Sunday, October 30, 2016

Chicks Dig Scars

The irony is not lost on me. The first 35+ years of my life were idly spent without any sincere form of fitness. While there was a definitely a good degree of happiness involved in many of those years, most of my 30s consisted of a slow spiral of deterioration mixed with a hybrid dose of depression plus personal disappointment.

Flat forward to today. And my mood apparently sours after just five days without some form of fitness. (Aided by the soreness of crutches rubbing against uncushioned ribs, the Good Leg cramping from beating the burden of the Bad Leg, and the constantly uncertainty of when any form of serious activity is even possible again.)

Yes, yes. A large glass of White Whine. Remember the good news:
Still have the foot. Clean bill of health. Road to recovery. This too shall pass.
Got it. Cheering up. As we speak. Much better now. Thanks!

Fortunately, the weekend hasn't been a total loss. Spent a great deal of time catching up on digital projects. Watched several entertaining movies based on Marvel graphic novels. Had plenty of time with the family. The house is the cleanest it has been in many moons. And almost the whole week of meals has been prep'ed. So whilst depression has been looming on the horizon, productivity has been rampant.

For the gluttons out there, a SMALL photo from today's "Airing of the Wound" has been attached. Not my intention to disturb anyone, but several folks have expressed interest. The main concern right now is keeping everything sealed and letting the minor gap in the middle of the excised area to close. Each day has shown an improvement.

The current thinking is: continue to keep everything immaculately clean, continue to avoid any weight-bearing activities by using the crutches, and hope the "boot" arrives soon. In the meanwhile, IronNerd is hopping around (poorly) resisting the urge to complain.

Skin graft? No. Physical therapy? Probably not. Scar? Probably so. But, to borrow from my old friend Evel Knievel: Bones heal, and chicks dig scars.

Friday, October 28, 2016

Wounded Or Not

Wounded or not, IronNerd's work is never done. Today's adventures included: hoisting a DHCP service to replacing those lost by a dying router, swapping a UPS that didn't need to be swapped, ordering a 220v outlet at the last possible hour, and scrounging for nearly a dozen network ports on switches that had no holes to fill. The project comes to fruition on Monday. If it goes well, there will be more of them along the same line. If it doesn't go well... ...let's agree that it will go well.

Rest this weekend. Visit The Parents. Prep meals for the coming week. Hopefully heal. And then back in the saddle on Monday. One way or another.

Thursday, October 27, 2016

Liam At The Crossroads

Liam visited the Crossroads today. Rosedale, Mississippi. Where Robert Johnson sold his soul to The Devil. Exchanged it briefly for musical genius.

 Man sitting off to the side of the road on a log at the crossroads says, “You’re late, Robert Johnson.” Robert Johnson drops to his knees and says, “Maybe not.”

Whirlwind tour for Liam & The Blue Notes: Rosedale, Tunica, Memphis. Cotton fields. A juke joint. Grave sites. Historic grocery stores. Lonely back roads. All too present in the thick social airs of Mississippi. Some things never change. Not down here. Time doesn't touch us in certain places.

Liam's goup passed a sign commemorating the site where 14yr old Emmett Till's body was pulled from the river. The sign was riddled with bullet holes. And never repaired. Sadness and hate in a long embrace. 21st century and this is how we show our respect. How we come together as a culture and try to overcome stereotypes. Or do we just wear these scars a little too proudly? Some things never change. And we wonder why The Aliens won't talk to us?

But hopefully Liam and his generation can leave behind such petty differences. Learn from the mistakes of all our previous generations. Start new, productive conversations. And maybe he strike one up with a higher intelligence, one my generation was willing, or able, to meet.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Procedure Du Jour

Yes, yes. The Procedure Du Jour. But you must suffer through my telling of it!

 0530 - Up with with two women (My Bride & The Girl) who did not wish to be up at 0530 and dealing with the woes of Your Humble Narrator.

0600 - The Girl is deposited at Her Grandmother's House, where she ponders the universe from a 14yr old's perspective, and waits to be dropped off at High School while My Bride continue to drive the two of us to Memorial for The Procedure.

