Whining is never becoming, but six months ago, I ran for the last time then laid on the operating table and spent 9-days in the hospital. I quite honestly felt I should be fully recovered by now, but I’m far from it. It goes back to a statement I heard from a neighbor but didn’t necessarily believe, “the surgeon’s knife is a year long.” I felt that I was in decent shape for a 72-year-old, who had never had major surgery. My blood tests proved “perfect,” but good cholesterol has always been a concern. The doctors confirmed that there were no obstructions in my blood vessels, but I needed a new aortic valve, along with repairs to both my aortic roots and an aneurysm fix. It took two consecutive days. Beforehand, I had no related symptoms but the correlation with “time bomb” was used all too frequently. Thankfully, I’ve been diffused!
Six months have slowly passed, and I have to sit on an ice bag every morning to ease the pain in my spine. I’m still not sure how this is related, or it may not be, but my sciatic nerve is angry. It started in my left thigh and calf, and with chiropractic treatment, moved into my lower back. Now, it’s moved again to the side of my leg, hampering my ability to walk without discomfort. First thing in the morning, it can be painfully debilitating. I’ve tried to cut back on Advil and make the switch to Tylenol, to relieve some of the water retention that causes my feet and ankles to swell. Medication adjustments have been made for this excess fluid issue in addition to countering bouts of dizziness or unsteadiness. I’m taking over 15 pills/vitamins a day, plus eye drops for my recent cataract surgery, and have to wear funky sunglasses. Old age sucks!
I don’t seem to be getting stronger, but I keep working out every day without fail. Seemingly small tasks make me breathless, especially when I’m outdoors in the Florida heat and humidity. I began to increase my walking distances once I came home from the hospital, initially aided by my new friend, “Sky Walker.” This continued through our Cross-Atlantic cruise, but then cramps, Charlie Horses, and lower-back pain began to seize my left leg. This comes and goes but has destroyed my walking confidence. Stretching at intervals seems to help and I’ve restarted my once-a-week Chair Yoga classes for more flexibility and balance. I go to the fitness center every day but would like to walk there and back. Instead, I rely on the treadmill where I can lean on the siderails and take pressure off my back. I do not have trouble with the stationary bike, rowing machine, or weights.
Weight gain seems to have stabilized, but I’m still about 10-pounds heavy. Gym work makes me hungry, while daily running tended to curb my appetite. I do sit around a lot these days watching TV, writing, reading, and snacking. I wish I felt like being more active. Cataract surgery, one eye at a time, has restricted my pool usage, but at least I can do some yard work, lug my own suitcases, and bring in the UPS packages. I have discovered a hernia around the bottom of my chest incision, but it isn’t painful, and the doctor feels like we should wait to see what measures need to be taken. It is annoying when I cough or sneeze and please don’t make me laugh too hard!
The muscles in my upper chest are still stiffly sore around where my breastbone was severed, as well as in my upper arms. It may be from overworking on the rowing and weight machines. My wife stresses to keep me workouts limited to one-hour, but I’m frustrated with my recovery time and tend to push that a bit. Even a simple matter like rolling over in bed is still not easy. Tossing and turning is the norm complicated by frequent trips to the john. Oh, to have the bladder and stamina of a teenage stud once again!
One thing tends to lead to another. This year has certainly been a medical nightmare, with visits to the Neurologist and Urologist yet to come. I continue to work with my Chiropractor on what he calls “the bypass-sciatica issue.” Electrical stimulation, ice, massage, and “the stretching rack” are included in the treatments. My left knee is also sore from compensating for my right leg pain, so I occasionally wear a compression brace. All in all, I’m a mess from head to toe!
Despite my better judgement, I keep buying baseball cards. It’s a sad addiction that now seems to be my sole retirement hobby, besides writing about it. I check the Topps Now website daily and recently subscribed to their e-mails, as if I don’t get enough already. I’m also a “Top Fan” of the local Blue Breaks Card Shop and participate in their weekly Hobby RIP Nights. I guess you could say that I now have so many baseball cards that the store owner is starting to display them for me. Most all of my Shohei Ohtani cards (and I’m not even a Dodger’s fan) are stored in a glass case there, hoping for a buyer.
