Long awaited Minerva Pictures and gross details about wounds

This is my second full day at home from the hospital. My basic medical goal is to seal up the wound on my back, thus demonstrating that the infection in my back is going or gone. The infection worked its way down the screws in my spine into the bone in my spine. This is osteomyelitis (someone is going to have to help with spelling). I started thinking: infection in bone close to spine. Yikes! The wound looked a little leakier yesterday, the first wound check since the big car ride back from Madison. I think the driving probably accounts for it but . . . it's also yellower. Who knows really? We took 36 hours to get to the bandage so there's no fair comparison over time and it's all subjective. I have no fever. I'm hungry as Hell. I have more energy and I have less pain than last time. My slow healing skin is asserting itself as an actual organ and is going to take it's own sweet time. Dr. George Mexicano at UW Infection Control is my new best friend. I'm making love to a bottle of Cipro. I have promised Robyn that I won't even think about reducing anything or increasing anything until Sunday.

Here are pictures of Minerva, my brace. She is beautiful in that she protects me.


I thought I had a casual expression on my face in these pictures. Hmmm. I'm going to work a little bit with the image on the left. I have many pixels to play with.














A lot of the time, being a patient in this medical system feels a lot like this:

















Aw! Great picture, though, eh? S.

Update

Crappy cameras take good pictures, too.

[Condition update: I'm still draining a little. It's not an alarming amount and I don't have a fever. I have a good appetite this time and am in less pain. We go back to Madison in two weeks to see me again. I slept very well last night and woke in pretty significant pain. After we got the meds on board I was fine. Hell, I took a trip yesterday. Did I mention that on Tuesday at 9:00 I have an appointment to have my jaw un-wired? I probably didn't mention, knowing how withdrawn I am.] Where was I? Looking for a comfortable way to compute.

Crappy cameras take good pictures, too.

Discharge today

Hey all! I'm awaiting discharge here. Pharmacy is coming and then the nurse will let me go. My status is as follows:

1. Infectious disease has identified the bacteria that was infecting my bones. It came from the swab done at home. They were mostly dead by the time we got here and could not be detected on the swabs done at surgery. This bacteria is best treated by Cipro, which is more effective taken orally, and so the pick line is out. They put it in because they believed they'd be sending me home on IV antibiotics and so it made sense to make things "easier" while I was here, too.

2. I have a new brace that is more awkward looking, but is more comfortable than the other one because it just cradles my back. There is just no way to hurt myself in this thing.

3. My wound is not leaking and looks "beautiful" according to Dr. Mexicano, the infectious disease guy.

4. I feel pretty good. I'm taking less pain med than at the last discharge, my upper fixtures have mostly fused, and I don't have the other fresh trauma and swelling to deal with.

5. My job keeps pumping pooled hours into my benefit package and so I'm still collecting my paycheck and they are telling me not to worry. Wow.

So, better informed and more confident, we return to Iowa. Next big day is August 4, when my wires come out. I'm going to go eat some hummus.

UW nurses definitely nicer

Well folks, I though it might have been the Oxycodone, but after two visits to UW Hospitals I have to tell you I'm getting great patient care up here. The neurologists are all over me, the pain meds are managed well and, unprofessionally speaking, the nurses are a bunch of babes. I'm not talking just physical qualities, either. My friend Mark Jensen and I used to talk about the "bran muffin" theory of women. The idea was that the dating world was full of "Little Debbies" and even "Ho-Hos" who were sweet and good looking but lacked content and nutrition and thus did not stick with you, left you wanting more. The answer was the "bran muffin." This is a woman of substance, nutritious beauty who invigorates and ennervates you. Lots of bran muffins here on the nursing staff. They like me because I have cognition and say "please" and "thank you." I have not told them about my theory.

Medical update:

- the wound is leaking but for a wound this long this is to be expected. To be exact, it was leaking yesterday afternoon. Does not seem to be doing so now.

- I am on MONSTER intravenous antibiotics which are calibrated to swabs taken from the wound.

