My surgeries have become laughable. Four in two years is a lot. I’ve recently had what, hopefully, will be the last one on my neck. Apparently, my spine is a train wreck.
I went to my neurosurgeon and he said it was OK to take off the neck brace except when driving. After having it off for a few hours, I started feeling as though my head was going to fall off. Actually, it felt like I was a bobble-head doll. It was as if somebody could pass by me, give my head a little push and it would start bobbing up and down.
No, I’m not giving myself a pityparty. I did with the three back surgeries, but this one was not near as painful and there was no physical therapy involved. It just feels weird.
Isn’t it funny how differently people react to pain? I have an extremely low threshold. My answer to the famous question, “On a scale of 1 to 10, what is your pain today?” is always seven or above. Call me a wimp. I don’t care. I don’t like being in pain. I don’t like shots. I don’t like surgeries. I especially hate having blood drawn. About 50 percent of nurses taking my blood can’t find a good vein, then I stay black and blue for a couple of weeks.
I am very good about having “sympathy pain.” If I see some one in a store limping around and holding on to their back, my hand automatically goes to my own back. All in my mind, you say? Well, of course it is. But wouldn’t you rather have a friend who knows what it’s like rather than somebody who, basically, doesn’t believe you?
My goodness, all this talk of pain. I guess I need to say something happy. My grandson, Jay, spent the night with me when I came home from the hospital. Of course, this is someone who hates the sight of blood. That didn’t matter because, if I had started bleeding from the neck, it would have been the end anyway.
Well, shoot, turned a happy thought into a sad one again. Let’s see; my dog is happy. She’s 13 years old and had a horrific sore in her eye that we thought would never go away. If it hadn’t been for Tommy coming to the house twice a day for two weeks to put ointment in her eye, she might be gone by now. There I go again.
I’m happy to wake up above ground every day.
I’m happy that I never learned how to ride a bike. Yet another reason to wake up above ground.
I’m happy Santa Claus is still alive.
Lastly, I’m extremely happy that all of you still read my columns and stop me in public to comment. It makes me feel even better to be above ground.
(Pat Fickle is a Martinez resident.)