I am a White Sox fan, and follow the Cubs, but most of those player cards have dropped in value to the point that they are worthless. The Sox are easily the worst team in baseball, having lost their 65th game last night. Tim Anderson, following the trade to Miami, was recently designated for assignment, Jose Abreu, traded to the Astros, is washed-up. Yoan Moncada is injured while stars like Luis Roberts and Eloy Jimenez are hitting .230 – no need to dwell. My extensive collection of Sherm Lollar merchandise is unwanted. The Cubs are in last place in the Central division and all my favorites like Bryant, Rizzo, and Baez are playing for other teams.
Last week, on RIP Night, I traded the Blue Jays for the White Sox. I might have had a valuable Vladimir Guerrero card, instead I got a Tim Anderson, just hours before he was sent back to the minors. This week in “The Break” I drew the Twins and Royals, hoping for Jose Miranda, Bobby Whitt, Jr., or Joe Ryan, players that I really don’t care about. I also can’t explain why I bought a Topps Now Miranda yesterday after he made a historical twelve consecutive hits. I guess I did it for trade bait, but I’ve yet to find anyone to trade.
I’ve used the word “Break” in reference to baseball cards during several recent posts. Allow me to have an internet “expert” clarify what it means: “Breaking refers to the practice of opening multiple boxes or cases of a product at the same time, and then distributing the cards to a larger group of paying customers. Breakers sell ‘slots’ to their breaks, and customers receive a defined portion of the opened product. In some cases, the customers will pay for a specific team, which entitles them to any card belonging to a player from that team; in other cases, the customer is simply given a randomized allotment.”
“Breaking has become a major business within the trading card world. Breakers operate websites and often stream their breaks on social media platforms. For high-stakes breaks, it isn’t uncommon for thousands of people to tune in and watch even though they aren’t paying for a slot or receiving any cards.”
I’ve admittedly experimented with Fanatics sites like Mama Breaks and Black Tie Breaks to try and understand this phenomenon. It reminds me of playing fantasy sports where you pick your players, hoping that they perform well. I never had much luck with that game either, because I get too emotional when I pick my players or teams, like the White Sox and Cubs. It’s all gambling, disguised as a hobby, but I’m addicted. In reality, anyone that I pick is likely to “break” an arm or leg.
I have a new definition of the word “frisky” – our 6-month-old puppy, Fosse. She’s a bundle of energy that adores my wife and occasionally me. I have the two toughest dog duties – first and last outings of the day, and too often dinnertime. On most days, it’s very routine – up at 7a, leashes on, pee, poop, pee, and treat before my wife gives them “ham time” and breakfast. Tally, her 14-year-old schnauzer sister moves slowly through the process while Fosse ravishes her puzzle bowl of kibbles. The sounds of her scooting the bowl around and devouring the contents echo loudly through the house – like a madman on the loose.
Yesterday was rainy in the afternoon, while the dog park was being fertilized and off limits in the morning. They did not get to burn off much energy, so Fosse in particular was restless. She’d follow us everywhere we went, hoping that my wife would fire up the golf cart and take her to the park for some interaction with her play buddies. She watched as I performed another of my duties – cleaning the diarrhea-stained dining room rug, thanks to Tally. In old age, she doesn’t have the iron stomach that she grew up with, so there are accidents. Fosse has a few as well, so the Spot Shot gets a regular work out. For especially bad areas, out comes the carpet cleaner. A rainy day was a good time for such throw rug maintenance. They naturally never go on the tile surfaces, that comprise most of our flooring, where clean-up would be simple.
Fosse has been pretty good about not running off when I briefly take her off the leash to go back inside. Tally has to get a drink at the water fountain by the front door, while Fosse goes the opposite direction inside looking for her treat. I’m usually stretched to the max between the two of them. This morning, I unhooked Fosse and she took off like a shot down the street, teased a huge, fluffy, neighbor dog that she like to bark at, and would not respond to my pleas. She bolted the opposite direction, crossed our unbusy street, chased a rabbit, and became a speck in the distance. My leg was cramping and painful, so I couldn’t keep up, while Tally was still on the leash and reluctant to move. I had no choice but to let her off and limp after Fosse. Now, I had two dogs without restraints. Finally, out of breath, I gave up the chase and went home to retrieve the golf cart.