- They put in a pick line for convenience. Not a big deal to have done but it involves a catheter that goes down the brachial artery (armpit) to the aorta. Mmmm. Aorta. That's serious. This was actually some time ago, but I didn't mention it. It's really better because they disconnect me from all IV when I'm not getting meds.

My mood is a lot better. I was so very sad when they told me I had to readmit. Kevin, I really did not appreciate how you and Diana felt when you got bad news. My deal is not really life and death, but from this perspective I got a little taste of how it must have felt. It was clearly the right thing to do, though.

I'm sitting in a chair and Robyn is taking a snooze on my bed. The chairs at the UW leave something to be desired. It was R2's turn for the comfy spot.

Back in the saddle

No need to understand 'em.

I had one of the lowest nights of my life the night I was readmitted here. Go back and start over.

In the end, it was the right thing to do. There was infection in my wound and it weakened the rods and screws' hold. Dr. Silay said the just pulled them out. The upper stuff was fine. They hosed me out and lengthened the reinforcement down my back. You medical folks, it goes down and is anchored at T8, I believe. I've just been fitted for a Minerva brace, which will really not allow me to mess up. I think it will be hot and sweaty, but we can decorate it and stuff.

It's good to be post surgery and back to the big job of healing. I get my wires out of my jaw on August 4th. I think I'll be out of here Tuesday or Wednesday. When the medication is balanced I am not in much pain. It's a big ole wound, though.

I sure appreciate all the love and support coming from all sorts of places. Look around and count the things you're thankful for.

Recycling a cold bird

I was readmitted to UW hospitals yesterday after an outpatient follow up appointment. The lowest screws on my back are backing out and so it's not stable. The reason for this seems to be an infection that weakened and "annoyed" surrounding tissue. Now the doctors are in the process of figuring out things:

How bad's the infection, is the antibiotic working? (We think so.)

How do you anesthetize someone whose jaw is wired shut? I'm hoping they just take the wires out early, but I don't think they will. This may mean a temporary tracheotomy. I don't want one.

When's the best time to go in and extend the "structure" of rods lower into my back so that it becomes stable and secure. This depends on where the infection is at, both in terms of location and "course" (are you almost done yet, little germs?) Dr. Sillay is willing to hang on to me for a few days to get this right. This is not necessarily the best news but it's probably good practice.

I sat around in despair for a few hours last night, and I can call that up pretty easily right now. It seems like this never ends and something keeps being added. I have been out of work more than a month and there appears to be no end in sight. Or at least it's another month off.

Ended up watching a John Wayne movie. The Duke was wise and strong.

By noon, my understanding is we'll have a much better picture of what the plan is. I suspect I'm coming out of the hospital with a hole in my neck and one of those metal halos on my head. Perhaps we can drape it with prayer flags.

The bird? I only have so many photos on my laptop drive. This month has been a cold bird.

Ah, life!

With the assistance of my wife and my good friend Seth, I participated in my life yesterday. It was grand. Robyn gave me a ride down to Iowa City and I spent some time at UAY and saw a client of mine, of whom I'm particularly fond. We did talk about me, briefly, but because he is a teen and has troubles, we got down to his business rather than mine. A welcome relief. One doesn't notice one's self so much when one is noticing others. (Just a little truth I thought I'd pass on for you.)

Tomorrow I meet with my brilliant neurosurgeon (the one who put me back together) and we'll see if there's a next phase. I'm a healed unit and more flexible by a long shot than I was even a week ago. I find that mostly it's a matter of endurance. As I get tired, I hurt more. Then I rest. I'd like to work part time and rest when I need to. We'll see friends while we're in Mt. Horeb (not going to do the one day mega-drive this time).

Caitlin's having 10 friends over tonight for a party (and Walker gets one, too, a friend - not an entire party). We will have a chocolate fountain. I'm hoping the rain clears so they can use the back yard (since the deck has been added, it's really nice) but it's looking like more rain. These are great kids and it's good to have them around, reassuring even. Caitlin and her friend were hanging out yesterday talking and soon I became the woodwork - sitting in the other room. Hearing them talk about friends and work and their own lives reminded me that she's not so different from the rest of us, my daughter. She's earnestly trying her best to make sense out of life. She's got good values and humor and intellect. Her friends are similarly reasonable, for the most part, also trying to make sense out of things. Caitlin's parties aren't a lot different from ones my friends and I had when I was a teen. We'd chase the dinosaurs and early mammals out of the back field and away we'd go! My job, as human-back-brace-with-no-jaw-and-man-inserted, will be to wave, smile, and get my muttering ass out of the way. Will do, gratefully.

