A Medical "Procedure" Sniffles, Knee Pain, Depression, Movies and the Brothers Marx All in One Short Post

Duck Soup

I had an endoscopy on Wednesday. (An endoscopy is a procedure used in medicine to look inside the body. The endoscopy procedure uses an endoscope to examine the interior of a hollow organ or cavity of the body. Unlike many other medical imaging techniques, endoscopes are inserted directly into the organ.) They put me to sleep then stuck a tube down my throat which took photos and did biopsies. That it can do a biopsy blows my mind. Modern medicine. The procedure took about twenty minutes. I was at the medical enter for a little bit over two hours. The first thirty minutes of which I was occupied with filling out forms and yakking with my wife who’d kindly accompanied me. She’s aces.

With insurance the visit and procedure set me back $100. That’s with medical insurance. Without insurance the cost would have been prohibitive and I’d have had to taken my chances that nothing was amiss.

Thursday was Juneteenth so I had an extra day to relax. It wasn’t the happiest day of my life. I’ve had a horrible case of the sniffles with constant sneezing and a nose running like the Colorado River after a monsoon. No other symptoms. I was also wracked with depression, a particularly bad case. Depression can be like a terrible pain that has no discernible source, it’s just there beating the hell out of you. On top of the sniffles and the blues I have a pain in my right leg that seems centered around my knee. I don’t know what it is or where it came from. It’s been around for a few days but yesterday was the first time it really bothered me. Calling the doctor later.

I wiled the day away with movies, reading and naps. Wednesday after I got home from the “procedure” was the same. I watched Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) Lean. I hadn’t seen it in I’ve no idea how long but I know I’ve seen it a lot because throughout the movie in addition to knowing what was about to happen I knew what lines were about to be said — verbatim. It’s quite a remarkable film in many ways. I remember as a kid I thought it had the coolest ending ever. Oh the irony! (I was precocious when it came to irony.) But the key to the film is William Holden. He can turn a good movie into a great one. No one has ever been a better or more affable cynic. 

In the evening the missus and I finished Dept. Q on Netflix. What a terrific show. Matthew Goode played against type starring as the angry, troubled but brilliant detective.

Thursday I watched The Big Trail (1930) Walsh. Much of the acting is wooden and uninteresting, especially from the lead, one John Wayne in his first starring role, but it is an otherwise amazing film shot in widescreen (yes, in 1930!) on location. It looks nothing like other films of the era. It surely gives you a feel for what life on a real wagon train must have looked like. It’s got everything but the smells. A remarkable achievement well ahead of its time.

With the depression weighing on me in the evening I did the best I could to withstand it by watching the greatest comedy of all time Duck Soup (1933) McCarey. To suggest that they don’t make comedies like that anymore is a massive understatement. It’s only a shame that I’ve watched it so many times that I know the gags by heart. Imagine watching the mirror scene for the first time! I remember that when I did watch it for the first time as a child I thought it was magical, surreal and hilarious and utterly wonderful. Same with the stateroom scene in A Night at the Opera. Duck Soup was the last film the brothers Marx made before Irving Thalberg Hollywoodized them by adding sappy songs and boring love stories. The first of those films was the afore-mentioned Night at the Opera which ranks right behind Duck Soup, Horsefeathers, Monkey Business and Animal Crackers as among their best work. The subsequent films pale in comparison.

Okay so I started this Friday morning before heading off to work and I finish it now on Saturday morning. The sniffles persist but are not nearly so bad, the knee pain has also abated somewhat but clearly I need to have it checked out. I’m assuming that the doctor’s office will return my call sometime Monday. I guess they’re too understaffed to return patients’ calls. God forbid I had an emergency. The depression is gone — for now — but it lurks and one never knows when it will next strike. It’s a right bastard.

Going for a long walk in a bit. May accidentally swing by a bookstore. These things happen.

