Life back

Eons and eons ago, I was moving out of the house I shared with my first wife Nancy. We married very young, she and I, and I was certainly the more extroverted one. Nancy went along for the ride for a while, taking on my interests and generally subsuming her personality in favor of mine. She was a Polish Catholic girl from Niles and this is what you did, as far as she knew.

Since I am prone to center of the Universe behavior, and was REALLY that way at 23, I didn't really notice or catch on to this dynamic. (And there was a good deal more to this, really. I'm simplifying history here. Nancy's family was monumentally scarred by alcoholism and traumas that Nancy only ever hinted at.) As time went by, we grew far apart, having little in common in the first place and things got more and more negative between us. Nancy initiated the divorce discussion, but in the end it was I who moved out, and our discussions continued after.

"I feel like I've got my life back," she announced. I was probably sarcastic about it, since I hadn't knowingly stolen her life and didn't know enough about young women to understand. There was enough collateral damage that I had my own wounds to lick.

Nancy took her own life a couple years ago. Her life, for what it's worth, didn't improve for long. She married a guy we both knew (a friend of ours attended the wedding and wore black, she was so pessimistic about the match), and they had a couple children - a boy and a girl. Eventually she and her husband divorced, but not before he held the children hostage at gunpoint and got the state involved in their lives. Nancy was a very self-conscious, almost paranoid person and I'm sure she was horrified. After her sister died, of years of MS, she said goodnight and apparently took pills she had in her purse. She left her son, estranged from her by all accounts, and a daughter.

As I drove to Iowa City yesterday morning to see my clients (a pleasure as well as a second job) the sun was shining and the last of the leaves were showing their color. I sipped my coffee and listened to music, reveling in my relatively new-found ability to travel independently, and feeling little if any back pain. It's been a long summer and now with the crisp air comes the easing of our burdens, our ability to again look at something like enrichment, something other than survival. And I knew then, how Nancy felt in that time she became more independent and before she saddled herself with an even worse relationship than the one we shared.

"I have my life back," I said, to no one, to everyone, and to Nancy, wherever her troubled soul now lies. I hope, for a while, she felt as good about it as I do.

Saturday night bachache reverie

I'm thinking of my friend tonight who has buried his father, his mother and now his aunt in rapid succession, and who after returning from his aunt's funeral related that he was "beat from a long week (actually years) of mourning," and has disappeared from radar.

I know where he is. He's hunkered down wrestling with that dark inertia that descends on us as we face entropy and know with certainty that it's a matter of time, really. He's chasing everyday life and not looking over his shoulder for the next wave of sadness.

He is, as we will all be unless we pass away before our parents, an orphan. My Aunt Peg said to me after her older sister died "she was the only one left who knew me from the start." A lot of us are these days, orphans, that is. Mom still recognizes me and that is some recompense, but its not really her. We're writing our own histories now, the keepers of the past.

Yesterday I labored over files and to day I helped move a couple chairs and tonight I ache. A wise woman who had a similar trauma to mine said that her pain was her reminder that it's good to be alive. It's my reminder that I'm free again from the confines of invalidism, driving, working, playing a little, and at the end of the day nursing my aches and pains, and glad to have them.

When I had surgery for my fractured face, the surgeon was concerned that I might aspirate into my wired mouth after surgery and either die or aspirate or gross everybody out. My friend organized time off for Robyn and a host of friends to sit by me and then went home, got sick and fell asleep. Didn't come back for his second shift. Left me a text message. Didn't call the our other grumpy friend who felt particularly awkward sitting there with me in a gown, my ass hanging out, taking a dump in the bathroom and him having to listen. I was wishing everyone would just leave at that point and didn't get it. Grumpy friend was disgusted and suggested it was the same old shit, not following through.

That's not the point, though. The point is that I might have died and my friends were afraid for me. That someone would panic over my passing and try to organize me to safety is a beautiful thing. To realize that the crisis is over and fuck up a few details is a small thing.

Love is love. Brush it off and get on with it.

Dog day

Tye has a number of jobs, but his main job is getting you to throw things so that he can catch them. He will do this at any time and under any conditions, with any item handy. His favorite item to get you to throw is his chipmunk.

The chipmunk is a stuffed pet toy, sufficiently realistic, except that real chipmunks are not covered with dog saliva. It occurs in pet stores, and, if you visit Thompsonville, your lap. If you pick it up and fling it away in horror, the games have begun.

Here are various shots of Tye doing what makes him happiest. Happier than humping. Happier than eating out of the sink. Happier than cheese off the counter.
















































Caitlin took all these pictures. Good girl!

Again, my son will question my masculinity

. . . but that's the way it goes. I wanted to get close up pictures of the rose of sharon blossoms last year but there were japanese beetles all over them, munching happily. This year I learned if you put out bug bags with attractant you get bugs from miles away migrating to your yard. More than you could ever catch in bags because it's a sexual pheremone.

I took a really cool picture of a japanese beetle last year, much to the disgust of my brother in law, Greg, who views them as the enemy. Even one's enemy can be attractive. Anyway, since they are not so horny, there are fewer of them this year, which is a blessing.

There's a little robber fly in this one. This fly is colored like a bee, but not really shaped that way. This must work for him. We are not always what we seem and this is usually a survival strategy. I seem to be a harmless middle aged man, so there you go. My goal is to be increasingly less harmless.

