11:27 Surgical Blues

This is set to post as they wheel me into surgery. I apologize for using the blog about (mostly) non wine related stuff, but it’s the only platform I have, this shit’s way too long for Facebook. Maybe if any of you make it through the whole read, I’ll be in recovery when you finish. Slight warning, this might be slightly controversial in places, although I don’t know why, it’s just opinion. If you wish to preserve me as-is in your memory, perhaps stop reading now. I should also point out that this hasn’t been well edited for typos, etc. Consider it free form writing.

I’m writing this the night before my hip surgery, and I’m a bit nervous. This isn’t a treatise, or dissertation on the meaning of life. It’s just some comments, in no particular order, about things that have been on my mind in these last two pain ridden, perspective hammering, years – complete with a journey from the depths to the heights, now simmering somewhere between. It’s not a farewell message, I fully expect to wake up this afternoon feeling pain, but hopefully a new type of less fatalistic pain, one that I might be able to rehab my way out of. However, I am sixty years old, and for half of those years I smoked cigarettes, a lot of cigarettes. Plus, I have two bouts of Covid under my belt, sometimes it feels like I might never get all my faculties back from this damn virus. Negative test yesterday, though, so begin the final countdown. Point is, I’m probably not in the top 10% of good anesthesia candidates, and if something happens, I thought I might like to go out with some fascinating insights, or at least some acerbic observations.

The new house has a dining room that borders on vast. It was one of the many draws of the place, nothing fancy about it, it’s just big. I’ve had a dream for much of my adult life to have a place, a gathering place, to bring interesting people together for conversations, both deep and trivial – but interesting. Some of my friends know exactly where this dream comes from, for there was once an actual Gathering Place. I can’t recreate that magical meeting of place and time, but perhaps I can catch some of its essence, like Johnson has done. Anyway, my bet is the room will swallow a fifteen foot table with ease. I have a picture of it in my head, simple but sturdy, built by a skilled craftsperson with lumber reclaimed from an old an old barn, and with final assembly in place. Once there, it will be there to stay. As will we. I hope to see many of you there. To break bread, to drink, and to talk and ponder. Together.

I haven’t watched news in months. Just a few headlines to start the day. I’m not bragging, I used to take pride in being up to date on events. What happened? Well, to paraphrase some New Yorker cartoonist, my desire to stay informed is at odds with my desire to stay sane. Once I get this pain under control, perhaps I will begin to read again, perhaps I will even activate. For now, I look for even the barest points of agreement; sure is hot today, huh? I guess just talk weather and not climate. Seriously, I make a little game of it, can I have a pleasant ten minute conversation with, well, anyone. Try it sometime, it might give you something to ponder.

That last point may make me sound indecisive, probably does. I used to be pig headed, stubborn, and mean. I won every argument by yelling loudest. I formed snap opinions and stamped them in stone, to be forever defended. My world was facts, in black and white. Have you noticed that we have our strongest opinions when we really don’t know what we’re talking about? Sixty years of life will knock that out of you, if you let it. The world is grey my friends, all grey. You cannot simplify the complex and retain its essence. If you really want understanding, you have to do the work. For true understanding, it’s probably necessary to specialize.

Anyway, ramble on. I do have beliefs, and I’m happy to share some of them. Politically, I’m left of center. Actually, pretty far to the left. The reason why is probably that, while the far left irritates me regularly, the far right scares the shit out of me. I may even be getting more liberal with age, which is kind of a neat trick, being from Kansas and living in Pennsylvania. Don’t pigeonhole me though, I don’t fit. I come from a time when democrat/republican weren’t interchangeable with liberal/conservative. No, I’m not going to give you a line about how great things were, we were all racist, sexist, homophobic, it’s how we were raised. It takes a lifetime to get that shit out of your head, even if you’re trying, but it’s really important to try. I can’t emphasize that enough.

Damn, I’ve screwed around on politics for over an hour. Let me wrap up with a couple of frivolous comments I’ve made for years.