I Discuss a Recent Illness and Coin a New Word But Beware Phlegm is Mentioned

I’m on day six of a cold. It feels like week six of a cold. Having been a teacher for 38 years (God, that’s a long fucking time) I’m well used to having colds and going about my daily business, including teaching, while in the throes. Colds are like depressions in the sense that when you’re absorbed in teaching you can forget about them. Oh sure occasionally you have to stop and sneeze or blow your honker or cough into your sleeve but those are momentary distractions. As long as the cold doesn’t make your throat too raspy you can carry on. Then you get home and collapse on the sofa. Cold naps can be pretty deep. Waking from them you get this odd feeling of being refreshed and especially groggy (I know, it doesn’t make any sense to me either, but there it is).

One of the features of the cold is coughing up phlegm. For me this happens more towards the end of the cold. It’s not so bad if you’re outside because you can spit it out right away. But being a good citizen I send it in a direction that is not going to be especially visible. No one wants to see your gob. Of course if you’re in teaching you have to discreetly spit your gob into a tissue. (Has this been detailed enough for you? Found it interesting?) Your throat and sinuses feel cleaned out after a good gob of phlegm is ejected. Kind of like how your nose can feel after a particularly satisfying blow. But then the snot comes back. Where the hell does it come from?

Speaking of questions….Couldn’t we have come up with a better name for a cold? For one thing the word is already in use to describe the opposite of hot. (Pause while the writer does a bit of a google to seek an alternative name.)

I googled scrump but it’s a word that can be used to describe something that is “shriveled or cooked to a crisp.” Next I tried snorf but it means “to force air through the nose with a harsh sound, or to express anger, scorn, or surprise.” The whole point is to invent a word so that the condition of having a sore throat, sniffles and a low grade fever has it’s own name.  Next I tried blunk but in Scottish dialect it means to “ruin, mismanage, or spoil.” (Clearly this is more difficult than I thought.) 

Porbel is the name of a company. Gluch is a village in Poland. Skozzer is some sort of game. Blump describes something really boring. (Like this blog post?)

Success at last! Carnfaffle! We can say: I had a terrible carnfaffle last week. Or, Bob is coming down with a carnfaffle. Or, starve a carnfaffle, feed a fever. Or, will they ever develop a cure for the common carnfaffle?

So there you go ladies and gentlemen I hereby declare that colds will henceforth be referred to as carnfaffles. The Oxford University Press recently proclaimed “brain rot” as the word of the year (I call bullshit, brain rot is TWO words). Fair enough. But you’ve already got your word for 2025: carnfaffle.

Moving on…..

I just stepped out to get the morning paper. There are few people about at this hour (it’s about ten of seven) so it’s rare that I encounter anyone when stepping out for the paper or to move the bins on trash and recycling and compost pick up day. But a chap walked right by this AM. I’m not ready for people so early in the day but especially not this bloke. He was a young skinny fellow with a handlebar mustache. I need to have been up for at least a couple of hours before seeing anyone with a handlebar mustache. It’s simply too much to take in early in the day. If I — heaven forbid — ever decided to sport this type of facial hair, I’d avoid mirrors until mid day. Maybe all day. But to each their own I say. (Come to think of it, don’t all but the most virulent bigots say, to each their own? Oh I suppose most say to each his own but I’m into the whole feminist and gender fluidity stuff.)

At the outset I believe (why doesn’t he go back and check?) I noted that the cold — sorry, the carnfaffle — that has been bugging me is in abeyance. The nice thing about getting over a minor illness is how damn good it feels to be normal again. You practically feel better for having had a week or so of sniffles and hacking cough. Of course that's not the case with the flu or something else more serious when there can be a longer recovery time and the rebuilding of strength. But with a carnfaffle (nee cold) I get back to a hundred per cent pretty quickly. 

Okay so I wrote all of the preceding yesterday and the day before (I’ve been busy with other things, ya know). The carnfaffle is all but gone now. I’ll be blowing my nose several times through the course of the day but my throat is just fine, thank you, and the achiness and whatnot are gone. I hated the whatnot. I’d go to the gym today but I have a haircut scheduled for right after work and a basketball game to go to tonight Tomorrow the gym. Recovered. 

