Down the Rabbit Hole...

It's a feeling that I've had before. It is a combination of deja vu, and uncertainty. It is not the uncertainty of what will happen in the immediate future, but the uncertainty of change of the winds of my life. I am surrounded of memories of the season, a cold wind on autumn air, and I am surrounded by memories of friends leaving me behind to go on the adventures of their lives and my leaving them to go on the adventures of mine.

It is with a great difficulty that I lift long roots from the deep crevices of the Earth and move the trunk that is the life I've built. When I left for China, I was ready for this move. I was free of attachment and I was ready to be free. I had friends who thought that I would not return from that trip. They thought that I would go and keep going. I was ready to if chance brought me down that path.

This time it is different. Out of the very solid advice to stay clear of attachment I found that I had no choice. I found that attachment is not something of conscious mind, but of a deeper force. Certainly one can avoid situations likely to seed attachment, and for the record, I did, but again in chance attachment is not a choice, but a calling. When a path reveals itself, it is your choice to walk down it, or to not.

This path is of my choosing and no one else's, so in my pain of the slow breaking of bonds between the Earth and my roots I have the satisfaction of knowing that of all the paths, this is my path. Of all choices before me, it is every single choice that I have ever made that has let me to this junction. And as I sit with this plane before me full of new adventures, a certain increase in pain, and definite feelings of loss, I know that this is my choice once more.

I could get on that plane in a few hours, or, I could not.

Some paths, like attachment, are not a choice, but a calling instead. The life I lead are steps down that path. I get as close as I can to the path of calling over choice, for it gives me a feeling of certainty. It is like a great hand rests on my shoulder as I walk that path, and it tells me that it will be alright. It feels like every step down that path of calling is one step closer to a certain end destiny.

If there is purpose in this life, and if I have a role to play, I will certainly do my best to play it. Perhaps there is no purpose, and this path of calling is just another choice, but one that reassures my heart, and my mind. So what? Purpose or not, the most utility lies in pursuing this path.

I have pursued this path for a long time. It has brought me happiness, it has brought me wealth, and it has brought me great devastation. But out of the devastation I always find the warming catharsis of the next steps down this road to my happiness.

I chose the calling in attachment.

I will also choose the calling in the path I have laid before me. A plane awaits me, and I will be on it.

Just another step, on the path of my life.

Tomorrow, I land on solid soil and drive my roots deep; back into the Earth.

On the Path to Recovery...

A long night turned into a long long day. Mom said that after surgeries that she has had the second day is the worst. It was for me. I think it is partly because I had been clenching every muscle I had in recovery the day before, but on Wednesday it felt like I had been hit by a car. Wait, not a car... a truck... and not one of those little ones... but a big one...

Wednesday was a day of enduring. It was a day of taking my pain killers and just making it through. The surgeon's office was not helpful, and Health-Link thought I should return to the Hospital. I was able to book an appointment with the surgeon on Thursday. That would have to do.

So from Wednesday to Thursday I just had to make it. I just had to keep going, and keep fighting. I did. A nurse called from the Hospital to check on me. I told her I was in pain and running out of percacet, but that I had T3's. She said don't wait in the 4-6 hours, she said when 4 hours comes along, take the drugs. I took her advice.

Out of percacet and onto T3's... this is about where I left off with my last entry.

Thanks to Pharmacists being able to prescribe drugs, and assistance from my wonderful girlfriend, I was able to acquire muscle relaxants to go on top of the T3's.

I fought through the day and another night. It was another long night, but I had come prepared. In spurts I watched I, Robot so that by the time it was day I had finished. I managed to get some sleep, but when I could not sleep because of the pain, I had Will Smith to keep me company.

Yesterday was better. My body felt better and my spirits were good. I got to see the surgeon. G & G picked me up at 1:00 and we headed to the Hospital. They told me to bring a book since the appointment could take anywhere from 15 minutes to 4 hours. When I was in the Clinic everyone's eyes were on me. I think that because I am so young and limping around with a cane I get extra attention. When I slowly and painfully lowered myself into a chair I could read the same expression on all of their faces. I would like to say it was compassion and sympathy, but it was not, the expression I saw was "I'm glad that's not me."

I got in surprisingly fast, which was good because I could not focus enough to read my book. I hobbled to a little room with a curtain wall where I waited for the surgeon. Someone came and checked my incision. He said that it was healing very well. He was surprised that I had had surgery two days ago, since the incision looked so good. He peaced out and I waited for the surgeon.