This was when my wife came out of the house, clearly unhappy that I had lost control of her babies. She was half dressed and ungroomed. I yelled out, “get the golf cart,” knowing that Fosse would think that she was missing out on the dog park. Sure enough, after dodging me for what seemed like an eternity, she went straight to my wife. I got a lecture about letting her off the leash and countered that it hadn’t happened before. It was a typical dog argument that I would never win. She’s constantly worried about cars and alligators – I should be more cautious. While she finally got properly dressed to take them to the dog park, I once again had them fully harnessed, even the escape artist that was bucking like a bronco trying to once again get away. Whew – what a frisky start to the morning!
An electrical storm just knocked out my power, but oddly only the outlets surrounding my home office. I was just starting this post when the computer shut down, then the overhead lights. An adjacent bath was without power and the guest bedroom dark, but the rest of the house was fine. Upon inspection, the circuit breaker had tripped and efforts to reset the switch failed. I began to unplug things – computer, printer, extension cord, etc., even turning the light switch off, but the breaker would not reload. Finally, I unplugged a bathroom nightlight and the circuit breaker switch promptly held. After restoring all the office equipment, there now seems to be no issue.
Being the pessimist that I am, I began to imagine the cost of an electrician, perhaps replacing the computer, and sitting in darkness for days. Woe is Me! Retirees like me just don’t have the resources to cover these unexpected things and no means of earning extra cash. It’s a constant worry, but in this case fortunately unnecessary. It’s why I need to find something more constructive to do than watch TV, sort baseball cards, and write. I had no intention of posting about electrical hassles, just regarding a Robb Report I was sent about the 50 top pizza places in America.
I’ve been to #1 and #5, Una Pizza Napoletana in NYC and Ken’s Artisan Pizza in Portland. I actually prefer Apizza Scholls over Ken’s when we visit. Just last week, for example, we chose to go to this competitor. Portland also offers #27 Grana and #30 Nostrana. No other city but New York has more Top 50 options. Chicago also had three. It’s been years since we’ve been to Una Pizza Napoletana, but it’s the only occasion where I’ve ever turned down my favorite cookie, the Black & White, so as not to spoil the flavors dancing in my mouth.
Given the choice though, I would still opt for my hometown favorite, Volcano Pizza. They also have a location in Johnson City, Tennessee. We happened to stop on one of our cross-country drives to find it to be exactly like my treasured Elkhart, Indiana pie – even the store layout. I coincidentally spoke with a fellow Viking Cruiser whose name tag identified him as living in Johnson City, and we shared our love of their tasty sausage preparation. My wife likes Bruno’s in nearby Logansport that I also enjoyed. Experts say that pizza lovers favor their hometown choices because of the familiarity of water, the biggest ingredient in any brand. It’s tough to find a pizza that I don’t like and even harder for me to turn down and Black & White!
Getting carded when you’re in your twenties is insulting, but in future years this can easily make your day. However, having recently been carded in my seventies, there was little satisfaction knowing that some establishments have “everyone gets carded” policies. So, don’t let “Getting Carded” go to your head. Mine is obviously a little cloudy as I write this particular post.
When I can’t sleep at night, I often think of crazy things, while playing boring mind games to keep from endlessly rehashing whatever it is that’s bothering me. In this case, I was clearly focused on growing old with another birthday coming up as well as my son’s 50th. I reminisced about turning 16 and getting a driver’s license, then draft eligible at 18, and ultimately hitting the jackpot at 21 with the benefits of drinking legal liquor and now considered old enough to vote. We all go through these youthful stages of life. It’s then a long stretch before we start thinking about retirement at age 65. In between, you can choose to get married, start a career, and have kids. These steps naturally lead to more dates on the calendar of life such as anniversary celebrations, birthday or graduation parties, more weddings, and maybe even similar milestones with grandchildren. I couldn’t help but dwell on my thirtieth, fortieth, fiftieth, sixtieth, and seventieth birthdays, wondering if there would be an eightieth?
