I'm Not Dead Yet

Been kinda quiet around here. I wouldn’t blame folks for thinking that I’d joined my brothers. As an actual writer once said, the rumors of my Demise were somewhat exaggerated.  The truth is a tangled wind knot of attitude, pain, disability, and rules.

Rule #1 around here has always been, “This is a no-whining zone.” 

Thus, the silence. Or lack of writing. I’ve been stuck in a rut of pain, spinning my wheels in the mud, wallowing up to the axles in self pity. The pain kept getting worse and the pity got deeper. Shields up, red alert, engage cloaking device!

Recently though, a couple of friends managed to crack the dome and convince me there were people that actually found value in my stories. And, there’s finally a plan that might help the pain.

 

• In 2019, my right shoulder started going bad. By the end of the year, I was getting steroid injections every 3 months to cover the pain.
• By early 2020, I was typing with only my left hand. Even for work.
• In August 2020, I had surgery on the right shoulder to reattach a displaced tendon and clean out the arthritic joint. This was supposed to provide a measure of pain relief.
• Parkinson’s Disease reacted badly to the surgery, and the pain levels escalated.
• Toward end of October 2020, I was hospitalized to get the pain and muscle spasms under control. At this point, I was medically restricted from working. Disabled, so to speak.

Between the shoulder pain, other Parkinson’s Disease (PD) issues, and a global virus pandemic, my attitude and physical activity dropped. I lost 50 pounds. I’ve also lost muscle mass, balance, memory, mental acuity, and fragments of sanity.

There were some bright spots, though. I managed a few short walks with a fly rod, now almost always accompanied by Mrs. Fading Angler. I love fishing with her anyway, but we were both terrified I might fall. More on this later.

Enough finally became enough. A radiologist was looking at a live x-ray image while injecting my shoulder last year and asked, “Are you planning on getting this shoulder replaced anytime soon?”

“No,” I replied. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

“There’s basically nothing left in that joint.”

Well, that certainly explains the limited range of motion, popping, and pain in the ol’ right shoulder. After consulting about 8 different doctors, here’s the plan:

• Intramuscular Botox injections (for muscle spasm and Parkinson’s rigidity) and a steroid injection (for pain) in early March. Done.
• Surgery to implant a pump that pushes anti-spasm medication directly into my spinal cord in late March 2023. Done, still adjusting.
  
  
  
  
  
• Another round of Botox and steroid shots in June 2023 to get me through the summer.
• Total Shoulder Replacement surgery scheduled for September 28, 2023.

The hope is that replacing the shoulder will rid me of one source of nearly constant pain. There’s that word again.

Let’s see… 

• wires pushed deep into my brain, sending out tiny electrical pulses controlled by a computer implanted in my chest.
• a pump about the size of hockey puck implanted below my right rib cage, dribbling medication into my spinal cord.
• An artificial shoulder.

I think I’m nearly ready for my own red lightsaber…

Flyfishing Season is Over

Flyfishing season is over.

I’d fish the Blackfoot River with one arm if necessary.
Photo/guide credit: KynsLee Scott

Shoulder pain has been an unwelcome and persistent companion since early 2019. I’ve been gritting my teeth and casting anyway. The Blackfoot and Firehole Rivers were worth the piper’s fare. But now I think it’s time to grow up. 10 weeks of physical therapy. Oral steroids. A cortisone injection deep into the joint. After all that, a CT scan last week reveals I have at least three kinds of tissue damage and mild arthritis. At least I know there’s a reason. A good surgeon can fix Humpty Dumpty, right? Insert hope here. Maybe some WD-40 liniment and strategically placed duct tape?

“This child is getting old...”

Life Is Pain

“Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards.” -- Robert A. Heinlein -- 

Since my Deep Brain Stimulation surgery in April and May of 2017, things have been quiet and sparse around here.  Maybe there’s something to “The Myth of the Suffering Artist.”  I'll caveat that: in no way, shape, or form do I consider myself an artist.  I have and always will approach things as a technician, or maybe an engineer.  Even when it comes to writing.  At the age of 9, I was introduced to a cognitive model called “Blooms Taxonomy.” It provided an interesting crystal ball for scrying into to cobwebs and haunted machinery in my head. (Is that you, Lord Sauron?)  I’ll spare you the boring and deviant details of my training and early adventures in metacognition, but I've come to realize where my mind does its best work: synthesis.

“Using old concepts to create new ideas; design and invention; composing; imagining; inferring; modifying; predicting; combining”

For me, writing is a problem-solving and design process.  I throw a few concepts, quotes, and references at a wall.  I arrange, rearrange, connect, fill, typo, misspell, despair, yell, accept, and publish.  But there's no art here.  It lacks creativity and originality.  For example, this is where I should insert a gratuitous (and overused) quote from Saint Norman:

...all good things - trout as well as eternal salvation - come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy. 

Denver Flyfishing Show 2018

Fly tiers along the wall, all the way back!

One of the events I failed to write about last year was the Denver Flyfishing Show.  While fishing with Howard Levett late in the summer of 2016, we chatted about shows and he mentioned he rarely misses the Denver show.  I asked if he'd mind some company, so Mrs. Fading Angler and I joined him in January 2017.  It's a good sized show, probably about 3 or 4 times larger than the Great Waters Expo that's held here in Minnesota.

Obviously, we enjoyed it because Mrs. FA asked if we could do it again, so plans were made in October for the 2018 show.  The show again coincided with our anniversary, so it's a great excuse to take a mini-vacation.  We went to college two hours north of Denver at the University of Wyoming and I worked in Boulder for three years once upon a time.  We're familiar with the area.  (GO BRONOCS... next year?)

Proof

Sorry, I haven't been sneaking around Roswell or tracking Bigfoot through the north woods of Minnesota (though I have it on good authority that Sasquatch roams the north woods of Wisconsin.)  And despite the fact that I wasn't sure I'd survive neurosurgery last year, I don't have proof of life after death, either.

In this case, proof means "something that you approve."

2017 - Big Year, but Epic Blog Fail

Faceplant!

The year began with a bit of prophecy and a very cool event.  There was actually snow and cold in Denver when Mrs. Fading Angler and I hopped out to Colorado in early January.  Our anniversary falls within the first week of the year, and so did the Denver Flyfishing Show.  Howard Levett and I plotted to attend, and it would have been poor form to leave my lovely bride at home on our anniversary.  (At least I wasn't out at Boulder Beer with another woman on this particular anniversary, but that's a whole 'nother story...)  It turned out that Howard and Mrs. FA got along famously, and had something in common: deriving much pleasure from picking on yours truly.

Story Time

A long time ago, in a-

No, this isn't that kind of story.  Rather, I'm flattered that last month, the Parkinson's Foundation published something I wrote in their "My Parkinson's Story" feature.  I hope you don't mind me sharing.

http://www.parkinson.org/get-involved/my-pd-story/Chris