He came in and the first thing he mentioned was my pain. He saw me hobble in and guessed what I was there for. I asked him if he knew how I woke up and he shook his head. I told him that all I remember is waking up screaming. He affirmed that I am in that small group where the sciatic nerve becomes inflamed from surgery instead of getting immediate relief. He said that I could expect 4-6 weeks of nerve pain.

I am not terribly pleased with this, but at least everything else is going well. He gave me pain killers to get me over the pains from surgery, and pain killers to get me over the nerve pain. He is a good Doctor, and I am pleased that he was my surgeon.

One more thing that he said that I was glad to hear is that when they were in my back there was an injury. The disk was out, there was disk material broken and scattered around, and they pulled it out. Everything went well, and if everything continues to well I will be able to resume much of my old life.

It was still a difficult afternoon, but the pain killers did wonders. I have now been able to sleep, though I wake about once an hour, and get terrible pain in my legs. I used to get cramps that would wake me up, now I get random nerve pain and end up screaming obscenities. Oh well.

This is the path to recovery, and though it might not be easy, it is the right road.

It should only get easier from here.

A Long Night.

The adventure continues...

When I got home I was able to hold off having percocet for 4.5 hours. Then I was able to hold off taking it for 6 hours. Then I needed it at 3.5 hours, the only problem is, 4 hours is the minimum.

I had my drugs just before midnight. Then I was off to sleep. My parents had the next batch of drugs downstairs and were to give them to me in the morning at 6 am. I woke up in the night because of pain and thought that it must be time for drugs. I would get out of bed, go to the bathroom, take drugs and go to bed. No. It did not go like that. Somehow I managed to get out of bed and to the bathroom, and then I was on my way back when I saw the clock. It was about 1:30 am. 3.5 hours more until I was even allowed to take drugs. Crap.

I managed to make it back into bed and back to sleep. I was up lots. I was up from pain. I was up because I had to go to the bathroom. In the end I managed to roll twice and get up once more. I needed drugs. I went to the bathroom and then looked at the clock. 3:30 am.

Knowing I would need the drugs I woke the fam. I got Dad to bring me the drugs from downstairs so that I could take them at 4 am, and then I set about waiting. It was a long wait. I did not wait the full half hour, but I did wait for most of it.

I took the drugs, fought my way back to bed, and slept.

I was up early, still before my parents. I continued to doze, in and out, for another hour before the pain was too great. I took a long time getting up and getting downstairs.

Mom and Dad helped me lay down there where I was able to sleep until 8:30 am where I was forced to take drugs again.

I have now been given a muscle relaxant that I can use with percocet or T3, so I will use it on an opposite cycle so that I might smooth out this pain roller coaster.

The soonest I could see the surgeon is tomorrow.

I'll be there.

A nurse just called. She reinforced that I should be taking my drugs every four hours if the pain is that bad.

Yay... drug time...

Microdiscectomy.

Part One

So, I really meant to start a post yesterday with my thoughts and feelings about going in to surgery, but, I ran out of time. So... we will just start with the whole story of surgery today.

Yesterday was good. Back pain was solid, which was nice to reinforce why I was going for surgery, my mental state was solid, and I was more or less ready. Sure, I was a little nervous of the possible problems related to having surgery on your back, but due to the way I live my life and personal philosophy I was not concerned. Whatever happens, happens. And... whatever happens... happens for a reason.

I did not sleep much night, but I was not expecting to, after all, there was a lot on my mind. No food after midnight, in this case no food after 10 pm which was when we returned from Olives, which is a very very nice restaurant in Calgary that I had never heard of. Food was amazing, and thus, with my stuffededness I did not need to eat in those last hours. Nothing to drink for the four hours leading to surgery, well, I just stopped at midnight with my nightly pills. That done, and following a shower, I was good to go.

Up and on the road by 6:40 am. Hospital at 7:00. Admitting grabbed me in to ask me some questions, while Mom and Dad got the estimated time of my release, and then things got started. We had hugs to part and then I was on my way.

First thing was the lab work. That is a great way to start the day. I have been out of bed for an hour and then they are poking and prodding me with needles. A few vials of blood was all they wanted. I do love hospitals however, the lab techs are generally very good and you cannot really feel the needle. My arm shakes regardless...

