Au Cochonnet Marin

There are fourteen steps leading from my living room to the upper section of my condo. Even though I have lived here for a number of years, I was never fully aware of this fact… until now.

Normally I probably climb those stairs 8 to 10 times a day. No big deal. Just a hop, a skip and a jump, all of this while yodeling. My cat often accompanies me and does this with irritating ease. But lately this trivial activity has morphed into something much more challenging. Since my back surgery, I have to pause almost on every step before trying to conquer the next one. I keep telling myself that this is just a temporary setback, but it hurts my self-esteem… without mentioning my back.

In today’s jargon, I am now what you call “mobility impaired”. I need to use a “walker” for moving from place to place. My own assessment is that it is much too early to pigeonhole me in this demeaning second-class status.
My only consolation is that I can now park in handicapped parking spots. But frankly, I would rather walk a few hundred steps rather than to use this dubious privilege.

A step is not much: in the US it is just 7 inches tall, but lately it seems to have grown taller overnight. It feels more like 9 inches than 7. Is it all these pills that I am popping up?

When I was growing up In Paris, we used to live on the 3^rd floor of our building. This gave me ample opportunities to practice what is now called “competitive step climbing.” In those days, like most families, we didn’t have a phone and children were routinely used as unpaid laborers.
Alain, go and get a baguette… Alain get me a newspaper… Alain take the garbage down… Alain get some fresh milk for your brother…

I didn’t mind though. Any excuse was good for me to get out of the house and stretch my short-panted legs. I would rush down the stairs like an avalanche and woe be to anybody standing in my way. I was a real “galopin”.
Climbing back was no problem either. I would go up two steps at a time and I was up on the 3^rd floor before you could finish any prayer to fend off the devil and his disciples.

So again, I am no stranger to stairs climbing. In my heydays I could challenge the best of them. You could even call me a visionary trendsetter.

Small steps are good for you. They keep you humble and levelheaded.
Remember Lao Tzu:

A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.

 Alain

In other words, I just discovered that all the fuc****g nerves in your body meet and hold congress in your spine. After back surgery, whatever you attempt to do is going to instantly send punishing electric jolts to your backbone.

When you tamper with the sanctity of the flesh, even the most trivial body movement becomes an ordeal. All your muscular efforts are now subject to careful consideration. Is this move necessary or worth the subsequent amount of pain?

You are now dealing with an exquisitely crafted app called “painometry”. This app requires you to use your pain debit card for any extra physical exertion. For instance, for the privilege of standing up you will be charged a certain amount of pain. Same for sitting down or for attending to your bodily functions. And you will have to pay on the spot. As the French say, “No tickee, no washee.”

On the 5^th day at the hospital, the dark powers behind the shiny façade of the hospital decided that it was time for me to vacate the premises. A variety of nurses and doctors also concurred to evict me.
I had two options: spend a week or two in a rehab facility or go home with a rented hospital bed and have my live-in lover cope with me. Tamara and I wisely picked the second option.

We started transitioning back from the Vacaville Kaiser facility to San Rafael Tuesday August 8 at 2:30 pm; a long car ride (about an hour) for somebody with a sensitive back condition. Tamara did an excellent job of driving and avoiding the numerous potholes blossoming on the freeway. I am afraid that her bill for services rendered is going to be staggeringly high, but she is worth her weight in gold.

Unfortunately when we arrived in Marin the promised hospital bed and the accompanying walker that we previously ordered were absent. I had to spend an uncomfortable night on a makeshift bed set up in the middle of our living room. In the meantime, due to technical problems the second floor of our condo is now a no-man’s land where squirrels and raccoons roam at will. A new Fukushima. Enter at your own risk.

Facing this new situation, I had to reorganize my life around the living room. And the worse part is that I cannot use my beloved 27” Mac (32 MB of memory) located in the restricted zone. I have to make do with Tamara’s MacBook that is not set up to my own personal specifications. It is like driving a Trabant after having strutted for years in a Bentley.

But beggars cannot be choosers! A reporter must report regardless of what the field conditions are. So it is from my living room bunker that I will be feeding you some tantalizing tidbits of news.

Before I file this report though, I would like to thank all the lovely people who were rooting for me and helped me to keep my spirits up while being tossed like a rag doll in the white waters of back surgery.

See you soon sometimes in a few months in the pétanque’s golden arena. Tata for now my little cochonnets.

Alain aka La Foudre

Nowadays, surgery is almost like a rite of passage, a ritual bearing many similarities with the Pacific Line-crossing ceremony. At least once in your lifetime you will have to cross this line ( i.e. go under the knife) and get a fancy certificate attesting to it.

There are basically 2 kinds of surgery, benign and major. But regardless of the procedure, one always looks at it with some apprehension. You seldom worry about the procedure itself, but you often feel more uneasy about the sequels and the recovery period.

A surgical procedure is performed to improve the well being of a patient and it is sometimes humorously compared to Photoshop; it removes the unsightly or the unwanted. But such is not always the case. Depending on the dexterity of the surgeon, the results might not be as satisfactory as expected.

Prior to the surgical procedure you should consult with the surgeon and this individual should inspire confidence. He should sound reserved but self-assured and not over eager to tear into your flesh. Personally I would prefer a mature individual who has done at least one hundred similar procedures before working on me.

Surgery is an unpleasant but ultimately a necessary endeavor. When you have clear evidence of a significant problem, you cannot procrastinate. Neither God nor the Devil can help; you must put your faith in the hands of a surgeon and take the plunge.

The man wielding the scalpellum must be confident and clearly explain why and what he intends to do. And it would not hurt to double-check with him to confirm on what part of your anatomy he intends to proceed.
Some women worry about the scars. I don’t. Scars are like tattoos; they can be fascinating and under good lighting conditions they can even look cool.

I will go under the knife August 4^th for “Thoracic Fusion for Spinal Stenosis“. It is a major operation and according to the surgeon I might be out of commission for 2 or 3 months. I hope to be fully operational by November, before Thanksgiving.
But after this procedure, I definitely expect to emulate the moves of the  Kizomba group shown below:

Alain

https://youtu.be/PPuK9GZpR