0700 - Admitted to Pre-Op Whereupon a scrub-festooned army of different nurses randomly visit for the next two hours. Your Humble Narrator figured it was to argue over who was to do the sponging, later. But it turned out to be formalities such as: Do you have any dentures or piercings? When is the last time you ate? (Which was asked at least five times!) Are you allergic to anything? (Just pain...) Who will make medical decisions for you in the event that you are not able to? And can I get you a blanket, or anything? (Since they are apparently required to keep the Surgical Unit at the precise temperature that begins to slow your heartbeat, without throwing you into full blown hypothermia!) Oh yeah, at some point, one of the Inquisitors came through and decided their lovely veins on my arm were not as lovely as the veins on the back of my hand and put the IV in there.

0900 - Wheeled into OR4. Slid me onto a separate, much colder bed, removed my glasses and placed an antiseptic-smelling mask over my face in one very ninja-like movement, and plunged me into darkness after only twice saying, "Smooth deep breaths." The rest was silence.

1000 - Or thereabouts - The high tides retreat and Your Humble Narrator's brain comes up for its own air. Felt decidedly hung over for the first few minutes as Arthur ("Call me Art") asks "How are you doing?" and takes my vital signs every 74 seconds. After the fifth rotation of questions and vitals, my eyes are able to stay open as the dizziness from the Anesthesia  Hangover has subsided and my answers likely become more coherent and less pseudo vulgar.For the next hour, the excitement continues to mount. First one of my neighbors goes into anaphylactic shock and  is hit with multiple unsuccessful syringes of epinephrine before they re-sedate her and wheel her off to the ICU.Then a new neighbor is brought in, after receiving "back surgery." As his brain wakes up, it decides that combat is called for. Immediate combat! His body responds by kicking off the sheets, to the shock and awe of his nurse (Bart (Yes, that was his name!)) And when The Combatant decides to start at the various lines and tubes cleverly plugged into him, my nurse ("Call me Art") leaps into action to support the embattled Nurse Bart. Being the most lucid patient on the unit certainly had its advantages and thankfully no additional aid was required for me. Because none was available. But the free entertainment helped pass the time.

1100 - Back to the Pre-Op, where My Bride awaited.......patiently. (*rimshot*) My doctor had already left instructions for future care. An impressively strong prescription was ordered. Additional wraps put in place as soon my first attempt at standing resulted in a trickle of blood being released from the initial wraps. The Mandatory Itchy & Flimsy Gown was removed, to replaced by Nerd Approved street clothes. And then the long Wheel Chair Ride of Shame back to our car.

1200 - Stopped to be measured for a "brace" that won't arrive for 7 - 10 days later.

1300 - Home again. Without a skin graft. And surprisingly NOT in any form of pain or discomfort. But quite hungry, having not eaten all day.

And that, My Friends, concludes The Procedure Du Jour. Further updates will be provided as they become available. Including unfiltered commentary about the lack of fitness which will follow...

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

A Last Supper

Stupid procedure tomorrow. 0630. Broad excision around Ye Ol Aberration on the left ankle. Should be a lot of fun. Including the anesthesia. Nothing quite like another human taking full responsibility for your breathing while another take a knife to you! There's always a risk of complications with THAT process, by itself. (Flashback to my Grandfather's botched anesthesia!)

So Cindy took me to The 27th Avenue Burger Bar, for a last supper. Just in case. Your Humble Narrator ordered The Woodsman, which is a venison burger topped with foie gras, caramelized onions, local salt-cured bacon strips, and a fried egg. Along with a side of Parmesan fries. My Bride partook of the Crabby Patty & Chips.

Washed it down with a couple of Not Your Father's Rootbeers. Discussed the Rap/Gospel fusion as well as random hookers that plagued me at the Roach Motel during my early months in Atlanta as well and the Legendary Ghost Pimp.Great food and a great time with The Beloved. If tomorrow is my last day, tonight was a good night for A Last Supper.

Monday, October 24, 2016

Before Bed

Whatever you do, DO NOT experiment with your Training Mask before you go to bed!!! There won't be much sleep involved! And stray thoughts will be bouncing off the inside of your skull like Ricochet Rabbit! Prescription for insomnia right there. Trust me. Here there be monsters. Definitely not one of my smarter moves and it won't be repeated in the future.

(But the mask is an interesting tool, if you use it correctly (and during the proper time!))