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

Blog for Sale...

Editor's note: It appears my blog was hacked recently and the following barely-authorized content was uploaded and posted.  Take heed, kids!  This is what happens when you neglect your blog...
--The Fading Angler

No matter what you are thinking right now, you would be wrong.  Unless you guessed foreclosure, then you’d be right.  I was browsing the interwebs and found this blog; alone, abandoned and unloved.  So I’ve moved in, redecorated and made it livable again.  How do you like me so far?

But seriously, my buddy Chris (Remember Chris?) has been so busy with work and family and the holidays that I offered to jump in and give him a hand.

Up the Voltage

Last Thursday was the event I've been waiting for all summer.  In previous years, I would have reserved those words some something like a fishing trip to the Missouri River in Montana.  This time, it was my first follow-up appointment with the Deep Brain Stimulation (DBS) team at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN.  I quit taking my Parkinson's Disease medication about 12 hours before the appointment, which made for a terrible night's sleep.   Morning arrived, and I hobbled through the shower and got dressed, trying not to fall down and wake anyone up prematurely.

Check-in time for my appointment was 7:45 AM.  We arrived at the complex early so we could get a good parking spot and find breakfast in the "subway level," the sprawling complex of tunnels beneath the streets of Rochester, akin to the "Skyway" system of Minneapolis.  When it's winter in Minnesota, most folks would prefer not to walk outside.  The tunnels link several Mayo buildings, hotels, and other businesses.  They also happen to be home to plenty of food options, such as bagels, Cinnabon, and Caribou coffee.  Mmm, morning mocha....

Mid-Summer Update

What does an artist do when his muse has wandered away?  Not that I consider myself much of an artist, mind you.  My writing is the equivalent of finger-painted sheets of butcher paper in the world of visual arts.  Mom, can I hang this on the fridge?  Speaking of hanging stuff on the fridge, Mrs. Fading Angler and I took a couple of courses together in college.  When she did much better than me on a particular exam in Engineering Physics II, the professor told her to take the graded exam home and hang it on the fridge.  She did.

So, let's do an update on my current medical condition.  The summary should sound familiar: I am SO ready for my first follow-up appointment at the Mayo clinic in two weeks.  I could whine about how I'm limping around and how my hands hurt like crazy when I'm trying to fall asleep at night, but it's better to focus on the fact that the Deep Brain Stimulation implant has removed the very worst of my Parkinson's symptoms: neck pain.  And I am very, very grateful for this, because it means I can work.  All the rest is just inconvenience.  No other surgical side-effects or problems.  I like being part of that statistical category.

Normally, I'd also have written more about fishing.  I've even had a few adventures to write about.  In early June I wandered up for an afternoon at Troutstock 2017 aka "EddieFest" just south of River Falls in Wisconsin.  I finally met the legendary dude called Trapper and even fished with him for a while.  I'm sure he was impressed by my expert technique at falling down in the creek.  Later that day, I got to meet Nick Brevitz and thank him for exchanging text messages.  And then there was this crazy guy called "Shebs."  Bottom line on that outing: it was a long drive 2 hours each way, all in one day) but very cool to meet a few folks.  A few weekends later, I wandered over to Trapper's home territory around Viroqua, WI.  He'd partied like a rock star the night before, but we eventual met up for a couple of Spotted Cows (New Glarus Brewing) at one of his usual haunts.  Nice trout territory.  "The heart of the Driftless..."

Speaking of rock stars, last week was a hoot!  Mrs. Fading Angler purchased a couple of tickets to Roger Waters (formerly of Pink Floyd) "Us + Them" tour for my birthday (or maybe it was Christmas...?)  We had dinner before the show downtown St. Paul at McGovern's pub and then enjoyed some classic Pink Floyd tunes.  Pretty good set list and great visual effects, which I expected after his revived concert version of "The Wall" back in 2010.  

