How Dare I?
HOW DARE I…..
How dare I call myself your friend? There are people and/or corporations that I don’t like and/or owe money to that I stay in touch more often than I do with you. Bad Bad pj…..
I mean, it’s been 2.5 years since I’ve smeared these pages with my ramblings. Well, not true, kinda really. I have written 2 or 3 times since, but my self-editing app scrapped those efforts. Legal Beagle can stand down now.
Anyway, since last catching you up, I had indeed gone under the knife and left 2 discs of my spinal neck in the trash. Say goodbye to C5-C7 for good and say hello to Zombie bone and a cute little Titanium plate (for all of the good they’ve done). Well, they might do some good, but it’s really hard to tell anymore. The surgeon swore that I would awake from surgery and do cartwheels across the operating room. Not so much, no. Then he guaranteed me that after 18 months I would never know that I had ever had surgery. Even the scar would be gone.
He was correct in saying that I couldn’t tell I was operated upon (except for the garish scar across my throat) as the pain is still there. Not as bad as the day it woke me up 3 years ago, but enough so that its got my attention. And the attention of the new surgeon who will poking around my central nervous system tomorrow morning. This one said he could fix what he saw and made no promises after that. Good Surgeon. Have a swimming pool.
I’ve been living on the Oregon Coast for a wee bit over 2 years now. We used to come to the coast as kids and I started dreaming about retiring here. I hope I’m not retiring just yet. Way too many records to make and people’s careers to obfuscate. Or maybe not obfuscate. I went to Costco yesterday, so that explains, as they say, that.
Research Assistant Mifune had his minute in the medical sun as well. He developed CCL disease in his left rear leg. That’s going lame for those of you who couldn’t guess. Instead of the rather invasive, painful and expensive surgery option (TPLO), our pal Panzer recommended a procedure called Prolotherapy, wherein they (veterinary professionals) inject an irritating solution directly into the joint, causing scar tissue and regeneration of things that need regeneration, like Time Lords and stuff.
After only 3 treatments, he was fired from therapy because he’s good as gold! That, and he lost 35 pounds (or 35% of his body mass) since moving down here. I attribute that to a major change in his diet and between 2.3 and 4.6 miles of forced marches on the beach (who in their right fucking mind needs to be forced to walk on the beach?). He bounces like Tigger and chicks dig him! My thanks to Dr. Bianca Shaw, DVM and her staff at Back On Track Veterinary Rehab (in Portland, Oregon) for all they did. And thanks again to Panzer for the information.
The cat remains indifferent. She will turn 11 on August 1, so get your cards in the mail soon.
Back to my surgery, I really hope it helps. I need to get back to work. I could go on for a bit about Washington State L&I (dog bless them for keeping me going all this while) and how they think I should maybe write greeting cards and stuff. Thanks, but no thanks. I want to go back to recording. I love it and may actually be good at it (modesty chip kicked in). As much as I hate people in general (especially missionaries who cannot read the verbally abusive sign on my front door), I rather enjoy helping people create music, to fill a blank musical canvas. Sometimes it’s Da Vinci, sometimes Jackson Pollock. Not for me to decide. It is up to me to do my absolute best to facilitate the process. Not to mention 2 albums worth (so far) of unfinished pieces that my pal J Todd Dunnigan and I began (begun? begone?) before I hit the wall (floor).
OK, gotta go. If you see another post, well, things went according to plan A, wherein I lived. Plan B means you who found the Golden Ticket will receive a call from Jon Stone with what you’ve won and won’t have to read this anymore. Nobody forced you to read this, is all I’m saying….