Shanghaied !!..! And Am I’m Too Sexy For My Shorts?

My house has New England AC; open windows and French doors, with ceiling and pedestal fans spinning to keep air moving. Outdoor ambient was 93°F. Two of my guys were up from the Austin, Texas area, and wondering how I was tolerating this cold spell.

Recovering from surgery, I have been constantly in motion, walking, drawing from the finest  contingency of blue sweatpants and gray cotton t-shirts for suitable attire. At 93ºF, and on the way to 100°F, I needed to improvise, expand my wardrobe selections. So I found a pair of sharp scissors and attacked a pair of sweats laying on the bed, with a best guess of where below the knees should be the point of attack. The results in all of their pictorial spender.

Why am I wearing slippers and white socks? The slippers are tile, hardwood, carpet and treadmill ready. The soles are made from Hoosier Drag Bracket Radials. The right sock curbs the swelling in my right ankle, preventing it from exploding. Why the left sock? It would be a fashion faux pas to wear only one sock. I am not a boomer, I am of the silent generation. Our sensibilities work in mysterious ways.

Men of my generation stop wearing short pants after Catholic Holy Communion, AKA age seven. At my age and within my generation, standard morality and good taste means showers in the dark, dressing in the dark, and all other activities in the dark that expose more than face and hands. So I am not sure where this insane journey into bare shins will lead me. I feel a rebel.

Shanghaied

Modern post surgical events are a lot like like awakening out at sea, on the deck of an old sailing ship, after spending too much time, and paying too little attention, in a coastal village tavern the night before. Clubbed unconscious, hauled away in a gunnysack, then awaking to the motion of an old wooden sailing ship to deal with disorientation and a hangover. Given a clear understanding of procedure and expectations, no seaman would ever sign on…. unless they liked that sort of thing.

After a thorough review of a fresh CT scan, the plan of treatment was angioplasty with stenting and a little bypass grafting, mostly endoscopic and destined for a quick recovery. So I was a little surprised when I was awakened by the sun beating down, a circling of soaring gulls and salt ocean spray, to find the 12″ trilateral scar of an endarterectomy!!..!. More specifically, an iliofemoral endarterectomy with a bovine pericardial patch where the hipbone is connected to the leg bone, and all of it way to close to Mr. Blinky. Having a large artery with a piece of cow heart is a new experience. Udderly unbelievable. A Moooving experience.

The surgical team hacked and scraped, chiseled and Dremeled, pinched off, and hacked some more. Five hours of Monty Python level blood spurting, and I missed it all. I believe I was bottom deck class for the recovery voyage, as attractive people, nurses and doctors, passed by the foot of my bed with great frequency, but only on their way to the old guy next to me, who alternated between coughing up a lung and changing TV channels throughout the night. It was like having a room in a skid row hotel, with a large flashing neon sign outside the window.

I made the mistake of not using the nurse call button to make frivolous requests, and for getting up two hours after surgery to use the bathroom and to brush my teeth. I wanted out, and I was told walking was the path to follow. So I staked out a route from the bed to the patient solarium, figured out how to tie my hospital gown to avoid exposing the staff and general public to an involuntary flash of old man’s white, white… white bare ass, and off I went. By 10:30 the next day, I had seen all of the staff I was required to see, found my clothes and was sitting in a chair, waiting for my sons to retrieve me. Color me gone.

Not a shred of courage in any of those events. Just whistling past the graveyard. You get to a certain age, where a stay in a hospital is not as appealing as it might sound. So about 8 weeks until fully healed, three weeks until I can drive, and can’t lift over 10 pounds for 3 weeks. Call if my leg falls off. So treadmill and walking, and a wound check followup, tape and staples removal in 2 weeks… with the janitor. Excellent surgeon, efficient staff, no new friends will be made. Feeling much better already.

There was a huge upside adjacent. Two of my sons I hadn’t seen for some time came up from Texas to lend support support. Lord knows I do not have the kind of will it would take to demand that attention. We go to talk. We got to watch the Giants – Bills preseason game, and the Patriots game, and even the Jets. Mostly it was just nice having them around for awhile.