Be careful y’all it’s carnfaffle and flu season.

A Partial Transcript from a Recent Gathering; Grizzly Man, Say Goodbye, Joe; and a Health Update

A grizzly bear.

Hi nice to see you. Everyone gather around, there are plenty of seats. If you haven’t already done so, fill out a name tag. There are refreshments in the back including vegan donuts and gluten free cookies. I thought we’d start by going around and introducing ourselves. Say your name, where you’re from and a little about what you hope to get from today’s gathering.

You in the Tyrolean hat and lederhosen, why don’t you go first?

My name is Fritz. I am from Kennebunkport, Maine. I hope to embark on a journey of self-discovery that will lead to a fuller understanding of the universe.

Very good. How about you, young lady in the pretty pink chiffon dress?

I’m Myrtle Hossenfeather and I’m from Minot, South Dakota. I’m mainly here for the cookies — they’re delicious. But I’d also like to unlock life’s mysteries.

Great, I’m sure you will.

You, sir, on the stilts. 

You can call me Hoagy. I’m a soothsayer from Hay-on-Wye in Wales. I’m mostly here to meet people but I also hope to explore the inner depths of my psyche — if that makes sense.

It sure does.

How about you, the naked woman. No, the one sitting next to the potted plant.

You can call me Pippa. I’m from the Danish royal family. I came here to see how commoners think and speak and also to maybe meet a man for purposes of dating and romance.

See me after the first session, Pippa. 

We’re going to need to get started soon so let’s meet one more person for now and then proceed to the first activity.

How about you, Luther. We’ve met before but why don’t you introduce yourself to the group?

Yeah, hi, so as you heard my name is Luther. I’m an alien originally from Uranus — no jokes please, I’m kind of sensitive about it. But I’m here as part of my ongoing efforts to seize total and complete power over all living beings on this planet.

Good luck with that Luther. Okay let’s everyone pair off, if we don’t have an even number it’s okay to have one group of three. I see a problem already, all you men can’t partner with Pippa, that’s it, whoever was sitting next to her….

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I re-watched the documentary Grizzly Man (2005) Herzog the other day. It’s the story of Timothy Treadwell who spent his summers among the bears of the Alaskan wilderness until one finally killed and ate him and his girlfriend in October 2003.

It was an inevitable, if tragic ending for someone who crossed the invisible line separating man from wild beast. To his credit Treadwell’s regular presence among the bears did much to protect them from poachers and raise awareness of the bears. He filmed his encounters with bears who for the most part steered clear of this strange human. And strange he was. This is best understood by watching the film or at least excerpts of it. There’s plenty of him on you tube. This is a very good example. 

I love bears. They’re my favorite wild animal. I enjoy watching videos of bears. They come in a variety of sizes and colors. Some have long snouts, some short ones. Some are aggressive, some are timid. Some are scary as hell, some look cuddly. I saw one in the wild once, but that was from the safety of a moving train in Finland. I’d love to see a bear again, but only from a safe distance. I do not want to see one in a zoo. I don’t like zoos. 

In Grizzly Man there is an Alaskan who decries the late Mr. Treadwell and suggests that he had what was coming. This is one of those idiots who disdains conversationist, tree-huggers and liberals in general. Fuck that guy. While Treadwell went too far and perhaps even suffered from some sort of psychosis, his heart was most certainly in the right place and while his story was ultimately a tragic one, it was also that of a person who lived up to certain principles and did much to help some of our fellow creatures. (He also befriended some foxes who seemed most amiable to being treated like pets especially enjoying the being petted aspect.)

Grizzly Man is a study of a particular -- and peculiar -- man as much as it is about bears. Werner Herzog was the perfect director to make the documentary having the proper sensibilities.

Treadwill and his girlfriend's horrific deaths were recording by Treadwell's ubiquitous camera but only the audio as the lens cap was on. Herzog listens to the tape of their dying moments and relates to an old friend of Treadwell's who owns the tape, that this is something no one should ever listen to. We are told that the woman is attacked first and that on the tape one can hear her screams and Treadwell's entreaties to the Bear to go away. They landed on deaf ears.