After the lab work was completed I made my way to day surgery. I sat down for about 30 seconds when they called me and brought me to my... uh... room. They called it a room, but really it was a room with over 20 beds in it (I was number 20), and my room was the little area my curtain covered. However, it did almost feel like home to me for those hours today, with my clothes in the closet, my Canadian Society of Civil Engineering Magazine in my hands, and me in the bed.

Actually, when we got there they wasted no time in handing my a dress, and telling me to strip down. For many things you get to keep your underwear on... not for this. The Nurse specified that the underwear and socks and shoes had to be taken off. The instructions really took a long time to convey. When she was telling me I was thinking of a more effective method. All she really needed to say was get bare ass naked and then throw on the dress.

I did appreciate her detailed instructions on how to put the booties on though (no sarcasm intended) and they looked easy to throw on the wrong way, but you would figure it out real quick.

Ok, where was I? Ahh yes, bare ass naked in a curtain for a room tieing myself in a bedsheet. Lift it up a little and cut eye holes and your are looking at the best Ghost costume for Halloween ever.

The Nurse came back in and check everything with me. Name, contacts, everything. Actually, this was the second time my name and whatever was checked... I bet they asked 50 times, and also checked my bracelet to make sure... speaking of which I should chop that off...

So, information done, some minor briefing on how some people will come and wheel me away, and then my very special day really gets started. Then I will be gone for about 40 minutes for the procedure, 40 minutes for recovery, and then I will be back for 3-4 hours, and finally released.

Until that time I had to wait.

In retrospect I should have brought something a little more interesting that my Summer issue of CSCE, but, I did get to learn about the construction of Cancun's second runway... with pictures!

I had to pee... I am sure you wanted to know... but I do have something to share about that. Walked to the bathroom, and in all kinds of liberation I lifted my dress, peed, and was on my way back to My room (note: I did wash my hands). What was my insight to add here? Damn, those dresses are liberating... all sorts of flow, and breeze, and well... you get the idea.

I was done the CSCE magazine so I tossed it in My closet. There was a knock on my curtain, that sounded very much like "knock knock" followed by the entry of my porter complaining some about how there are no doorbells on the "rooms." While we were waiting for the Nurse to send me on my way, the porter (a very friendly woman) made some chit chat about raising the stretcher. It is much easier to push at its maximum height, and it is much better for your back (you being the pusher). She continued to talk about how she always shows other people that raising the stretcher makes it much easier. Actually, her husband has a bad back and she really does not want one. Injuring a back is sort of one way; it is good until it is not. And then that is it.

It was about then that I chose to inform her that I was in there for my back. What a look. She then told me that is how you put "both feet in your mouth." She apologized profusely, and I told her that I was not offended and not to worry about it. I don't think she was reassured. The Nurse came and sent us on our way.

What a strange feeling it was to be wheeled around in a bed. I felt like I was in a movie, or I was dead, or something. More chit chat as we wheeled from Day Surgery to the OR. She parked me in a hallway outside the OR to wait. They were just waking up the last patient and rolling him out. Lots of people came to introduce themselves while we were waiting. I met one of my nurses, I met my two anesthesiologists (one of which who requested that when I hear here voice that I not swing at her. Evidently men strike out when they are disoriented and in aims of not getting struck out at she asked me to try to remember... she also told me I would not remember any of that, but that she thinks asking people ahead of time helps), and I met one janitor, and some other people that do... I don't know what. Most of them asked my name, and checked with my bracelet.

I would like to make a special note here to thank my boss Dean who gave me invaluable advice. He told me to make sure that I was in for what I was in for and not say... a vasectomy... Dean... they did ask me what I was in for and I was damn sure to tell them microdiscectomy...

They rolled out the guy ahead of me and then mopped the floor. Then...

They rolled me in.

There were a lot of people. Most of whom I had met a few minutes prior. The nurse rolling me in asked my name and what I was there for. Then when we were in the OR she asked me to tell a nurse named Gavin what my name was and what I was there for.

The anesthesiologist resident who met me in the hallway gave me an IV... which really sucked, since I could feel the hose slide into my vein. At the same time someone took my blood pressure. Some lights needed adjusting and I could hear the surgeon jump on the job saying that in the preparations for surgery he didn't get to do anything.

Some of you may know that when I have bits of metal stuck into my I have a tendency to shake. This holds true for all kinds of needles, including IVs. So... I was shaking, and... I was laughing slightly. They slapped a gas mask on me and got things started. First I was given some oxygen, then I was given something that made me dizzy. Lights blurred, and voices had a tendency to stretch with a mild echo. I was told that my hands would feel heavy and soon my eyelids would as well. Heavy? My IV made my arm feel like it was getting run over by a car, but that was a fleeting sensation as my eyelids began to droop.