Nowadays, I’m retired, wasting away too many of my precious hours playing card games like bridge, euchre, hearts, or solitaire, buying baseball cards, and organizing these cards into notebooks. It often feels like an obsession, but most hobbies lead to such folly. In a desperate effort to fall asleep when everything else failed, I invented a little game of my own. Like counting sheep jumping over an imaginary fence, I began to think about card variations, some sillier than others:
Playing card, Baseball card, Trump card, Get out of Jail Free card, Green card, Gold card, Discover Card, Platinum card, Black card, Titanium card, Social Security card, ATM card, Bank card, Charge card, Credit Card, Debit Card, Index card, Flash card, Red card, Yellow card, Rewards card, Business card, Greeting card, Calling card, Tarot cards, Postcard, Notecard, Loyalty card, Discount card, Christmas card, Birthday card, Holiday card -Easter, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Get Well Card, Sympathy Card, Graduation card, Hallmark Card, “In the cards,” Card Shark, Prepaid card, Medicare card, Membership card, Library card, Cardiologist, Cardinal – St. Louis, Arizona, Stanford, Ball State, Cardio, Card carrier, SIM card, Card holder, Card games, PC card, Graphics card, Flash card, Memory card, Punch Card, Bingo Card, Interface card, Game card, Trading card, UNO card, AMEX card, Discover Card, Chase Card, Apple card, Pokémon card, Get carded, ID card, Graduation card, eCard, Poker card, Card Table, Card Holder, Card Dealer, Card game, Line-up card, Magic card, Tobacco card, Football card, Boxing or Fight card, Wrestling card, Winning card, Card deck, Face card, Card game, High card, Low card, Card trick, Card shuffler, Cut the cards, Sort your cards, House of Cards, Score card, Dance card, Corporate card, Prayer cards, Draft Card, Numbered cards, Parallel cards, Auto cards, Relic cards, Rookie card, Wild card, Card Organizer, Card Dealer, Suit card, Card Break, Graded card, Automatic card shuffler, Card carrier, Marked card, Card Table……
I’ll try again tonight, putting more cards on the table (or pillow) and hoping for….. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz’s!!!!!!
It was just another morning of letting the dogs out and cleaning up after them, when a neighbor passer-by surprised me by wishing a “Happy 4th.” Days are so routine in retirement that I often forget things like this, especially after a sleepless night. I woke up stiff and sore, having completely forgotten that we were headed to one of the neighborhood pools later this morning for sunshine, live music, and hot dogs. It will be crowded, but my wife will save me a chair while I finish my workout. Later, we’ll catch the Englewood Fireworks down by the beach. It will be a Happy 4th!
As I was tossing and turning last night, my thoughts were on my son’s upcoming 50th birthday. Having a child that old was certainly a reminder of my own mortality. I celebrated my 50th with Eeyore at Disney World’s Crystal Palace – my son visited with a friend. My 40th was spent in Hawaii, the last hurrah of my first marriage. Soon after, I was divorced and as a result, special occasions like his birthday can be awkward because we should be honoring him together. Instead, it will probably be just another day. I don’t know yet if there is a plan to get together with the grandkids for cake and presents, but his mother will likely be miles away, back in Indiana. If she does decide to visit, I’ll keep my distance, a casualty after 27-years of marriage and a bitter parting. My son’s birthday wish will probably be that it never happened, but he can clearly see that I am much happier these days.
I’m in the process of writing a poem for the 70th birthday party of eight former work collogues. The event in Indianapolis at a bar called the Mousetrap will be called “Indy Ad Chicks and Two Dicks.” One of them sadly just lost her husband to a heart attack. It could have been me, fortunate to have caught my heart issues and had them repaired. My doctor keeps reminding me that I was literally a “time bomb,” even though I didn’t really feel the effects. Now, I am feeling the after-effects while trying to get back in shape. For the first time, I’ll likely publicly reveal my scars at the pool today, now that it’s been nearly six months since the operation. It will take another six months to get back to “normal.”
I guess that it’s all of these things converging together, coupled with a stubborn bladder, that keeps me awake at night. I’ll also soon be seventy-three, married for another 25-years, and unable to attend my 55th high school reunion (I did buy the commemorative mug), more major reminders of my mortality. I’m indeed lucky to be alive, living in sunny Florida, and surrounded by a loving wife and three grandkids, after traveling the world.
I had a son relatively early in life, giving me freedom from parental responsibilities at age 50. On the other hand, he still has two teenagers and a six-year-old living with him, and a wife in medical school. Needless to say, they won’t be traveling to Hawaii to blow out his candles, although we all did get together a few weeks ago at Disney World. Happy Birthday, dear son, I hope you enjoy the next twenty-some years of freedom as I have! Thanks to those who served and gave their lives to make it possible!
Here’s to wishing you all a Happy 4th!