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As I write this President Joe Biden might be contemplating stepping aside and discontinuing his re-election campaign. Let’s hope this happens. Bless Joe, he did a fine job and the country owes him a debt — if for nothing else, because he beat Trumpy in the 2020 election. But he looks and sounds old and his debate performance made clear that he’s not up to the rigors of a campaign and it’s very doubtful that he could successfully serve even half of a second term. Unbelievably Trumpy is ahead in the polls (Americans do love a felon and habitual liar and cheat who is raging incompetent and doesn’t even began to understand the constitution.) If Biden drops out soon momentum can build around another candidate, likely Kamala Harris. Joey B is not inspiring anyone these days. Another Democratic candidate likely would, if for no other reason because she or he was not an old, old white man who was destined to lose. We want some hope because another Trumpy term would be apocalyptic. What a strange country this is that has so many millions of people who revere a narcissist like Trumpy term. Is the U.S. just full of incredibly stupid, gullible people? Now that I pose that question I see that the obvious answer is: yes. 

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Checking in time. I’ve been fine. Had several days of back pain. The day that ended I was hit with a couple of days of knee pain. I’ve since had a couple of days of no pain. Don’t know what caused either the back or knee aches other than perhaps the fact that I’m aging (aren’t we all?). I remember that in his eighties and nineties whenever I asked my father how he was doing he often complained of having various aches and pains. Something for me to look forward to, I suppose. But despite it all my overall health seems excellent. I’m about to head to the gym. I walked nearly five miles in “running” errands yesterday. So I’m doing all right. 

The Following is an Overly-Dramatic if Accurate Title: I Come out of Surgery Cancer Free

About a month ago I noted that something was poking out of my nose. Not out of a nostril! That would be gross. The side of the nose. I thought it might be the start of a wart but it was a skinny little thing like a shoot of grass. I did not like it. I also did not like that it was tender to the touch. Wisely I went to my dermatologist so she could have a look-see. She looked, she saw, she did a biopsy. A day later the verdict came (that was fast). Cancer. That sounds quite dramatic and horrible and like staring death in the face. But it was more like a dash of cancer (trying not to be flip here) in a small area that was easily removed. The other side of the universe from the pancreatic cancer that felled two friends of mine. I would require something called Mohs Micrographic Surgery.

The next day I got a call scheduling the surgery for one week from that day. (Yes, this all happened very fast.) Yesterday was the surgery. If I’d blinked I’d have missed it. Literally lasted less than five minutes. The worst part was getting the shot to numb the nose and even that was just a little prick (something I believe I was once called — the little part of the insult was uncalled for). What it seemed the doctor did was to scoop out a tiny part of my nose. The extracted part was then given the once over in a lab that was right across the hall from my surgery. Meanwhile I waited. I finished listening to a podcast then read. It was an hour before the results were known. Cancer gone. Time to stitch me up. I’d been told that sometimes the cancer is not immediately extracted and they have to go in again and sometimes a third of fourth time. Lucky me, I was home a little over three hours after I left.

I now have a huge bandage on my nose which I get to remove tomorrow and replace with a regular tiny bandaid. I have to apply ice every so often to keep swelling down. Tylenol is recommended for pain but I’ve had little of that. I had to take it easy yesterday after I got home and all day today as well. Taking it easy is something at which I’m quite accomplished, so no problem.

Tomorrow I’ll be bouncing around again and Monday I’ll be back at the gym. Friday the stitches come out and it’ll all be forgotten.

I have learned the key to surviving until your 70th birthday and beyond and generally being in fine mettle is the following: good luck. I’ve had plenty. My friends who died of pancreatic cancer did not. So it goes.