The last thing I remember hearing was a pat on the shoulder and someone telling me "You're in good hands."

I cannot imagine a better way to go to sleep.

Part Two

Evidently I had been awake for a few minutes. I had been talking with the doctors and nurses and trying out my legs to make sure that they worked properly. I overheard that in this time I had told them that my pain was a 9/10.

Let me first explain a few things. At this point I was awake, but I was not conscious. My body was awake, but I was not there. Also, my pain scale incorporates some rather terrible things. In three years of injury I have found that my 10 on the scale makes the pains of everyday living look like 1's and 2's. Now we can move on.

I came to consciousness in the middle of testing my legs. I was asked to push them down, and to pull them up. My left left barely felt responsive. The next thing I was aware of was the pain. It seemed that pain at a 1 came into my awareness and within seconds it sped from a 1 to a 10 and then exploded from a 10 to something I had never experienced before. I guess it was a 10 since 10 is as high as it goes, but my horizons for pain had been completely demolished and remoulded.

I was aware for only seconds and going from communicating to the staff in recovery to screaming out in pain. I cannot imagine how many people were in recovery, or how the nurses around me dealt with it, but I screamed.

I remember going to the Invermere Hospital once for the Flu or something, and while I was there I could hear a man crying out in pain. He had been given the maximum amount of Morphine and was still screaming.

Today... that man was me.

I could hear them talking. I could hear them saying they had given me 14 out of 15mg of Morphine, and I could hear them trying to figure out what to do next. I could hear them, but I cannot remember it all. I was consumed by pain. I was screaming. My body was wreathed in agony.

A nurse told me I needed to relax my hands. I tried. I think that the IV was not working properly because my hands were both clenched to the railing of my bed. My knuckles and fingers were white with the effort. I was able to release my hand with the IV, but not the other.

Once the Morphine was in I was able to focus. I could hear them, and I could speak back between my screams. They asked me to take deep breaths. I tried. They asked me to breathe in the oxygen at my nose. I tried. I told them my nose does not work that well and I could not breathe. They told me to breath through my nose, or my mouth, or whatever, but what they were really telling me to do was breathe.

Between screams, I did.

They told me I needed to relax. I was flexing pretty much every muscle I have. In the pain everything was pulling together tight in agony. They asked me to relax, I told them I could not. They told me to try.

The anesthesiologist appeared, called from somewhere, and he was quickly informed of my situation. He made some quick calls to throw some more drugs into my IV. I believe this new one was an anti-inflammatory. He said it was fast acting and I should get relief soon.

My screams slowed to cries of pain. The intervals were infrequent, but that was an improvement. He told me that given my history with the pain killers it is likely that I have a resistance to them. He told them that this kind of flare up can happen with chronic pain like mine.

My cries decreased gradually as the added drugs to my IV.

Then there was an exhausted silence.

I was very sure to thank my nurse. In the midst of it all when they were trying to reassure me all I really remember saying is that "I trust you." They were my guardians, and they did well.

That 40 minutes I was supposed to be in recovery turned into two hours.

Then they brought me home. Back to day surgery. Back to my room. The nurse rotation had changed. I needed to rest more in the hospital before I could be released. I told the nurse I would be fine, but I would need to go to the bathroom.

She helped me get up and out of bed. She helped me get my gown re-snapped up, and she helped me walk down the hall. That was the first I had moved since I had woken up, since the pain had held me immobile. That was the first I was on my feet and the first I had walked.

I was back and in bed.

I lay there for the rest of my stay. Nurses came in to check my vitals, and to give me information, but mostly I just lay there. I was drowsy, but I could not sleep. There was too much action around me. My curtain walls protected me, but there was too much proximity. I cannot sleep with motion around me, it is not safe. There were to many sounds. To much everything.

After a while I asked when I could go.

She said that it would be half an hour and I could call my ride and get dressed.

I did.

Felt like forever, but I finally saw Mom walk into my room. I was on my feet, in a wheel-chair, and on my way.

We were in the car in no time.

There was a brief stop at Sobey's for some junk food, and then we came home. I was glad. The car made me sick. There are still a lot of drugs in my veins.

I lay down, and I slept.

When I woke, I came here to tell you my story.

Here it is.

To all those around me... thank you for your support.

It is time to rest again.