Today I had my next scheduled appointment, this time with a Nurse Practitioner.  (It turns out my surgeon is in Poland helping Ukrainian refugees!)  The cast was removed, the incision inspected, and the staples removed.  Everything was textbook and the incision looks “very good”.

The surgeon’s plan for me was another cast for 4 more weeks, but the P.A. was candid with me:  she was concerned about muscle atrophy and tightening of the reattached tendon.  I was given the option of a brace which would restrict the movement of the knee as the cast had done, but which could be set to allow increasing amounts of movement (as directed and advised).  I was skeptical at first, but once I saw the brace and how it is designed I was all for it.  

So I now have a brace and am free of the cast!  The brace is set to mimic the cast (no bending allowed), but has just enough play in it that a minimum amount of bending will happen naturally.  I have another appointment a week from now at which things will be checked again and I will likely get permission to adjust the “unlocked” setting to something that will allow me to start stretching the tendon while sitting.

I feel I need to tell you that I’m in no pain!  Once the initial pain from the trauma/surgery wore off I was and still am in no pain.  Nor am I “laid up.”  I am getting around as well as one can without bending one’s leg.  The only things with which I need assistance are scooting into the back seat of a car and putting on my left sock.  Other than that, Life is pretty much normal (though I am avoiding flights of stairs for obvious reasons–no need to tempt Fate!).

It’s been a week since my surgery.  I’ve been getting used to life in a full-leg cast.  I had a follow up appointment with Dr. Katz on Monday.   He said I’m clear to do anything the cast allows as long as it does not cause pain; so no restriction on exercise, walking, etc.  I am using muscles I don’t normally use to move in ways I don’t normally use; and my leg is getting used to the ever-presence of the cast (rubbing, chafing, etc.).  My “standing stamina” is improving, though I can’t seem to get comfortable while standing.  Today I realized that my LL Bean slippers, while very nice for lounging, are not practical daily wear.  After over 2 hours straight of standing for meetings/calls (I work from home right now) my left heel was hurting a lot.  I managed to figure out how to slip on my sneakers and wow, that felt a lot better!  Yesterday I made a single lap on our very short street (3 houses each side).  Today I’ll do 2.

Next Wednesday, at the 2 week mark, I go to have a chunk of the cast removed for wound/incision inspection and staple and/or stitch removal.  I’ll probably just end up with a whole new cast, which I’ll have for another 4 weeks.  I’m still unsure of the mechanics of what the doctor actually did while he was in there.  I’ve seen a few different procedures on YouTube, but am not sure which one was done to me.  I will find out if I can.

On Monday evening, March 14, 2022 I was coming down the stairs from my home den when I somehow missed the last step and came crashing to the ground floor landing on my knees.  It hurt but I immediately knew something wasn’t completely right with my left leg.  It was bent and it hurt when I tried to straighten it out.  I reached down and felt the kneecap and it wasn’t where it was supposed to be.  Worse, I could move it in ways it’s not supposed to move.  Realizing I had very likely seriously hurt myself I lay still and advised Amanda to call for an ambulance.

I was loaded onto a stretcher and taken to the hospital.  In the ER I was x-rayed and received a CAT scan.  There were no broken bones, but the doctor diagnosed a quadricep tendon tear.  I was given a brace to keep my leg straight and told to visit Dr. Katz, a local orthopedist as soon as possible.  I called the next morning and was able to be seen at 10:00!  Dr. Katz removed some fluid with a needle and then numbed the joint with lidocaine.  With pain no longer in the way he instructed me to try to lift my leg (I was lying flat on my back) straight up off the table.  I couldn’t–not because it hurt, but because my body  simply would not respond.  This confirmed the diagnosis.  I was scheduled for surgery the next morning which I am told was a success.  I am now in a full leg cast which keeps the knee joint completely immobile.

Some comments on all of this: First, I don’t know how or why I missed that last step.  At my age I usually focus clearly when I’m walking on uneven terrain.  All I can think is that I got distracted and thought I had gone the full 14 steps instead of just 13.  And down I went.

The brace did its job, but not well enough.  I was not looking forward to weeks of recovery time if it meant having to be as careful as I had to be with that brace.  I could not move from sitting to standing without assistance.  There was no way for me to move my leg without trying to use the muscle which was no longer attached, and that caused severe discomfort.  I learned quickly how to relax that muscle, but it required having someone lift and manipulate my leg following my instructions.  6 weeks of that would have sucked.

The cast is amazing.  It’s super thick and my knee is completely immobile.  There is no way I can do damage to the repair that has been done and I can move my leg around by myself.  I can sit down on and stand up from regular chairs by myself.  I can get into and out of bed by myself.  Once I get used to it and have built up enough muscle strength in the muscles I need to use to adapt to the cast, I may not even need crutches to get around.

I close by enumerating my blessings.  The American healthcare system is generally a mess, but I am keenly aware of whatever privilege it is that allowed me to see a doctor and have surgery less than 48 hours after my injury.  The outpouring of concern and support on social media is nothing short of fantastic and has been a real mood booster for me.  I am also blessed to have family that I can count on to take care of me and do the things I simply cannot do for awhile, especially and most wonderfully my wife Amanda.