The next day, I hopped a flight to St. Louis for another concert.  A friend's wife had bought him a pair of tickets for Guns n' Roses "Not in This Lifetime" tour, and she preferred that he find a friend to take to the show.  I can honestly say that for the first half hour, I was trying to decide if I was watching Axel Rose or Carrot Top.  No doubt that guitarist Slash held that show together.  The instrumental rendition of "Wish You Were Here" was amazing. But I can see why the Rams football team left town for L.A... The dome was old and tired, and they ran out of beer.

And now back to fishing... (This blog post is brought to you by Ritalin and Straterra, treatment for ADHD.  Do not take them if you are allergic to them.  Possible side effects include addiction, acting out Bevis and Butthead cartoon scenes, temporary blindness, and yeast infection.  I just made that up, so don't quote me.)

I've been a bit down on myself in the angling department lately.  The last couple of weekends of fishing at the Mobile Hotel® have been discouraging.  I'd done tremendously early in the season, pulling fish out of spots in the campground where I'd never caught them before, even walking away from a few places where it was "just too easy".  Then nothing.  Is it my technique?  Am I not using the right flies?  Are they just seeing too many people to be willing to feed here?  The one bright spot was an afternoon at a familiar hole.  Just as I was about to give up, a couple of fish started feeding on the surface.  I tossed a caddis fly at them a couple of times.  No takers.  A different caddis fly wasn't any more tempting.  They continued to feed while I tried fly after fly after fly.  Finally, I was down to a size 20 (tiny!) Griffth's Gnat.  Just a small puff of black that I had no hope of seeing 25' away where the fish were.  I made my first cast.  A fish swirled.  BAM!  Very rewarding.

I really hope the fish down there start feeding on terrestrials (imitations of grasshopper, beetles, and other crawling bugs) soon.  Every post I see from Headhunters or the Missouri River Lodge about the dry fly fishing on the Mo' is driving me slightly mad with envy.

Hello, Square One

It's been 6 weeks since the last pieces of my Deep Brain Stimulation (DBS) system were implanted, and a day less than that since it was activated.  Results were initially very encouraging: for most of the next week, my usually rigid right side was much more normal!  The "old man shuffle" caused by an uncooperative right leg was nowhere to be seen when I got up in the morning.  My right arm would swing when I walked.  Tremors were nowhere to be seen.  Best of all, the debilitating, painful dystonia in my neck was gone.

Top View

Parkinson's and Angling Updates

It's a great feeling to know that there are people out there who are looking for an update on my health and progress.  So, an update is obviously in order, now that I've had the neurostimulator running for three weeks.  I'm very happy to report that my incisions from the first procedure are almost fully healed.  I still get mild headaches later in the afternoon, which I assume are related to rebuilding bone in my skull.  Nothing the occasional Tylenol can't handle.

I'm also very happy to report that there are no signs of infection anywhere.  The neurostimulator was implanted just south of the left collarbone, and it's deep, unlike my brother's pacemaker.  Yet I have full range of motion and only mild irritation from the incision site.  Speaking of irritation, I don't think anyone will be surprised to read that my scalp itches constantly, with some areas that are still partially numb.

Not the Same

Anyone who chases fish is bound to encounter a certain quote on the Internet, sooner or later.  The original source is reported to be the Greek philosopher Heraclitus.  Being something of an introvert, it appears that he didn't go to great lengths to publish or popularize his thoughts.  Others, such as Plato and Plutarch quoted, or perhaps paraphrased his thoughts. Time and translation have taken these thoughts and put them through a game of "Telephone."  You whisper "The cheese is old and moldy" into your neighbor's ear and then it proceeds down the line until "Purple Monkey Dishwasher" emerges from the lips of the 20th person.  Keeping that in mind, here's the modern version:

No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.

Performance Testing and Tuning for the Human Brain

The neurostimulator (aka implanted pulse generator)
and lead extensions were implanted and
connected last week to the leads previously
implanted two weeks ago.