It’s been an interesting six months. Getting Covid canceled Christmas for the wife and I. She fell and broke her leg canceling the majority of our planned vacation (all of hers). We’ve both had nasty colds recently. I lost a tooth yesterday and had my nose chopped into. Yet I remain ambulatory with the power of speech and my mental faculties seem intact. My wife’s leg will be completely healed by Summer’s end. Much to look forward to. But I’ve also learned that life is constantly throwing us curveballs. It can be damn annoying but if we’re lucky they only cost us a tiny piece of our nose.

Plans Go Kablooey After a Serious Fall But I'm Soon London Bound

They’re called the best laid plains and it’s said they often go awry. No kidding.

The wife and I were going to fly to London on May 1 and spent five days there. Then we were going to take the train for San Sebastián Spain for a week in this glorious coastal town where we were going to do very little that did not involve either sitting on the beach or eating in one of the city’s many renowned restaurants. From there we were going to return to London stopping for a couple of days in Bordeaux, France on the way. It was all simply too marvelous.

A week ago today everything fell apart as my darling missus fell and broke her kneecap. Our lives were turned upside down. Yesterday I quit my job to stay home and tend to her. My daughters had alternated staying with her since last week but they have careers to return to. My spouse faces a surgery in about a week and then a long rehab. 

The worst of it all is over for her. There was great pain, there was being loopy on pain meds and there was dealing with the fallout from the fall. She’d spent 11 months meticulously planning our vacation including finding just the right places to stay and mapping out our various train journeys. A woman who never has the blues faced horrible pangs of depression especially as she blamed herself for ruining a vacation I’d so looked forward to.

She’s better now.

So am I.

I was mostly crushed about what she faced and the tedium of being mostly bedridden as she is for now. I also felt the loss of the much anticipated trip.

However darling wife has insisted I still go on the beginning portion of the London part of the vacation and see the football (soccer to you, Yanks) match I have a ticket for. I have not yet fully transitioned from disappointment of the upturned vacation to excitement of the bit of it I get to enjoy but I imagine that will come soon enough.

At the emergency room and the orthopedic office I continued to be impressed by health care workers whether it is a nurse, an x-ray technician, an orthopedic surgeon or even a receptionist. They’re lovely people merely for doing the kind of work they do. Especially given that not all their patients are the most charming, patient, erudite of individuals. Waiting rooms can be depressing places.

I also had a medical appointment yesterday. Went in for an ultra sound that revealed that I have a hernia. This was not a surprise given the preliminary exam at my GPs and my own research after discovering a lump in my lower abdomen. It’s small and for now harmless and the feeling is that I should monitor it (while continuing normal activity). If it starts to change in negative ways then I should  perhaps schedule a surgery. The woman who performed the ultra sound was very nice. She put some warm goo on the area (which is not too far from what I’ll refer to as my private parts) then rubbed a doohickey of some sort over it — as was done when my wife was pregnant -- and looked at a monitor which recorded the images. The whole procedure lasted about seven minutes. One of the easier appointments I’ve ever had.

So there you have it. The latest update from your faithful correspondent. More to come in the coming days as I am free from work — and paychecks. More time to write and read and tend to my significant other. What a lovely woman!

Pain, Godland My New Novel and More Oppie, All in One Post!

From "Godland"

Pain hurts.

I’ve had a lot recently owing to a foot infection which stems from the surgery I had last month.

Sharp, biting, stabbing, throbbing pain. It comes suddenly. Sometimes one sharp jolt. Other times waves.

I’m on antibiotics. 

Again.

This is my second round. I was better now it’s back.

Great.

Sometimes I mix the pain with anxiety. At least I’m not currently depressed. Like I was last week. 

If it’s not one thing….

It’s another.

On Friday I taught a class while in excruciating pain. Not optimal. You do get a certain amount of adrenaline and are able to carry on — maybe an occasional wince — and while engaged can ignore the pain. 

Today is much better. I can feel the effected area but so far no jolts. There’ll be some in the course of the day but they’ve been diminishing and I’ll be right as rain soon. One assumes....

Meanwhile the novel is about a month away from being ready to send out to perspective agents and publishers one of whom will surely see it for the best selling classic it is destined to be. 