The timing for something like this is never great, but if all goes well I’ll be out of this cast and on the mend by the end of April.  I can’t really complain about that!  There are a few places I won’t visit and events I probably won’t be able to attend in person, but 6 weeks will fly be before I know it.  This could have been a lot worse!

Old house renovation expert and HGTV star Nicole Curtis generally doesn’t pull punches on her social media posts. She seems “genuine” and I appreciate that. She doesn’t post often, which I also appreciate, and when she does it’s usually worth reading. What follows is the first part of a recent post of hers in which she reflects on herself and her innate need to fix things. When I read this (and re-read it) it very much resonated with me. I seem to thrive on crisis. I certainly don’t go looking for it, but when it comes I handle it. I just…handle it. I don’t buckle. I don’t break. I just seem to figure it out. I fix it. I take it in, I assess, I analyze, I resolve. Consider this an in-depth version of my personal motto: “I understand the compounding awesomeness of continually fixing small broken things.” (Shamelessly co-opted from Michael “Rands” Lopp)

[Only slightly edited for style.]

“I’m someone who therapists say is in constant survival mode —one will track my childhood & try to pinpoint it, one will track my genetics, one will track my adult choices. I don’t know what it is, but it’s definitely true. I gravitate towards these houses that have lost their fight because I fix things— my life makes sense when I can fix things. Some mistake this never-ending fixing as a need to be [in] control. It’s actually the opposite — I do it so I can let go. Most things are beyond my control, but a house? I got that. I’ve somehow found a group of like-minded friends — the survivors. We run on adrenaline, we get it done -we look rock solid from the outside, but if you really get to see the inside, we’re those people that hurt for everyone and everything, that search for greater meaning, that pray, that are intensely loyal, take everything to heart and simply keep turning the other cheek.”

My life makes sense when I can fix things.

YES!!!

[I’m publishing this almost 10 months after I started the new position for which I had applied at the time I wrote this (early May, 2020).  It was the Right Thing for me to do, and I’d do it again.  But doing it still sucked.]

It’s been 23 years since I applied for a job.  I remember some of the emotions I experienced back then: angst, trepidation, fear, anticipation, hope, guilt.

Fear?  Yes, fear.  Fear I wouldn’t get the job and be able to leave my current employer on my own terms.  Also, ironically, fear I would get the job, which would mean relocating to Potsdam.

Angst.  Is this the right thing to do?

Trepidation.  Am I good enough to even be considered for the position, let alone get it?  (I have a self-diagnosis of Imposter Syndrome.  It tends to flare up at times like that.)

Anticipation and Hope.  In those moments when I can get past the angst, I allow myself to daydream about the possibilities this change would bring and make plans.

Guilt.  This is the worst.  And it’s almost crippling.  The guilt is over leaving whatever you’re currently doing (in this case, the job I had at the time) for a new job. I tend to be a loyal person. And I care about the work I do, no matter what it is or who it’s for.  Walking away from a body of work is a hard thing to do when you care about it.

It’s been 23 years since I applied for a job.  This job.  The one I have, and the one I have the good fortune and privilege to actually love. I have been working full-time for SUNY Potsdam for, as I write this, almost 23 and a half years.  If I count my time as a student here, I’ve spent over half of my life on and around this campus. When you work for a place for that long, you become a part of it, just as it becomes a part of you.

It’s been 23 years since I left a job.  And for me that’s hard.  The pit in the stomach, the faint aftertaste of bile as your gut literally wrenches. You’re doing the right thing for yourself, but you didn’t plan this with your current employer and so to them it’s a surprise, and you feel badly doing that.  No one is indispensable. You know that. People leave jobs all the time for all sorts of reasons. And the employer figures it out and moves on.

I will always be a part of the SUNY Potsdam Family.  But it’s time to move out of the house.

Last week I heard a news story about road signs in Virginia and how it’s hard to find your way without a GPS because deferred maintenance has resulted in road signs not being replaced in a timely fashion. Many are missing. I remarked to my wife, “that’s municipal thinking for you—don’t save up for anything and just kick that can down the road again until its someone else’s problem.”

”Down the road again…” That stuck in my head. A few hours later I had penned new lyrics, with apologies to Willie Nelson.

Down the road again
Why do it now when we can do it then?
Our problems grow and yet we simply will not spend
So we’ll just kick them down the road again.

Down the road again
Don’t do your job instead let’s just pretend
Why we don’t save for things, I’ll never comprehend
So send our troubles down the road again.

Down the road again
Roads and bridges ‘cross this country are a-crumblin’
And yet we won’t attend
Officials with our budgets they keep fumblin’
Our tires keep rumblin’

Down the road again
Why do it now when we can do it then?
Our problems grow and yet we simply will not spend
So we’ll just kick them down the road again.

In June my hemoglobin A1C was 5.8, in the low end of that’s considered diabetic. I knew why—it was a rough winter and I had other things on my mind, not the least of which were my Dad’s health issues. My blood sugar was not my focus.