Today, my birth father would have been 93. He took his life nearly 13-years ago, although I didn’t know he existed at the time. I was in touch with one of his daughters (my half-sister) today, who reminded me that we had our first phone call 6-years ago tomorrow. She had five sisters at the time, but only four are still alive. The only brother died tragically as a teenager. I discovered the connection through Ancestry, having already known the name of my birth mother.
That first call was not as awkward as I envisioned. I thought for sure she would think that I was a stalker of sorts. Instead, it became comfortable as we explored the possibility. A few calls later, we were ready to call each other brother and sister – I refer to her as “Fav” to distinguish her from the sister that I grew up with, who was also adopted. Unlike “Fav” we have no genetic connection, but rather a lifetime of memories and a common love for the couple that raised us. They are my real mom and dad.
I first met “Fav’s” Bannister family in their hometown of Scipio, Indiana on December 26, 2018. Her mother was gracious enough to welcome me despite the awkward circumstances. I was the result of a “high-school fling” prior to their marriage that she was not aware. Her mom was apparently an older classmate of my bio-mother. Four of the five sisters were there to meet my wife and I, including one that passed a few years back. I’ve yet to meet the fifth but came close a few months ago. The mother recently died, as did my bio-mom, who sadly I also never met.
“Fav” came from our second face-to-face meeting at Lambert’s Cafe in Foley, Alabama, home of the “throwed rolls.” It was a preferred dining spot for all of our parents when they vacationed down south. That initial meeting was on September 2, 2020. She brought along her friend Tish for support and a sign that read “Favorite Sister,” I held up the sign in a photo of the two of us that she used to taunt her siblings. Needless to say, my adopted sister did not appreciate the claim when she saw it on Facebook.
“Fav” and I have met on two other occasions, but keep in touch with text messages, especially during football season. She works for the University of Alabama and an avid “Roll Tide” fan. One of our visits was at the Tuscaloosa campus, where I also met her son. She did message me today on her father’s birthday, so these memories are fresh in my mind. I never met him, but have some photos, stories, and his Marine’s spoon to remind me of his major influence on my life. Here’s to all my six sisters, past and present. Oh, and there’s one more on my birth mother’s side that won’t acknowledge me, but that’s another story. Regardless, they are all favorites!
My eyes are still sensitive to sunlight, hence the bulky, black sunglasses. I went out to fix both yard fountains this morning in the cooler temperatures and found myself breathless, another indication that I need to continue the gym work to get back into shape. After I’m done writing this morning, I’ll walk to the fitness center and do the stationary bike, rowing machines, and weights that are now my daily routine. I often feel spent on the walk back.
Our electric fireplace was finally installed yesterday but will need some finishing tile. Because of our concrete walls, the size of the plug did not allow it to fit flush with the wall as expected. We watched the flames dance and felt its warmth that was not necessary on another hot, humid Floriday day. It’s just another home improvement project that was crossed off the list but then added another to-do line.
I went to another baseball card trade night last evening with expectations of leaving with fewer numbers in my collection. Instead, I exchanged two cards for twelve, adding to my bulging binders. Tonight, I am participating in an on-line break, having drawn the Toronto Blue Jays. I promptly traded for the White Sox, the worst team in baseball, for the second worst. This tends to be my luck in these games of chance, but at least the Sox are my team through thick and thin. With unwrapped cards dating back two years, maybe I’ll get a good break, but more likely there will be a valuable Blue Jays card revealed.
Breaking is the latest phenomenon with card collectors. Instead of buying a box of cards, you share the contents of several boxes with others, adding variety and value. You pay a fee and either pick your team or rely on the luck of the draw, depending on the offer. Each pack of cards is unwrapped separately during an on-line event. Unlike the old days, there is no bubble gum prize, just rare variations like parallels, special finishes, numbered, and game-used relics that add unique value to the standard player’s traditional issue. These also command higher prices on the resale market, when at one time only supply and demand determined prices. This was the case with Honus Wagner when his tobacco cards were destroyed because he did not appreciate the association. This left very few on the market and determined its multi-million-dollar worth.
I’m not sure whether I like to watch the unwrapping ceremonies over opening them myself. It’s always like Christmas when a sealed pack of cards is opened, at least for me. Opening a full box is even more thrilling but the investment is sometimes prohibitive. This is why sharing the cost has become popular through these lotteries, plus multiple boxes add to the drama. I’d rather have complete control and keep all of the cards, but these chance breaks like tonight better fit my retirement budget. Go Sox!
