposed to the opposite.

The interesting thing is the other players are very good at convincing others they represent the good guys, when they only represent themselves and the good guys don't know who they are, or avoid them completely, for good reason, yet the masses fall for simply hearing them talk the talk, when those who know them know it's only talk, to shroud extreme dishonesty and cunning manipulation, good enough to fool most, which has nothing to do with intelligence or education.

It takes a critical thinker to discern what's being said over what's being done, not accepting anything at face value or as related, hearing what's not being said and seeking positive results. Below the surface is the sad reality, an incubator of toxicity that can be dangerous if tolerated for any significant duration. Things are not as they seem or as told, though it's human nature to simply listen and accept, without realizing there's another perspective entirely. And another reality.