One of my occupational passions for the past 20 years has been to improve the performance of large computer systems using data-driven scientific methods.   "Scientific" means measuring stuff.  It always pains me to quote "Mythbusters" but in this case they have a point: "Remember kids, the only difference between screwing around and science is writing it down."  Whether you're testing the stability of a system, how fast it can complete an individual task, or how many tasks it can process in an hour, you have to be able to describe how the system behaves before AND after you make a change. You need DATA.  "Otherwise," said one of my mentors, "we might as well just go play football."  Indeed.

Play-by-Play Replay of Awake Neurosurgery

When we last left our "hero," he was facing a full morning of surgery to have a pair of wire leads implanted, one in each hemisphere of the brain.  Later, these wires will be connected to a pulse generator device to induce "Deep Brain Stimulation therapy" for Parkinson's Disease.  Our story resumes Tuesday evening before surgery.

Before going any further, I have to insert a disclaimer.  I usually try to add some craftsmanship to my writing.  Unfortunately, being a recovering perfectionist, I don't think I'll ever get this one "good enough" by my standards.  So, in the interest of getting it done and out, I'm going to settle for whatever gets written.  There won't be any "slow hand" artistry today.  "Just the facts, ma'am."  Rough Draft.  Bring your red pen and draw on the screen.

And a warning: I'm brutally candid.  It's medical stuff and I'm not shy or reserved.  You get the truth, as much of it as I can remember.  Also see the "unapologetically verbose" advisory at the right.

One Down, Two to Go

You'll forgive me for again invoking "that damned movie" as it is sometimes called by a few.  Toward the end of the cinematic version of 'A River Runs Through It," Norman's younger brother Paul lands a fish after a very dramatic swim with his bamboo rod held high.  He is congratulated and complimented by his father.  In the afterglow of the moment, Paul says something along the lines of, "I just need three more years before I can think like a fish!"

The course of the movie branches away from the written story at this point.  I have no complaints about how the screenplay was written or directed, and it makes perfect sense that it took the course it did.  Yet something was missed at that fork, something that came from the rocks and echoes from the water.

A river, though, has so many things to say that it is hard to know what it says to each of us.  As we were packing our tackle and fish in the car, Paul repeated, "Just give me three more years."

Thirteen months ago, I concluded one of my essays with those words.  I hoped for just a few more years of fishing.  It seems like a reasonable request for someone with a progressive, degenerative neurological condition, right?  I adopted it as a slogan, and I'm clinging, refusing to let it go.  Not forever, but something more than tomorrow, next week, or next month would be nice.  Two more yearswould be great.

I've been asked the questions more than a few times over the past week: Any second thoughts? Are you nervous?  And I've had to pause before answering, confused.  I feel like I should be nervous or feel some form of fear.  Not long ago, fear of this procedure filled a space inside me.  That space is now empty vacuum.   I've even searched for anxiety regarding those low probability, unspeakable outcomes.  If it's there, it's an elusive beast swimming invisibly through the shaded places.

The fly is cast and I'm content to watch it drift.

See you downriver.

</FA>

...like I need another hole in the head

By now, we’ve all learned that life brings us the terrible and the beautiful, often by the same whim.  Like most, I can speak with authority about beautiful things ended terribly, and terrible things that have bloomed into beauty I’d never imagined.  Better minds than mine have explored this dichotomy, so I’ll not embarrass myself trying.

Fate, God, the Universe, or insert-your-own-belief-system-label-here handed me a metaphorical coin about ten years ago.  At first, I could not decode the inscriptions.  A few years went by and I learned to read the writing: Congratulations, you’ve been selected to experience Young Onset Parkinson’s Disease.  Looking at my metaphorical coin, I could clearly see that one side depicted pain and tragedy.  The other side was still indistinct, but I could see gratitude around the edges. 

Logo! Logo! Logo!

Ah, the logo:  a piece of representative art that uniquely identifies someone or something in a visual way.  All they great ones have one: Eddie Rivard, Hunter S. Thompson (well, he actually has a few), The Fiberglass Manifesto, even Windknots & Tangled lines.  And be be brutally honest, I've always felt a little inadequate without one.