I'm well. I have a new non-narcotic pain reliever, which is nonetheless an opioid, and helped me get some stuff done today even though my back began rebelling early. I'm not sure what I did yesterday, other than see two new clients. There isn't a one to one correspondence between when I exert and when I have aches and pains. It was manageable today with a light dose and Wikipedia says this stuff isn't addictive except at the maximum dose, which I am nowhere near. Most of the time Tylenol 500s work well. I helped get the house clean and did some shopping and took little breaks and it all got done. This is more than I can say for my macho son who has done absolutely nothing we have asked him to do today, claiming fatigue. I'm an asshole dad so I suggested that he was too exhausted to do anything with anyone including the Xbox and he seemed to begin to move. It's looking like rain and I don't think the lawn is going to get mowed. Nor is his laundry going to get done or his room clean. His grounding will last until tomorrow when there's probably something he'll want to do. So it goes. Yelling at him doesn't make me feel better and still doesn't get the job done.

Rose O' Sharon was a character in the Grapes of Wrath. She nursed a dying man after her infant died as the family rode from Oklahoma to California, the promised land during the depression. These days there's no place to migrate to, except perhaps Alaska and I don't believe they are promising anything there.

I'd actually really enjoy mowing the lawn. It was one of the jobs I found satisfying, along with shoveling the snow. I liked being strong. Picking up rocks and making walls and shoveling holes and planting things. It has been strange to be weak, anemic. Atrophy has been almost alarming at times. Nowadays, I'm gaining my strength and can see progress. It's easier to have pain when one can see a progression. Robyn's back pain isn't like that and I'm noticing the difference. At some point I suppose I'll come to the conclusion that, in the words of the sage Jack Nicholson, this is "as good as it gets."

I suppose it won't be good enough.

Tough.

Flying dogs observed in Iowa

Caitlin took this picture of Tye doing his favorite "job." His rule is that he must catch the chipmunk before it hits the ground. Dogs have rules. Don't think they don't. Not bad for a nine year old dog.

Speaking of old dogs, I am feeling a lot better. Back on the campus at work, I'm walking a lot and climbing a lot of stairs and feeling the "burn" less and less. Running will be entirely another matter, but the first day back when I took the stairs I felt like I'd run a few miles. Now they just feel like stairs.

What I'm experiencing these days is more of an ache than a pain. I resort to the "big" drugs at night, but during the day, my aches are very manageable. On days when I "work out" more, I feel more achy at night and I understand that is to be expected. I have the "advantage" of knowing how it feels when all the surgeon's good work comes unglued, and this definitely does NOT feel like that. It feels like progress. I wear my lighter brace as little as possible: when in the car or when doing back intensive tasks such as vacuuming.

I go back to Madison for CT scans and a final pronouncement on October 8th. I expect to go get my license and be back on the road again. It's time. It will be wonderful to have some more independence. My Iowa City caseload is filling up and I'll need more flexibility. The Corps Members will be arriving on campus in a few weeks and we'll be hopping. I'd like to get going with some physical therapy so that I can look left and right without the "full torso pivot" move. I'm not sure how well I'll ever be able to look up. It may be a bend-at-the-waist deal from here on out. We'll see.

Our family is falling back into a more normal routine. Autumn has us in its grasp, getting us back to routine and nudging us with shorter days, foggy mornings, and crisp air. It's good to be alive, active, to wiggle my toes. It's good to value our lives and the good things we do. As I drove to Wisconsin in June I felt I was getting away from the grind of my life. I guess I sure as Hell was.

Having fought like Hell to get my life back, I hope I don't forget how much it's worth.

Merry gold

I have a great little photo shareware program called Gimp that I'm half way learning to use. I still haven't figured out to do what I set out to do but this one turned out okay. The morning glory was psychedelic all by itself.

The Infectious Disease Clinic at UW called me today to let me know that my labs are normal. This means that I no longer have to wolf down antibiotics for the first time since June. They're going to test me again in a few weeks after no antibiotics and see if seratia has been hiding out and has started growing again. Dr. Mejicano is wily and knows all their sneaky tricks.

It is cool and a little sticky out. The corn is turning brown at the edges and you can hear it rustle now in a breeze. The cicadas are keening, louder and louder in waves and then dying out again. For a moment, everything is just as it should be.

Morning Glory

I went out to get the paper the other morning and in the middle of the worst of our grass, right down by the curb where all the sand and salt ends up, was a single morning glory.

I got great news in Madison and can now wear my lighter brace or no brace at all depending on my level of activity and on how I feel. Range of motion is a really wonderful thing. I'm miserably stiff and inflexible, particularly my neck. Because my spine is now bent forward, I think I'm having to hold my head up with somewhat different muscles. At any rate the muscles currently engaged were complaining mightily of overwork yesterday.

I've learned that the aches come and go and I can feel myself getting stronger as I "pay" for yesterday's exertion. An ache is certainly better than the sensations I was experiencing in June, or in July for that matter, when complications were arising.

Our friend and sister Katie suggests the pain is a reminder of how good it is to be alive. The man in the Army commercial says pain is the sensation of weakness leaving your body. These days for me an ache or pain is the fee for more freedom and normalcy. I got to sit in a small town bar and look pretty much like the other humans. We were early for a wedding and there were puppies on the floor and children beginning to tantrum because their parents were on beer number two and you know what that means. We enjoyed our drinks and speculated with the bartender about which local wedding we were attending. No one during the entire visit asked what happened to me. I got eye contact!

The young adults are returning to our campus at work. They are full of energy and critical analysis, humor and fun. There's going to be lots of work to do and my motivation is much higher to get my training materials written and polished. Now I have my audience and don't want to disappoint them.


We are bent but we are no longer broken. Knitting together, we piece ourselves into place.

We work to straighten ourselves as we walk and we keep ourselves tidy, the better to be clean and dignified.

To walk along the street and be unremarkable is a piece of luck, not a right. I am lucky enough to have a few upright miles remaining, before I order my online scooter, place a carafe of martinis in the bag, and roll toward the sunset, leaving only a little dust, and a faint whirring noise.