Plunk!
"That should give you some light reading," said the merry doctor's assistant. "Call when you're ready to schedule your surgery."
Her smile was quite disarming.
I turned over the booklet; "Lumbar Spine Surgery... a Patient Guide" read the cover.
Light reading, indeed.
The doctor had told me that, after forty years or so of hard play and labor, my back was wearing out. The aches and pains I'd learned to live with had taken their toll. What with severe disc degeneration, stenosis and a good case of scoliosis thrown in for good measure, my back was not only painful, but dangerously unstable. After years of physical therapy, steroid nerve root shots and yoga, the stabbing pains down my right leg required major intervention. A laminectomy and four-vertibrae fusion was prescribed.
"Take some time to go over all this with your wife. It's a serious commitment," he said with some seriousness. "It'll be at least three months until you're ready for heavy duty anything."
"Fuck!" escapes my lips as images of my cut open carcass appear. As a mechanic, I start wondering exactly HOW this young surgeon was going to accomplish this miracle. It will involve rods and screws, he said, and described the surgery in detail.
"'Sounds like a long morning." I managed to mumble.
"A long day, actually." Once again, his voice was a little too cheery.
The incriminating x-rays and MRIs were put away. He answered all my questions carefully and told me to call him directly if I had any questions. I left his office to check out with his assistant and get a little "light reading".
'Walked out of the hospital and sat in the truck, mind spinning.
First thought; how long will I be out of work?
Second thought; MY GOD, I'm so fortunate to be fully insured care of my wife's job and benefits. Without insurance, I'd be screwed.
Third thought gets lost in the fog as free association kicks in.
"Is this karma?" I blurt aloud, as the truck starts and carries me home.
How DO you wear out your back?
Well, it takes hard work and concentration, but with a little luck and focus...
I guess I started in college. The GI bill payed tuition OK, but room and board had to be made up with a number of part time jobs. The local paper ran an add one night from a local carpenter needing help, and I met Malcomb.
Thirty something with a broad mustache and a twinkle, he was a carpenter, cabinetmaker, joiner, mason, gunsmith, outdoorsman and BMW motorcycle enthusiast. We hit it off immediately. I would work for him off and on for three years.
I learned the things that would start me on a long career of building shit and fixing stuff. We built timber framed houses and additions, miles of hand planed paneling, half a dozen chimneys and one mother of a stone wall.
And that was only summers, vacations and weekends.
After graduation and a paltry offering of jobs in my elected field, (music education), I took work as an itinerant carpenter/helper. My then girlfriend, dog, cat and I moved to north eastern Vermont. 16 years of construction, logging, skiing, dancing and kid-raising followed quickly (it seems now). I learned the fine crafts of plastering, brick laying and chimney construction and practiced them liberally.
By age 40 or so, I had a better relationship with my chiropractor than the local bartender. Constant lower back pain was the norm, and I had started bidding less and less brick and stone and more and more wood and cabinets. A life-long love of boats and canoes had raised it's hairy head, so again, lighter work was chosen. As the kids got older, the economy (...or lack thereof) of the North country left us wanting. So a move to Maryland somehow happened, where the repair and restoration of boats and yachts has kept me happily embedded in the local economy. Not so heavy work.
Age is like those punk kids on their lightweight bicycles that rocket past me on the bike trails. It comes on quickly, quietly, scaring the bejesus out of you when you finally meet it face to face. My 60th birthday hit me like that.... as did my study of the MRI in the doctor's office yesterday. I'm not a young man anymore, no matter how fit I manage to get, no matter what I eat or not eat. The evidence was staring back at me from the flatscreen, witnessed by the thickness of my medical record file and by the increasing stable of specialists visited regularly.
I'll schedule the surgery next week, for who knows when at this point, but as soon as possible.
We (my incredible wife and buddy and I) will prepare the house for the foolishness of recovery and rehab.
We won't be taking out a mortgage on the house to pay for it, something that carries not a small tinge of guilt.
My loyal business partner and employee will take up the slack, and undoubtedly make regular sacrifice to Neptune to petition my quick recovery.
What about you?
Have you worn out your back? By what age? How?
Also, at this point, I'd love to hear any advice or anecdotes about and from folks that have gone through this kind of surgery.
Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving... turkey goes so well with ibuprophen and cannabis.