I suppose I’m a capitalist, but if you don’t have some socialism in the system, it becomes the end of the monopoly game where one person has all the money. If you’re old and disagree, please return the monthly check. People are not always inherently kind, sometimes they need coaxing.

Conversely, socialism without some kind of incentive built in, will go the way of communism. I’m convinced this is the crux of it, find a fair way to incorporate incentive and you might get another hundred years or so out of the system, maybe until the next ELE. I have no idea how to do any of that.

I guess there always has to be a topic so incendiary and immediate that it demands a statement: I have been the partner in two abortions in my younger life (sorry mom) and I will always vote to keep it legal and safe. It’s not a question of regrets (I have none), it’s the gratitude I feel that both those women had a safe place to go. Other than that, this sixty year old white man thinks it’s a woman’s issue, but I have three granddaughters, so I care.

Amy and I are coming up on a couple of anniversaries in September. It’ll be our tenth wedding anniversary, and ten years of coming to the Finger Lakes. Let’s talk about some happier things for awhile, although I discussed this in some detail a couple of articles back if you’re interested. It’s a time of change, hopefully this damn surgery is the starting gun.

We are dog people. Apologies to all cat people everywhere, I was one of you, but I have succumbed. Raising three puppies in a row has left me hopelessly, and exuberantly fighting for my place in the pack. But we all know the Alpha. I still greatly admire the inventive ways the cats find to torment the dogs, but most of my time is spent in canine company. I’m hoping the new hip will allow me more comfortable access to the cats’ territory. There really is just nothing like belonging to a pack of dogs though.

Here’s a random vet school story. This would have been around June of 2003, right after clinicals started. I had the first three weeks off so I could be at my daughter’s wedding. My first rotation was Exotics, so anything that wasn’t a cat, dog, horse, or farm animal. Which is most things. So, end of May, beginning of June, late spring. Birds and bunnies. The other thing is, we lived in a farmhouse outside of town, about twenty minutes outside of town. If you were on call, the rule was to be there in fifteen minutes. I was on call. We had beepers back then, mine went off around three in the morning. I called the number. There was a bird that needed help. I know it was a bird but sometimes I think it was an injured hawk, sometimes it seems it must have been a baby “rescued” from its mother. It bothers me that I can’t remember. I jumped in my old F-150 (four on the floor, with no options but a/c) and set out to make a twenty minute trip in fifteen minutes. I saw the squirrel for a split second before it disappeared under the tire with a squirrel sized “thump”. I cringed briefly and continued on to save the bird.

I’m fairly certain the answer to all things is buried in that story.

I like to talk a lot. I only mention it because it might become relevant here in a bit. I’m kind of known for it. Talking. A lot. I’ve been assured by numerous people that I’m the most talkative person they know. I recently had an argument about whether I talked more than another friend. I was sure he talked more, but was voted down 2-1. Self awareness is always the last thing to come. I’ve always kind of liked talking, if I ponder it, it’s probably why I’ve always loved to read, so I’d have interesting things to talk about, especially stories. Recently, I have begun to notice that I never seem to learn anything new while talking, by listening, however, I might discover something fascinating. Even better, people love it when you listen, and if you asked relative questions, they might even be stunned. Anyway, I guess in a nutshell, I would say that I’m trying (poorly) to talk less and listen more. It might be harder than quitting smoking.

I got a little down in 2019, maybe some inner sense perceived catastrophe on the horizon, and decided to campaign for another way out. Depression. If you’ve been there, I don’t need to talk more about it. If you haven’t, I lack the words to describe the pit. I got depressed. Bad. Took action. The hospital took it back and VA wrapped me in their arms, that’s not satire, I owe my life twice over to VA. So I was stewing in my juices when the shit hit the fan in the spring of 2020. That’s my sad covid story. So something had to break or change. Irrisistable force against an imoveable object wasn’t cutting it. I needed a reason to exist, to have purpose. And then the hip went.