We have dinner tonight with another card collector and his wife. He once owned his own trading card business, so it will be interesting to see what he has in the way of White Sox merchandise. I find it amazing to see how card collecting interests have exploded in the past few years with football garnering the most attention Hobby cards like Lorcana and Pokeman have also attracted younger interest. There are also hockey, auto racing, basketball, history, celebrities, soccer, and every other sport as options, depending on taste. I’m sticking with baseball in search of that illusive Honus Wagner. Give me a break!
As promised, here is the summary poem of our Disney/Portland trip to celebrate my wife’s birthday. We stayed with her daughter, who works for Nike, and husband who is campaigning for City Council. We went to some of our favorite restaurants like Apizza Scholls, Salt & Straw, Buffalo Wild Wings, and Ling’s, after our final Disney dinner with my family in Orlando at Be Our Guest. We ventured into wine country with friends, visited the Portland Art Museum and other downtown haunts, and took their dogs, Ham (who barked at me incessantly) and Falco, to the Thousand Acre Park. I continued to struggle with my legs, but their vehicles shuttled me close to all of our destinations. The final Bridgerton episodes were on Netflix, a service we no longer subscribe, so we watched on their projection screen, ate fresh morel mushrooms from the farmer’s market, drank wine, and went to a Portland Pickle’s baseball game. Before we left, we stopped by Powell’s Bookstore where they were married five years ago and caught some magnificent glimpses of Mount Hood. Once again, you had to be there to understand all the subtle, humorous nuances of this particular poem. We’ll see them again in January.
C.U. in January
Disney Grey Stuff,
Beauty and the Beast.
For a family of 6,
A Pricey feast.
Dreaded presentation,
For Marriott bucks.
Off to the airport,
Middle seat sucks.
Midnight arrival,
Baggage delay.
Barely get there,
Before THE birthday.
Screen door lunch,
Apizza pie.
No Birthday Bear,
But Megan buys.
Mitch campaigning,
But time to make eggs.
Mike having issues,
With cramps in his legs.
But walked a Thousand Acres,
And peed behind a tree.
Let my natural instincts,
Take ahold of me.
Wings with Matt,
Bridgerton finale.
Remembering walks,
With Falco and Tally.
With the IU gang,
At Domaine Willamette,
In case you’re wondering,
It’s Wag-yu, dammit.
Pasta Allora,
Flor wine.
Farmer’s Market,
Morels to dine.
Art Museum,
Monet and shoes.
Salt and Straw,
Mount Hood views.
Stranger Danger,
Ham annoyed.
His growls and bark,
Hard to avoid.
Golf Shuttle,
Ling farewell.
Suitcases packed.
New truck smell.
Once amused,
By drinking Dickel.
My new favorite,
Is “Pickle, Pickle, Pickle!”
A stop at Powell’s,
But not to Marry!
If not Next Tuesday,
C.U. in January.
Copyright 2024 johnstonwrites.com
I’m reminded of the Billy Joel song, I’m Movin’ Out:
Sergeant O’Leary is walkin’ the beat
At night, he becomes a bartender
He works at Mister Cacciatore’s down on Sullivan Street
Across from the medical center.
Yeah, and he’s trading in his Chevy
For a Cadillac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac
You oughta know by now
(You oughta know by now)
And if he can’t drive with a broken back
At least he can polish the fenders.
And it seems such a waste of time
If that’s what it’s all about
Mama, if that’s movin’ up
Then I’m movin’ out
Mmm, I’m movin’ out.
Instead of “Cadillac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac,” I’m thinkin’ Cataract-act-act-act-act-act. I’m sporting the big, black Solar Shield sunglasses that look like Blue Blockers and putting drops in my eyes every few hours. I even had to wear a plastic shield over my right eye the first night to avoid scratching and rubbing. Otherwise, everything is normal.
It was just another medical procedure I had to endure this year, but certainly nothing compared to open heart surgery. So far, they’ve left my brain alone. In a few weeks, they’ll do the left eye and I’ll need to get new glasses, the result of better vision.
On the never-ending list of doctor visits, I do have a wellness exam next week and will continue the chiropractor adjustments to my spinal area. Walking is getting more comfortable. Currently, I’m sitting on an ice pack while writing this. As the year goes on, I’ll be seeing, even clearer now, a neurologist and a urologist. What could go wrong, or better yet, what is right?
