I find myself in a dilemma here. I have something to talk about, but I can't talk about it to anybody. So what better place to do it than some public place that no one ever sees.
Let's get something up front here. I can't stand whiners. Whiners are people who complain to me about things they already know I can do nothing about. Got that? The thing is, I'm an engineer. I haven't worked in close to five years but an engineer is something you are, not something you do. Is there some aspect of the physical world that is bothering you? Car running rough? Lights flickering? Faucet dripping? Bicycle skipping gears? Especially: electronics (includes computers, A/V equipment, pop-up toasters, espresso machines, iPads, and cellular phones)? Hey, I'm your man, baby! Let's have a look, and you'll be up and running in five minutes.
But if you have a problem with people, which is where 99.99747% of the world's problems reside, there's not much I can do for you. People are fucking irrational. Even me. I can commiserate to a point, but if you are just unloading on me because I'm a nice guy, OK, enough is enough. I get it. Whatever it is, just suck it up, keep your head down, and find something else to think about. This is the only advice I can offer. If you are looking for somebody to share your pain, I have enough of it already. Enough. I have problems of my own. Stand on your own two feet. I can barely stand on mine.
All right, enough digressing out of the elliptical plane. Here is my dilemma: I am in pain. Pain in my body, centering on my lumbar spine but radiating out into my hips and my legs. I am 69 years old, so I can expect some pain, but this shit is affecting my mobility. I have an old wooden cane I take with me everywhere. It doesn't do squat for the pain, but it keeps me from falling when a muscle spasm in my back causes me to falter. Every time I do that, it's because of a sharp pain. Sometimes people see this, and they think maybe it's a structural thing, like weak muscles. Nope. Pain.
Most days, I am done in around 7:00 PM. My only relief is a heating pad that I keep in my bed. Going to bed is surrender. Defeat.
Getting sick of me yet? You should be. I'm whining. There is nothing you can do about it. You may have some advice that you think is helpful, but it will fill me with rage if you discuss yoga, supplements, or holistic medicine of any description. It. Does. Not. Fucking. Work. My back is fucking broken. Nothing can fix that.
In the spring of 2014, I had reconstructive surgery to relieve pressure on my sciatic nerves. A laminectomy, a spinal fusion, two rods, and a shitload of screws. The surgery took six hours, and I damn near died because I could not find my call button when I woke up and I was throwing up because of the morphine. My so-called recovery consisted of forced retirement from my job and ten months in bed on my back, ingesting opioid pain meds, trying and failing to resume something like a normal life. If some fucking doctor were to discuss further surgery with me - is there a term for killing a doctor? How about "iatrocide." Hmm. Maybe I just inserted a necessary word into the English language.
I had around a year of reasonable functioning. No cane needed, just the occasional spasm that would make me stumble. I even thought I was recovering, but the spasms became more frequent, and I was in danger of falling, so I got Stumpy - the name I gave to my old wooden cane - out of the garage and started taking it with me.
My intervertebral discs are collapsing because of old age. My vertebrae are collapsing because of spondylosis and osteoporosis. My back fucking hurts because all of this is impinging on nerves that work with my legs and just because it fucking hurts. They can't even see where the problem is on imaging because the crap they put in my body interferes with it. I have to go through a body scanner at the airport because I trip the metal detector every fucking time.
But I guess that's why I came here after two years of inactivity. I can't say anything more about Dumpy - our soon-to-be-impeached pretender to the throne, if you happened on this by accident - but I can say something about me.
I hurt. I fucking hurt. I just want somebody to care. Not to do anything for me, but just to care. There. I have a basic human need that I can neither fulfill nor tolerate. And time is running out for me.
Enough whining.