Somehow, during all the frenzy, I managed to lose both my belts. Maybe Dr. Hamilton will wire my pants up.

following?

On the other hand, I'm not sure I'd sign up and be listed as someone's "follower." Let's see.

Following

I was poking around and saw that Kevin has it set up so that he's notified every time I write something new on the Laundromat blog. I added a "Gadget" that will allow you to do this, with this and other blogs. On the other hand, is Kevin stalking me?

Heal hard!

My good cousin Bridget sent me a message, urging me to "heal hard." I realized that that's exactly what I've been trying to do. C'mon, heal DAMMIT.

Brief status update: wound is closed an infection appears to be under control. This was certainly slowing me down, and now that this is under control, I'm literally feeling stronger daily. Also have been able to decrease pain medication again, which is a major goal. I'm going to Madison for a check up on Thursday and would like to be off Loritab so that I can sip beer through a straw at Doug Ross's bar. See, I DO have limits. Alcohol and Loritab do not mix. Every time I reduce my Loritab dose, I feel more like myself, only a little sorer. It's a welcome tradeoff.

I'm also off heavy machinery, incidentally. I'll be looking for clearer guidelines as to how to proceed with the wellness portion of this adventure. I'd like some sort of regime. In the meantime, I'm trying to just do some things, such as walking, poking around the yard, playing guitar.

The guitar adventure is going to be tough. I bend over a guitar right where the vertebrae were fused, so my first attempt yesterday was brief and painful. As always, it's about finding a place to perch that I can tolerate for a period of time. Standing up may be the way to go (I usually perform that way). No rush. No gigs, and my fingers still work. I can't really sing with clenched teeth anyway, although my brothers in BWR can attest that we all have at one time or another.

I have time to ponder. When I try to heal hard, I tend to fall back. I found that I was focusing on increasing my activity when what I needed to do was rest and literally let the wound heal before I pushed anything. My body convinced me of this by hurting like hell. After the wound stopped acting badly, my energy immediately began to return, and I was able to concentrate on the next thing - doing more. Healing, apparently happens in the order it happens, and I find I can heal hard if I listen better to what I need, rather than what I want to need.

Same old lesson, over and over.

I'm going to see a client tomorrow. I've known him for years and the Young Frankenstein outfit won't disturb him. He's way more interesting than the inside of my own head, from my perspective anyway, so we'll both benefit.

Heal hard.

Better

I have to admit it's getting better
Getting better all the time. . . .

-Lennon, McCartney

We had some Queen Anne's Lace bordering the cornfield and the wind was really tossing it.

First you move more. There are a lot of small motions you don't even think about. In the short term, you learn lots of little tricks to avoid using any of your insulted tissue. Now the task is to begin to move more naturally. Who wants to heal up in a goofy position? I'm sleeping like a fiend. I have an extra little nappy in the afternoon, and I've noticed that when my back really ache, a little power nap works wonders.

Second, you think more. Social worky people will tell you about Abraham Maslow and his famous "hierarchy of need." Envisioning a big triangle, at the broad base, are activities such as breathing and eating and pooping, without which many of our more eloquent inclinations are for naught. Between the Loritab, the snoozing, and ow, ow, ow, there wasn't a lot of time for reflection. Increasingly I'm finding comfortable places to perch and I'm not needing to be snowed on Loritab. This leaves a little more time for reflection.

This situation is absolutely dripping with irony. I'm not entirely sure what to make of it. I do not think God hangs out and molds nearby life into lessons for middle aged men to learn. There is a lesson here, though, however it got there. I might have to get the guitar out.