Funny how an impending surgical procedure can motivate an otherwise unmotivated soul to start ticking boxes on the ol' To-Do list.  So, I finger-painted a couple of concept drawings on my iPad, then consulted a professional: Kirk Werner, aka The Unacommplished Angler, aka Master and Commander at Itchy Dog Productions.  Kirk may promote himself as a less-than-adequate fisherperson, but he's an accomplished digital artist.  Just take a peek at his portfolio of work.

He transformed my primitive rasterized concept into something that I'm proud to use to represent myself.  I could continue to rave about Kirk's work as an artist, author, and blogger, but I'll mostly refrain, other than to thank him for being hisself.  Otherwise, I'll have to go turn on "Beaches" and open a bottle of cheap bourbon.

Sticker and T-shirts will soon be in the works.  Stay tuned.  (Accepting suggestions for businesses that do quality work in these areas.)

And I'm sure I speak for many others when I say that we're looking forward to this year's adventures of the Firehole Rangers!

Hmmf.  I guess the blog needs a makeover now.  So much for shortening the To-Do list...

Gearing up at the Great Waters Expo

The Great Waters Fly Fishing Expo was held this weekend.  It's a regional fly fishing show that manages to bring in the folks from Far Bank (Sage, Rio, and Redington), Patagonia, Fishpond, as well as the local/regional fly shop and guide services.  Mrs. Fading Angler and I abandoned the surly teenagers (aka The Offspring®) and visited the show late Saturday morning.

(A quick word of advice to the show's organizers for next year:  I almost didn't get to pay and admission fee.  The parking situation was so frustrating that we just about gave up and went home.  Mrs. Fading Angler suggests you consider going back to the National Sports Center in Blaine or another facility with ample parking available in the immediate vacinity.)

Mrs. FA was looking for discounted fly tying supplies, and I wanted to visit four specific vendors.

Tie a Yellow Hackle 'Round the Old Hook Shank

I first tried a fly rod around 20 years ago.  At the same time, Mrs. Fading Angler thought that tying flies looked like it might be fun.  She's always been the crafty type, doing a lot of cross-stitch and sewing back then.  So, I got a cheap Cabela's fly rod combo, and she got a cheap Cabela's vice and toolkit.  One of our mutual undergraduate friends (also married), taught me some fishing techniques and taught her some basic tying skills.

Much of the next 20 years was, tragically, lacking in both casting and tying flies.  Mrs. FA recently signed herself up for a refresher class and invited me to join her.  Said class took place this past Tuesday night.  The focus was not on creating a specific pattern, but rather some basic skills: starting, wrapping, and simple finishing.  With no specific plan in mind, here's what I managed to produce.

Welcome to Minnesota. Skol, Vikings!

We have another class next week.  I'm looking forward to it!  I think this will be an excellent pursuit while passing non-fishing time on camping trips.  So now I want to solicit some input on equipment.  I'm developing some grand plans for a portable kit that I can haul out on a picnic table, perhaps like this, from Guys, Flies, and Pies:

Closed up

How cool is this? I've got some 75+ year old rough oak boards drying
out in my barn right now

But it all starts with a vise.  They range in price from $12 to over $500.  Confusing.  So I'll start with some basic questions:

1. I find myself attracted to a vise with weighted base, rather than a c-clamp.  Seems like this would be quicker and easier to use across multiple locations and surfaces, and I don't anticipate having a dedicated "tying bench" or desk anytime soon.  Thoughts?
2. What 5 tools does a beginner who wants to tie soft hackle flies absolutely need?
3. Mrs. FA and I stumbled across HMH vices on the Internet (OF COURSE the make a pink-accented model to benefit Casting for Recovery...)  I'm infatuated by the Spartan model.  Please tell me it's pure insanity (and also entirely unnecessary) for a rookie to covet a $200 vice.  (And is it even a good one?)

Oooo... Shiny!