Fortunately, the good habits I had formed in 2019 served me well and my lack of focus didn’t take me too far into the red zone. It’s not like I was chugging 2-liter bottles of Mountain Dew and binging on half-pound bags of peanut M&Ms. You know, like I used to…

And so I was only up 2 tenths of a point from my previous A1C. I had work to do and so I buckled down. Well, mostly in the last three months. And today was the payoff. I had my blood drawn this morning and checked my hospital app after lunch. 5.3!! Down 5 tenths and SOLIDLY outside of the diabetic zone. All with NO medication.

Now…on to blood pressure, which is still hovering higher than it ought to be.

The cowboy sits at his table in the saloon.  He pulls a bullet from his pocket.  He pulls his six-shooter from it’s holster.  He loads the bullet into the barrel.  He spins the barrel.  He points the gun at his head.  He pulls the trigger.

<click>

No harm done.

“Russian Roulette” as portrayed in the movies. 

But even if it had been <bang> and the cowboy died, no physical harm would have come to anyone else.  

Watching social media as the coronavirus pandemic unfolds I have seen some people indignant at the suggestion that they can be told what to do in any situation.  Stay home.  Not congregate.  Not “have fun.”  Not see their friends.  Get a haircut.  Indignant that anyone, especially “the government,” tell them anything like that.  They exhibit their indignation under the banner of “personal liberty.”

Now imagine the same cowboy.  He pulls out his bullet and his gun, he loads the gun, he spins the barrel, and this time he stands up and starts waving the gun around at the other patrons of the saloon and pulls the trigger.

<click>

No harm done?

Wrong.  Plenty of harm done.  Nobody got hurt or died.  But they could have.  There was a 1 in 6 chance that the gun would fire.  A 1 in 6 chance that someone could have died.

As a society we consider that unacceptable.  It is unacceptable that someone brandish a loaded weapon in public, even if it is likely that it will not fire.  We prosecute people who do so and we (sometimes) remove them from society by sending them to jail.  Your personal liberty ends when your choices harm or have the potential to harm others.  

In a pandemic we are all cowboys, and our hands are guns.  But the bullets are invisible and undetectable.  There may be a bullet.  There may be 6.  There may be none.  We have no way of knowing.  If someone waves a gun around in public they are punished for it.  We are asking people to minimize activity that will turn their hands into loaded guns.

Someone explain to me why that is unreasonable.

When Amanda’s parents divorced, her dad, Kevin Haney, moved to Los Angeles to practice his craft as a makeup artist.  Amanda and her sister would visit him and get to see the projects he was working on.  Amanda loves to tell the story of how she once met Jonathan Frakes, the actor who played Commander William Riker on Star Trek: The Next Generation TV series.  Here she is telling the story in her own words at Great Camp Sagamore‘s Mountain Music and Dance weekend in October of 2017:

In that moment, all she could muster up was, “You’re pretty!!”

I only have vague recollection of a late evening in my den in the November following Amanda’s telling of her story.  But I wrote a handwritten letter to Jonathan Frakes.  I told him who I am, who Amanda is, who her father is; and I told him of the day Amanda met him on the set of TNG.  I suggested that, if he’s the autograph signing type, that it would be neat for Amanda to have an 8×10 glossy photo of him as Commander Riker.  I boldly suggested that he might include, “Amanda–You are pretty too!”  I Googled for his agent’s address, picked one that seemed most likely (several addresses came up), addressed the envelope and put it in the mail.

Nothing came of it and I eventually forgot all about it.  Fast forward to Thanksgiving weekend, 2018.  We had just returned from spending the weekend in Rochester with Amanda’s mom and step-dad.  We did the usual schlepping of our bags, grabbing the mail, and tending to the cats.  I hung up my coat and grabbed the mail from the box and sat at the dining room table to inspect it while Amanda paid attention to the cats and started putting her things away.  There was one large envelope and there were two things very odd about it: 1) It was from some place in California I had never heard of, and 2) it was addressed to me in my own handwriting.  I mumbled and grumbled loudly about this as I sliced open the end of the envelope.  I peeked inside and pulled out the contents about 2 inches before I realized what it was.  I gasped.  Audibly.  Loudly.  “What is it??” Amanda called from the other room.  As I quickly shoved it back into its envelope, I stuttered, “I…can’t…TELL YOU!!”

“I’m just going to assume it has something to do with Christmas,” she said.  Yes.  Absolutely!  Perfect.  That’s exactly what it was!  Inside was an 8×10 glossy photograph of Jonathan Frakes as Commander William Riker with writing in marker: “Amanda–You are Pretty Too” with his signature.  The envelope was addressed in my handwriting because whomever did so simply cut the address out of the letter I had written.

I bought a frame and wrapped it up.  On Christmas morning we opened all of our gifts to each other, with Amanda’s mom and step-dad there.  When we were “done,” I told Kyle that it looked like there was one more left, a la “A Christmas Story” when Ralphie gets his BB gun.  I took video to capture the moment:

So there you go.  The story of the Prettiest Christmas present ever!  The photo sits in a place of honor in our living room.