Here’s a little bit about it: “The Blood of Love is the story of David Trentwood and his great love, Cordelia McKenzie, set against the backdrop of massive social change and political unrest in Berkeley during the 1960s.

It is a kaleidoscopic look at the Sixties, the demonstrations, the counter culture, sex, drugs and rock and roll. It invokes the spirit and passion of the time as characters explore new found freedoms and take to the streets to protest the Vietnam War. David is at once a witness and a participant. The story is told in his voice which is fresh, irreverent yet sophisticated. David’s story is told as it happened, unfolding for the reader as it did for him. As David says in the book’s foreword: ‘This will be my story but it will also be about those times. Most of the eight years described took place within the crucible of Berkeley, California, then an epicenter of the student movement, a place where the cultural sea changes were always evident.’” Sound good to me....

Watched an extraordinary film yesterday, Godland (Pálmason). It is the best new movie I’ve seen since Drive My Car. Visually stunning replete with the dramatic vistas of Iceland. It is an engrossing story about a priest sent from Denmark to start a parish in the wilds of Iceland. It is man against nature, man against religion, man against man. I believe it was in theaters in the Spring and now it can be found on the Criterion Channel. Don’t know that it’s currently available anywhere else. Pity because it deserves a wide audience.....

Been reading American Prometheus the biography of Robert Oppenheimer that inspired the film currently raking it in at the box office (deservedly so). I enjoy reading about complex characters and Oppie was certainly that. Yes he helped fashion the atomic bomb that so devastated Hiroshima and Nagasaki but he came to abhor his creation and worked towards keeping it from being unleashed again. He was liberal, an ardent anti-fascist before the war who “flirted” with the Community Party. Actually he’s very difficult to label — which is a good thing in a person. He was admirable, deplorable, kind and cruel, progressive, thoughtful and the pioneer of the bomb. He was never dull nor was his life. Amazing character. Brilliant book. 

They Tried to Scam Me Out of $300 and They are Scum, They're Called Berkeley Cardiovascular Medical Group

The Berkeley Cardiovascular Medical Group is a bunch of blood sucking parasites with no morals. Allow me to elaborate.

Last summer I went to my GP as I was experiencing occasional heart palpitations. She referred me to Stanford Health Care which placed a monitor on me for two weeks to record what my ticker was up to.

A few weeks later they called me in for an appointment and I was advised that I should get a pacemaker.

Subsequent to that I got an unsolicited phone call from a doctor with the Berkeley Cardiovascular Medical Group who somehow had gotten a hold of the readings of my heart monitor. I told him that I’d already visited with a doctor from Stanford Medical and a had agreed to have a pacemaker installed. He said that in that case he was offering a second opinion that I should indeed have the procedure. It was a pleasant enough chat of no more than twenty minutes.

All well and good.

In October I had the procedure and am now the proud owner of a hunk of metal in my chest. Joy to the world.

But subsequent to that I got a bill from Berkeley Medical Cardiovascular Group for $320. That was the cost of unsolicited phone conversation. Mind you, thanks to my insurance I paid only $200 for the entire operation in which the pacemaker was installed. And here I was being asked to pony up more than 100% more than that for a phone conversation. And I reiterate that it was not one that I asked for nor for that matter needed.

I suppose it is no surprise that I was shocked and not a bit outraged that a health organization would try to bilk me out of $300 plus. I gave them a call, chatted with someone who I told in no uncertain terms that the bill was ridiculous and I’d not be paying it. I asked to speak with someone who could try to explain the bill to me. 

I did not hear back and assumed that they’d realized their mistake and the charge would disappear. 

Nope.

A month later they sent the bill again. This was truly unbelievable. So I called back, talked to someone about how insane the bill was and asked for a call back from someone in authority. 

Never got one.

Instead, a month after that they sent the bill again. I then made my third and final call. I was told there was no one available who could help me and that I should call in a week or so. I pointed out that this was my third and final call and it was high time they called me back. 

No one ever did.

