The Tolls of Strolls in The eye of every storm

At the ripe young age of 34, I had a hole drilled into my left hip. The doctor came in, circled the little spot on my outer leg where they would start the drilling, and explained that it would take about an hour and a half. I sat with my wife and mother in law, and I was scared. I’d never had a major surgery before, but then a nice man came in and said you are going to go to sleep now, and I did, and I woke up with a hole in my hip.

I was out of work for nearly four months, as I could not put any weight on said leg. Given the hole went straight through by femur and then into my hip, the slightest amount of pressure could have caused a hip collapse, and that was what we were trying to avoid.

I found a get well card from 2016, when that surgery was performed, that said something in essence of “this year has been really rough for you guys, but you’re over the hump.” I laughed today, pretty hard at that particular note, because it was dead wrong.

Six months later, my ear drum had a hole in it, and reversed the flow of my air tube all deep inside there. It would require surgery to fix. Another nice doctor told me I’d be going to sleep soon on that October day, and I did, and they cut the back of my ear lobe nearly off, draped it across my face, and with precision and microscopes went in and shaved down my anvil bone, which was the culprit, then reattached everything, flipped my ear back where God gave it to me, and stitched it all up. Three weeks out of work and then I found out I lost 24% of my hearing in my left ear, which is terrible for someone who plays fourteen instruments.

Again, there were get well cards that said “your next year is going to be awesome.”

And it kinda was. It was 2018 that sank my battleship.

See, back in 2011, I had this crazy idea that I was going to hike the Florida National Scenic Trail, and continue on the Appalachian Trail. It’s about 3500 miles total worth of hiking.

In 2017, towards the end of the year, perfectly timed for deductibles to reset, my hips started hurting again. The Core Decompression surgery to relieve pressure was not a success, and rather matter of fact in tone, my Dr. informed me I would be having a double hip replacement at 36 years old. They took the right one out after a nice man told me I’d be going to sleep at the end of March and then they took the left one out some time at the end of june after a nice man put me down again, and now I’m the poster child of pat downs in the TSA for the rest of my life.

“What’s that under your pocket, sir?”
“That’s my hip.”
“Mind if I pat it down?”
“It cost me $60,000.00, so yeah, get some use out of it.”

I missed ten months of work for Major Airlines.

Now, my back is hurting. I’ve been out of work from January to now. I’m looking at back surgery probably sometime next month. Honestly, I hover between finding humor and finding death, almost in a manic way, but mostly just find a bottle. It’s destroyed my marriage, as we’re barely hanging on by a thread, and it’s hard to shake this “fuck it,” attitude I have right now. I mean, I LOVE my wife, so much. She’s a goddamned saint. But she didn’t sign up for this, for my depression after all of this, for my continuous drinking, not wanting to be home, or around, but rather out with friends to try and feel....normal? better? I don’t know.

I don’t regret going for a little stroll in the woods though.

Last updated April 18, 2019