I haven't changed my thinking except that it's pretty obvious that I didn't factor in helplessness. Helplessness, and who stands by you. (My boss, the retired Air Force Officer, says "I've got your six." Six o'clock. Right behind you in the blind spot.)

My judgement that I could slow down and make a tight left hand curve turned out to be erroneous. The cavalcade of resulting consequences, for everyone has included cancelled vacation plans and all kinds of inconvenience. My family has been amazingly understanding about this. Robyn defends my decision to ride road bikes on trips and supports the idea I might get back on one. I might ride a hair slower.

Credit where it's due

Okay, in the interest of fairness and equity, any good lyrics you find on this page may have actually been written by Dan Brown, unless they are laden with sexual innuendo, in which case he did NOT write them. Lying naked in a garden? That's Dan. Because he's just lying there, naked, minding his own business. Putting the bleach in re-e-e-e-al slow? That'd be me.

Here's a photo of my Dad trying to read me a bicycle safety manual when I was two. I clearly wasn't paying attention. But who reads a book outside in February?

My update: not much to report. My infection is much better, responding to antibiotics and the excellent unnecessary tour of the UW Madison ER. I've been doing a lot of napping and reading. I think once I'm a little better healed, I'll be able to be more mobile and get out and do things. It feels like my pain is pretty well managed and if I could be just a little more healed I could push it to the next step, which might mean trips to Iowa City, Barnes and Noble. I'd actually give my left nut to climb into a kayak right now, but that's beside the point. I'd like to fast forward this process, but I'd probably miss a meaningful part, right?

I looked at my bike yesterday. It is truly not damaged. I felt a little resenful.

Woods?

Look at that long county road, the way it stretches out ahead, calling to us! What's that around the corner? The winning lotto ticket, or certain DOOM? My good friend's well meaning comment (well meaning - the Northern version of "oh, bless her heart.") that I may not be out of the woods yet just triggers all kinds of remarks, some of which were inappropriate and I passed those on right away.

But seriously, the prospect of denial, of saying "no, this time I'm really fine," when I'm really NOT, raises the possibility that the process of feeling good may, itself, be a symptom. It's not that you're feeling good, it's that you're in denial about the loss of capacity you've experienced as the result of your trauma. Yikes! Or maybe it's about when, and how we count our losses.

Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug. We can always count on life to diminish us somehow, to turn our experiences into symptoms, to take from us our sense of "power" over the inevitable. Sometimes it just rains shit. Nothing to do about it.

Those of us who have experienced a good deal of chaos (and we know who we are), are likely to hedge, to plan, to arrange, to coordinate, as a way to feel like the mojo is back in pocket. Truth is, that mojo is coming back when it damned well feels like it.

I'm okay with some crap happening somewhere else for a while, but even that isn't a dodge. Nothing like sitting in an ER in triage to remind us how the lives of strangers effect our own. Around that bend ahead is "somewhere else" and I might be there soon.

By the way, the New Glarus EMS service, who arrived in time to drive me uphill for the helicopter, managed to get the first bill to us. If they drove as fast as they billed it would have been more impressive.

perspective

It's all about triage. Who's got it worse right now? Well, not me, I can tell you. I'm sitting in my favorite morning chair, drinking coffee, enjoying my meager dose of Loritab (5 ml less than allowed) and feeling pretty self-congratulatory about my "walk" to the corner and back).

When I came off the life flight copter and was admitted to UW Madison Trauma I was a pretty important guy. I got lots of quality attention and evaluation. It looked like surgery was imminent. Then a bunch of Wisconsinites got into auto accidents. Soon I was "competing" for attention with (literally) two SUVs full of wounded boy scouts returning from an outing. Okay, I have three broken vertebrae and a collapsed face, but these fellas are earnestly working on their "trying to die" merit badges and I'm "stable." Meaning I'm working on my "trying to breathe through a collapsed face" merit badge, and my "hold still and we'll get to you" badge. If that were my boy scout lying there, I would certainly agree with this reasoning. I agreed then, but bitchily.