Time passed and a fourth bill arrived. I mailed it back with the following note:

I have made several attempts to talk to someone about this bill over the phone but no one has called me back. This is my last communication on the matter. If I don’t hear from anyone I’ll simply toss out any future bills sent from you. This outrageous charge is for an unsolicited phone call that lasted less than twenty minutes. It was also superfluous as I was being treated by another doctor with whom I’d scheduled a procedure to install a pacemaker. Incidentally for the surgery I was charged $200. Here I am being asked to pay more than a $100 more for a short phone call made to me that I did not request. You will never see a dime out of me for it. At least I have made the effort to talk to someone.

When two months passed with no word I assumed that they had FINALLY accepted the error of their ways and the matter was settled.

Instead I recently received a notice from a bill collector demanding the $300.

I can only conclude that the people at Berkeley Cardiovascular Group are greedy, money-grubbing monsters who prey on senior citizens and are not above trying any form of chicanery they can conceive of to separate people from their cash.

Imagine how low a medical group has to be to revert to scamming people out of their money. Imagine the guile of supposed health care professionals who have doctors call people and then charge them $300 for the privilege. Why not pick random numbers out of the phone book, call people and then send them a bill? Of course they never called me back. How could they have begun to justify the bill?

Berkeley Cardiovascular Medical Group is beneath contempt. They are soulless cowards who never even attempted to explain the bill they foisted upon me. 

Berkeley Cardiovascular Medical Group tries to take advantage of senior citizen with heart problems. That’s who they are. Scum.

A Detailing of the Minor Surgery I Bravely Endured Yesterday

Yesterday I had minor surgery on my right foot (there are no minor surgeries, only minor surgeons — wait, does that mean that there are surgeons below legal age?). I was at the aptly named Surgery Center for just over three hours. During that time I was out like a light for maybe an hour and a half. As one does while in for surgery I was asked a lot of questions, what is your date of birth? Is a popular one. I guess they don’t want to forget to send me a card on that special day. I was also asked a few times to confirm which foot was to be cut open. Isn’t it more important that they know that? You also get your blood pressure taken a couple of hundred times. When I was overnight for my pacemaker “procedure” My blood pressure was checked with every breath I took. They could just ask, I could tell them it’s fine, it always has been.

Does it sound like I’m complaining? I’m not. Everyone was —despite the repetitive questions — very nice, totally professional and solicitous of my needs. I have — outside the psychiatric community — had universally excellent experiences with medical professionals, most particularly nurses -- the vast majority of whom are saints. 

I awoke from surgery only a little bit loopy (not the cockeyed drunk I seemed to be after the pacemaker business) and in a fine mood ready to greet one and all with a cheery hello, how are you. I was a regular hail-fellow-well-met. There were warnings of possible pain to be experienced in the coming hours and suggestions about over-the-counter pain killers to take but as I write this fifteen hours later and I haven’t felt a thing. The only thing I am feeling is a lack of sleep. I woke up at 2:37 to pee and never got back to sleep. Not even for a minute. This is an extreme rarity for me and it promises to make navigating the day a bit difficult and I’m sure there is a long nap awaiting me in the afternoon.

I’ll manage at work well enough. The crutches will just be for show for the next two days and by Monday I’ll have abandoned them completely. Meanwhile I'll garner some totally unnecessary sympathy and offers to help with small tasks.

The downsides so far have been fasting as I had to do yesterday, doing the hand-held shower thing to avoid getting the foot wet and the fact that I have to wait two weeks before returning to the gym. That’s two weeks if all goes well and I’m insisting that it do, er does.

So I’m delighted to have survived another bout on the operating table — I’m such a brave lad — and I hope not to have to visit one again for many rains.

I thank you for your indulgence as I’ve prattled on about this. You my faithful reader(s) (Lola Macaroni of Friday Harbor, Washington) make all my labors at the keyboard worthwhile. 

(Just occurred to me that maybe minor surgery refers to surgeries preformed by people who work in mines. No, that would be miner surgery. I'll have to get back to you.)