Howdy blog,
Well there's a couple exciting bits of news I wanted to share.
The first pertains to the recovery of my shoulder. I am now 10 weeks post-op. When I saw the doctor yesterday he continued to be impressed and amazed at how much range my shoulder has. He told me (again) how tight it used to be and that I have the range of motion that I do is just astonishing. It's actually better than the left shoulder now in some regards. There's increased pain in the right shoulder since I've started doing outpatient physical therapy, but that is normal for an operation and should subside soon as long as I make sure to rest it. I have to keep reminding myself of
Zen #3: The faster you hurry, the slower you go. You'd think I would have that one deeply ingrained in my recovery process after so many surgeries, but I'm impatient and this surgery has been unlike the others in both its recovery and my abilities post-surgery. It'll be about a year before the right shoulder is fully healed if things continue on the way they have been, but progress will be semi-continuous throughout so it's a promising bit of news.
The other thing discussed during my doctor's visit was the left shoulder. As some of you may or may not know, the left shoulder was nearly identically damaged to the right one, and it was only through the arbitrary filter of how much each one hurt that the right shoulder was chosen as the first to be replaced. The left shoulder is now beginning to ache more, so after I see my doctor in two months, I will likely be having another surgery shortly afterwards. I'm more excited about this than I am any other emotion. With any luck, it will be my last surgery for a while (although I said that last year after my left knee replacement so...I'm cautiously optimistic) and then I can start focusing more on everything that comes after. It'll be nice not to have to think about when I'll be cutting out my bone and replacing it next, maybe I can better focus on writing and other life events after that's dealt with.
Speaking of writing, we move onto my second (I'm including the last two paragraphs as one big semi-related news item) bit of news. I've been working on a memoir detailing my life (briefly described at the end of
The Cancer and the Cure) and specifically all the crap with cancer and dealing with the side effects of treatment after the fact. For 16 months I've been doing on and off work with
Nick regarding our memoirs, and after all that time...I have finished the rough draft! It's a huge deal for me, because this isn't the first intonation of this book. I tried writing it half a dozen times before and each time wound up abusing drugs or having a mental breakdown from the stress of recalling all of the traumatic experiences in my life. It took an enormous amount of mental and emotional energy to get it out there, and it wore me out to the point of exhaustion, but I finally got through the rough draft and proudly did so in one piece! (Not including all the extra pieces put into me by surgeons) I've been on a short break as school starts, but then Nick and I are going to be going into the editing process and making the books even better.
To celebrate the finishing of the rough draft, here's a small section conscripted from my book
Life Has No Title. Until next time readers and blog.
Normally I encountered runners along the path, but today
it was just myself and the little white dog. I looked at him, he pointedly
ignored me as he usually did, and got an idea. Maybe there could be a runner.
Me. I thought back to Nick, who had returned early in the summer and had been
spending some time with me. There was a runner, someone who pushed his limits
to insane measures and even further than that. If he could run a hundred mile
race, why couldn’t I go on a short jog? He once drew inspiration from me as he
made his way 3,000 miles, and now I could draw inspiration from him as I ran…a
lot less than that.
“Come on Tucker! Giddy-up!” I put one foot in front
of the other, picking up speed slowly but surely. The dog started to trot
alongside me as I increased my pace but suddenly stopped and nearly dragged me
off my feet after just a few seconds. “Okay, fine. We’ll take it slow you
little prick.” I started again, making sure to stick to a light jogging pace.
Every slap of my foot against the uneven surface sent a strange jarring
sensation up my leg. It felt…good. I kept it up, sometimes going a bit quicker,
but would soon be dragged back by a resistant dog. After about ninety seconds I
gave up trying to pull the little ass along with me and settled back down to a
walking pace. “Well that was fun,” I said to myself. Tucker sniffed at a bush.
I wasn’t content with such a paltry result though.
During that jog I felt as though I had untapped energy that I could have
unleashed had I not had a leashed mutt at my side. I would have to try again.
That’s exactly what I did too. My mom and I were
walking the dog this time, so I didn’t have to hold the leash. As we walked, I
told her about my jogging experience a few days before and she seemed
impressed. “I think I could do better though,” I said, channeling my inner Nick.
“Watch this.”
If she protested, I didn’t hear her, because I was
off without another word. Uncertain of how fast to go to start with, and not
even sure if I remembered how to run properly after five years, I could hear
Nick whispering in my ear. “Open it up Bundy!” I’m pretty sure he’s never said
that to me in my life, but that’s what I did. I sped away at full-blast and
nearly lost my footing in the surprise at how quickly I was going. For a few
precarious steps, I was running to avoid faceplanting, but I caught up with
myself and sprinted away. I could feel the years melting away as everything
around me became irrelevant. None of the pain to remind me of surgery after
surgery, none of the aches to remind me of the atrophied muscles and hospital
stays. None of the mental anguish harassing me those last couple months as I
further slipped into becoming an anxious wreck. It was just me and the path. Everything
else was in another world.
The wind rushed by, my legs pounding into hard earth,
and on and on I ran, laughing silently and grinning ear to ear by the time I
came to a halt as my burning legs asked politely to quit. Besides, I was almost
out of bridle path and I would have to make the trek back to my mom. I honestly
felt as though I could keep going if I wanted to, the rush was exquisite! I
felt, for the first time in years, like a normal human being. It was such an
alien feeling I wasn’t sure what to do with it. At least now I knew that my
body wasn’t totally trashed, and I knew Nick would be pretty pleased when I
told him about this the next time I saw him.
Your one and a half armed overlord,
Andrew
It has been an extremely hectic month, to say the least. I've been busy trying to sort out all the stuff from the last post and then some! Mostly I've been focused on the memoir and my physical health, although I have also started back up school. I've been able to get enough strength around my knee at physical therapy to avoid knee replacement surgery (yay). However, as I mentioned before, I do have a couple bone spurs in my ankles (boo). I'm going to have an appointment with an ankle specialist (my old one moved to Seattle shortly after I had the double ankle allograft) in a couple weeks to see what the best option is, but I'll likely have surgery to get the bone spurs removed. It's not as bad as it sounds actually. It's relatively minor, so much so that I could probably just do myself by this point. I might as well have the surgeon cut me open, point me in the right direction, and I'll chip the spurs away myself. Otherwise, my health has been rather quiet and uneventful. And you know what? I'll take uneventful with little change, it sure as hell beats the alternative that seems so dreadfully 