Yesterday, I went to see a neurosurgeon, not mine, because he's in Madison, on referral from our GP, who was concerned about infection in my wound. The neurosurgeon was uneasy about even beginning to treat me when he wasn't sure what had been done. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted the folks in Madison to take responsibility. He had his folks, whom I had met for a total of 10 minutes, arrange an appointment in Madison and we got a call that made it sound like UW really wanted us there. This was all from his office, mind you, not UW.

When we got to Madison, I realized that this was exactly what I had been trying to avoid: an "admission" via the Emergency Room. Got there at about 3 p.m. The place was swamped (apparently more errant Wisconsinites trying to die). I had to admit that I was in almost no pain and that this was a wound check. This is the triage version of a "hangnail." The on call neurosurgeon from my actual department at UW was not PAGED until after 7 p.m. (Faithful readers know that this turned out to be a non-event, no admission, a change in antibiotics and then a release.) This means I occupied very expensive treatment space after travleing 3 hours by car, for a glorified clinic appointment. While I waiting a long time, someone else, inevitably, waited on me. And I should not have been there. I am not trying to die here. Not today.

Robyn, who is the only person I'm close to who did NOT have any interest in being a nurse, nurse's aide, etc., got to drive me home and put me to bed. There is a very funny story here about her frustration with me, the whole situation and a very rapid deterioration in personal care (the absolute first, I might add). "I'm sorry honey, but the urinal won' t fit there." I'll tell it later. Robyn has been more patient than I would probably have been, so we'll let the dust settle while I chuckle.

While I'm no longer a triage poster boy, every time I tell a new health person about my accident, my wounds, and my relative in-tact-ness, they all shake their heads and say "you could've died." For about an hour and a half, I had every wounded boy scout in Wisconsin trumped. I have managed to avoid any loss of neurological function. I'm looking at a full recovery, although I may not stand quite as straight as before. I am a certifiable NON-EVENT at emergency rooms across the mid-west. This, I believe is not so much an accomplishment as a lucky and safe place to be.

I took a walk this morning down to the corner and back. It felt pretty good. I used all my toes. They're homely but they work. Kind of like the rest of me.

Next up: Wired jaw weight loss plan. How does Sam cope with relative mute-ness? Beer through a straw? What will Robyn do for a project once Jeff finishes the deck?

Area 51

The MRI came back for my back, so I thought I'd share. I like the patriotic motif.

Feeling okay here right now thank you very much. I'm not sure what sort of utility a "birthday" designation for this day can really have. Will it grant me the ability to travel forward in time until I can get my wires out? Bad Jim Carey plot warning!

I'm really glad that everything I have hurt will heal. In a lot of rather particular ways I am specifically lucky. "If he'd hit here rather than there. . ." Trauma people love a little tension in the story.

For my 51st birthday find that I'm being totally taken care of by my old friend Robyn. However independent one may think one is, physical trauma applies the scientifically necessary perspective. "Mr. Independent, meet Mr. Pretty-Much-A-Sausage!" How you want them eggs done?
This is a pretty good shot of where they put my back together with the screws and bolts and silly putty.

Just hanging out here in Area 51, enjoying my easy chair and contemplating a smoothie.

A little decision here, litte one there. . . .

Here's a picture from my last day of BRMA. If you take a close look, you can see me straggling up this hill in Granny Gear. I could count on the guys to wait in the first available shade past the summit and on Chris to get yet another picture of me pulling up a hill. I had a lower gear added to what was a 12-speed. It gave me one low gear to work with. Man, my legs were getting tough! Everyone else on the trip was sporting a 28 speed road bike. I was working on convincing Chris that his biker superiority was due to better gear, rather than better conditioning.

Here's one of our conditioning stops right now. See how svelte? Here we watch Carroll change his tire again. Take care of that valve. Get down on your knees and face me. There, isn't that better? Sure was for the rest of us. I was thinking "boy am I glad my tires aren't bothering me!" That would suck. Now I'm looking at the photo and thinking "where's your fucking brace?"








