Because we are Mortal now.

My life has been an accumulation of many experiences altogether to many of which were physical injuries. A great majority of those were all my fault. From falling into, out of, off of, onto or any combination of those. I have been damaged. For as long as I can recall I have liked to go fast. For the same amount of time I have not been good at one essential part of that; stopping.

From minor cuts, scraps, bruises to stitches, broken bones, bad sprains and strains I have been tended to and repaired many many times.

In mid-1996 I had to have a back injury repaired with surgery. At the time I was concerned about two things only: 1) will this make the pain go away and 2) how will it affect my racing, how long will it keep me off the bike? There was zero thought as to how will this affect my quality of life. What are the chances this will lead to the end of my life? Not an unreasonable question. Surgery is always a potential killer. Just a fact. But, not one I even considered for one second. Not one.

I woke up, I did what I was told and I got better. I did not go back to racing and I have always regretted that but it has nothing to do with my injury/surgery/recovery. Still mad at myself about that.

Now, when you have a compromised skeleton, there are things you should try to avoid. And, you will avoid them, if you are not a complete dipshit. I, however, am mostly a dipshit. I did not keep in the shape I should have nor did I avoid the things I should have.

Now, 26 years later I am slated to have another back surgery. This one will be more invasive, more corrective, more limiting to my function afterwards. Just, MORE. Hardware, artificial discs, my bone and cadaver bone ground into a paste. Just, MORE.

Sitting with the surgeon we go over the what to expects and the what coulds.

What to expect number 1. “This will help with the major pain and problem you have been having. However, as far as your back pain overall, we are hoping for a 75% improvement. Could only be 50%”

Hmmm. I have been used to a fucked up back for many years already so, if the crazy sharp pain and falling over because my leg will not hold me is fixed, even 50% is OK with me.

2) “This is not the same surgery you had before. It is MORE. (see above). Although the recovery time is essentially the same, something tells me that is just the basic recovery and the real-time will be longer. Again, I’m OK with that. I have at the time of this writing been down for four weeks and have five more to wait before the procedure.

3) “Fusion will limit your mobility, forever” I knew that. I get that. I just do not know what that actually will translate to. Only two levels, L4-S1 but how much do those levels bend, twist, move when you do things like, tie your shoes, trim your toenails, put the cat food bowls down? I guess that is an unknown.

There were other what to’s but none to write home about. Oh, “You will have a drain in your incision, held in by one suture, you will need to have that taken out after a week.” I need to find someone to do that for me.

Then we went on to the what could happens.

First, all surgery comes with the risk of infection. This is why the pre-op test included MRSA. That shit will fuck you up right before it kills you. Embolisms are another one. Accidental injury to the spinal cord. Oops! Lots of could happens.

Anaesthesia. He was very quick and direct. “Risks of anaesthesia, heart attack, stroke, death.” Good talk.

After my surgery in ’96, the doctor limited me on sitting. Very little time allowed to sit daily for six weeks. He even suggested I find a ride home in a vehicle I could lie down in. I assumed it would be the same for this one too. And, I made a plan for it.

I happen to be well acquainted with the mortuary owner here in my small town. I asked if he would mind making the 100-mile drive in the hearse to pick me up. I have this visual of being rolled out in the requisite wheelchair to the front door, getting up, then laying down on the body cot (he is also Deputy Coroner and has a couple of those) then being slid into the back of the hearse for a flat ride home.

My surgeon laughed a lot and said, if I do it, he wants to be there. Several people actually want to be there to see, document it.

Then, something funny happened. It crept up in my mind that, the same man that would make my exit so very funny would also be the same man, with the same cot, would be there if any of the coulds happened. After all the pre-op tests came back good enough to proceed, any one of those coulds could still happen. And I would be riding back here flat, in the back of one of his vehicles.

For the first time I can ever recall, I was intimidated by a possibility. By a what if. By a maybe. By a could. I confided in a friend, my best friend about it. I was confused and alarmed by it. This is just not me! DaFuq is going on?

His reply, “Because we are Mortal now.”

I don’t know when it happened. Somewhere between July 4th 2022 when I was drinking and blowing shit up with no worry at all and a week after I turned sixty, I began to think I was mortal. I have an expiration date. I have always known that but, now, for some reason, I actually knew it. Accepted it. Expect it.

A profound and simultaneously subtle change has occurred. And I do feel different now. I look back on so much, and it is all so different now.

Because we are Mortal now.