It happened in the first week of March. We were coming home from a Finger Lakes trip with our usual load of wine, and then heading right out for the EWE (it’s a wine thing). I was carrying a case of wine in the house and I felt something go, I’m assuming this was the hip joint partially collapsing. And yes, this probably does technically make it an alcohol related injury. There was a lot of pain, I’ve probably felt worse, but this did not go away. I’ve looked at enough rads of dog hips to cringe when I saw my left femoral head. That put me in need of a new hip, but I was about seventy pounds from anyone offering to take the job. You know, I’m getting very long winded, and it’s getting close to morning, let’s just sum up: bad place, bad hip, real fat, real depressed. Something had to change, so I lost some weight, gained some back, lost some more, and made weight – surgery is in a few hours. That’s the physical part.

Whoa, I’m running out of time and I haven’t even talked about wine yet. Let’s bullet point the rest of this mental crap.

• I went through ACT therapy, which was both weird and cool. Lots about values and identifying stress points. I think you have to join a cult when you finish so I baled after the halfway point.
• Seriously, ACT is some cool shit, head turning stuff.
• I decided that from now on I’m going to allow myself to care about other people than myself.
• I decided that last item about a year ago, at the age of 59.
• I decided to look at the positive nature of things, people, animals, plants, people, situations, clients, people – before the negative aspects. This is a 180 switch that seems subtle, but is earth shaking.
• To reiterate, positives first then negatives. Sometimes I don’t even get to the negatives at all.
• Talk less, listen more.
• To sum up, I choose to care for others. I choose to listen more, I choose to start with the positives.
• That’s all I got. I didn’t find Jesus.
• Fortuitously, the Finger Lakes is a great place to practice those things.

Sooo…. Let’s talk wine. Talk about some cool shit. Wine has it all. I can think of a word and riff on it until I get bored, then move on. Actually, I’ve talked about wine so much, so many times, is there any doubt about what the glorious liquid means to me? Let me sum up, Sunday was the last day I could drink before surgery, we spent the afternoon with friends, talking and drinking and eating of course. At some point the power went out and we lit candles and carried on. There were wines from all over, and I sipped here and there, enjoying some, less others. There was one Finger Lakes wine we had brought almost by accident, a McGregor Pinot Rose – really a beautiful wine, from a winery and family that I admire deeply. If something does go wrong in anesthesia, and that is the last wine I ever drink, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Music. It has been my life, and my frustration. I am including a video of this latest song I learned, by a guy I can’t get enough of: Slaid Cleaves. This is a ballad that I practically swoon to play. Sometimes, if I really fall in the hole, I get choked up on the words. I hope I have some more time with the guitar, and with a piano that seems to be falling in my lap. After nearly forty years, I’m starting to get comfortable with that damn ax, maybe I can get tolerably competent. Eventually.

I love my job, finally. It all goes back to allowing myself to care. I had built a protective wall around my psyche and turned it into a way to earn a buck. It wasn’t always like that, but I was beginning to think I just didn’t have it in me for more euthanasias. That my mental health could no longer deal with the unwieldy fact that there just aren’t enough veterinarians out there. There are horror stories of clients calling dozens of hospitals and finding no one to see their animal. There have been occasions when Cornell and UPenn have called trying to send animals to smaller, less equipped facility. That would have brought stunned disbelief ten years ago. Anyone with a sick animal on the weekend knows it happens a lot now. Client’s are stressed, vets and vet techs and CSRs are stressed. Animals die without care, veterinary staff sometimes die because they care too much. It’s the highest suicide rate by occupation in the country. It’s an epidemic without an end in sight. And I’m in the middle of it loving my job. I didn’t see it coming, I thought I was done being a vet. Then I decided to do a few vaccine appointments at a little day practice in rural PA, next thing I know, I’m hooked. The pace is so much slower in day practice, you have time to develop relationships with both clients and patients. With my new found ability to care, I am enjoying day practice immensely. It’s nice to have those years of emergency care knowledge to fall back on, but I like the pace of general practitioner better. And with this new hip, hopefully I’ll come back stronger than ever. I’m needed, what more can I ask?

I guess I’ll end on a request. Please be kind to each other. Always.

See you on the other side,

Jerry.