Today it's about finding the space between "pain management" and "total zonedness" and tiptoe-ing in between them. I am learning that if the Vicodin knocks me right out it means I need more naps and it also means I can use less Vicodin. Ibuprophen is a good pal takes the edge off everything without those Michael Jackson-esque chilly naro-wierd vibes. Robyn's gone off to get a cortisone shot in her back so that she can continue to take excellent care of me, oh, and of herself and, um, . . . the kids. I am trying to read a little, write something, and in general to inject some more life into this routine.

I believe that this may be the fated "last curve" right here. Ride those breaks, boys. I was probably already in the grass by the time this picture was taken.













Where's that back brace? Life flight? UW Madison nurses? Perhaps more of a pike position would have helped.

Being 21 instead of 51 probably would have helped.

Will I do it next year? Quite possibly, but without the drama.

Thriller

Michael Jackson and I were born on the same day. When we'd play "I Want You Back," I used to joke that MJ and I have both changed remarkably during our lives, and that my metamorphosis was considerably cheaper, all in all. I just had to get fatter and lose my hair. I skipped all that time canoodling with plastic surgeons (until recently), plotting to make my skin lighter, my lips puffier. It was strange to find myself in recovery from this double-surgery listening to endless CNN updates on Michael's last few days, plans for his funeral, endless comments by fans.

I have been mostly working on moving from pain management back into "life insertion." (How the hell am I going to insert my life back into this?). The Vicodin they gave me is very effective for periods of time but is decidedly NOT benign. It makes the serious pain go away, but what is left is a strange buzz with "insects crawling around the edges." Seriously, I was relaxing in bed the other day and the little dust motes that float around in the sun turned into little flies and skirmished with each other at the periphery of my vision. Not butterflies, either. Flies. Is this Iowa? No, it's Mordor.

Every 12 minutes, CNN gives an update on how Michael Jackson needed an anaesthesiologist to administer drugs that make my Vicodin look like party favors just so the poor sucker could sleep! He wanted to be knocked out. Out. With flies. From Mordor.

I'm an old buzz hound. I like that vodka martini and maybe a little something buzz in the afternoon after work. I like that feel good all over warm me up and give the world a hippie hug sort of buzz. I cannot relate to this narcotic buzz that somehow makes you colder, more distant, isolated from your pain but also from most else.

I'm happy to feeling well enough to walk, to talk a little, to type badly and to connect again across less distance. I'm pleased that when my friends think I'm messing up they just tell me, rather than suggest a different anaesthesiologist or something.

Thanks to Jeff and Kevin and Yvonne for helping get our beds set up so Robyn can sleep too. We've really been enjoying going to bed early. Robyn's been enjoying just going to bed at all.

Making things happen

This was going to be a very busy month. My personal goal was managing to ride BRMA, my friends' four day bicycling extravaganza through central Wisconsin. For me, this is a particularly big deal because it meant starting the summer in much better condition than I have in a long time. We were riding 50 miles per day and were about 30 miles into day three when I took a curve too hot and went into the ditch. In one sense, mission accomplished. I was definitely keeping up, although we all know I took more stops on those monster hills than anyone else.

Upon return from BRMA, I was headed to Minneapolis to learn more about a peer norming model for dealing with young adult alcohol abuse, then a big family trip to Ithaca New York to see Greg and John (senior brother in law and spouse) and then visit New York City.

Things happen in slow motion and they happen very quickly. I remember feeling the rear end of the bike coming around and realizing that I was not going to make the curve and saying, out loud "ooooh, nooooooooo!." Then I remember being on my face in the tall grass, feeling a lot of blook gushing from my nasal area, and realizing that my back hurt badly. I also remember wiggling toes and fingers and feeling pretty good that they wiggled back.

Two of of the boys were behind me and went right by me, since I flew quite a way over my handlebars and was not visible from the road. I crawled to the road and used the phone in my fanny pack to tell my pals they were going to have to ride back over two hills to come find me. Didn't take them long either. Keith took a good look, called 911 and said "we're going to get you a ride." We all decided I should lie down again.

The folks from the local ambulance service came out and quickly summmoned a helicopter. The sherriff said I did not smell like beer. This is because it was bloody hot out there and I was one big metabolizing boy. I mentioned "good insurance" and they were all over that helicopter. No one wanted to be the first to move me.

Life flight to Madison was claustrophobic and someone said somehting about a torn lung which didn't help. I was just panicking at the time, trying to get air, and people had all kinds of stuff in my face. I knew my lungs were okay, or was pretty sure, but couldn't talk to anyone about it. All I could see was an air vent overhead. They did give me some very good drugs on the 'copter.

At Madison, they did about 300 CT scans and an MRI, mostly without pain meds. All you guys who snoozed through Lamaze class and didn't learn to breathe through pain, you have only yourselves to blame. Best class I ever took. The verdict:

C 1 - the section of your spine that connects to your head - fractured and intact.
T2, T3 - spine behind your heart, between your shoulder blades - smooshed. These bad boys will be fused.
Fosset fracture of the facial region - means that my face was broken all sorts of ways and kind of mashed in.

My friend Geof describes this all in terms of "crumple zones" to protect the brain. My face took it, and my spine took it, so my brain can still function.

While all this diagnostic work was going on, everyone in the Central Wisconsin area was busy getting into worse trauma than me. I mean really, how does a middle aged bike accident compete with an SUV full of boy scouts? Poor little fellas with their futures ahead of them, lying strewn all over the Emergency suite trying not to die. I on the other hand, was perfectly stable (miserable, and stable), a redundant baby boomer recreationalist taking up space. Bottom line, after 10 hours of surgery my spinal dude made me wait a day. A 97 hour, flat on the back, thank God U Madison nurses are beautiful day.

Spinal surgery on Monday was a trip. Because no one was totally sure what the damage was to C1, which is pretty damned important connection, I got to be intibated while awake. Now this is something I don't recommend. It's all about not gagging when the nice man puts a tube down your airway. Counerintuitive to say the least. It took a while, and he was very patient.

My neurosurgeon, Dr. Sillay, is a very nice man and really seemed to know what he was doing. What impressed me is the degree to which he was truly "winging it." You don't know what things really look like until you're "in there." It's all about position. Once I was unconscious, they screwed into my skull and suspended me face down so that I was absolutely fixed in place. They monitored my brain and nerve function throughout the procedure, which took about 6.5 hours. Apparently the monitoring did not always indicate good news. At one point I was not responding well. When I awoke in recovery, Robyn told me my toes were wiggling! I remember none of that. I remember the next day, though, when they took the intibation out, looking at my wiggly toes over and over again. Wiggly fingers, too!

Thanks to Katie and the Crawley sisters for the visit, plant (Bromeliad!), and good wishes. Sorry I was such a zombie.

The day after surgery I was a star. I walked and talked and demonstrated my happiness that I could walk and talk! We decided to get back home and then arranged for the facial reconstructive surgery in Iowa City. My friends located the best plastic surgeon in the area and we set up a consult for Friday morning. I was discharged on a Thursday morning and Robyn drove me home. I don't recommend riding in a car as part of post-op rehab. We got me into bed and then bright and early Friday, off to UI we went to see the plastic surgeon, who I want to call Lambert. This turned out to be an all day thing, and I was just NOT on enough pain meds. Ow!

Next day Dr. Lambert re-wired my face. Yikes! The good news is that I'm solid and that this will heal. Bad news? No way can a fella eat like this. I'm constantly trying to get food in and it just doesn't on-load that fast. I'm losing weight like, well like a guy with his jaw wired shut! It's also hard to enounciate. This involves peeling my lips back from the wiring and then talking with parts of one's mouth that are "inside" the wire. A little like ventriloquism, maybe. I was a little worried that I'd just not be able to breathe inside here, but it's working pretty well. I'm learning to slam protein shakes and smoothies. I can also still drink coffee. Yay. Coffee.

I am having to learn to be glib. I need to choose a phrase and get it said during the small window of opportunity that may arise when someone can hear me. I suspect I won't be working much until I can get my jaw loose.

At any rate, that's what it's like in here and where I'm at physically. I think there's enough information here to catch most folks up and to serve as a springboard for further musings. It's not the physical stuff that is really messing with my head at this point. What a surprise!