The past year — more precisely, the last 14 months — has been a relentless rollercoaster of pain and the ongoing search for relief. The chronic pain in my back and lower extremities has been constant, sometimes debilitating. Throughout this ordeal, I have explored numerous treatment options — chiropractic care, acupuncture, various drugs, countless lumbar injections, and physical therapy — all with limited success. Each treatment offered a glimmer of hope, only for its effects to be short-lived.
My spinal issues have been summed up in the doctors's shorthand as: “
L4-5 degenerative unstable spondylolisthesis, spinal stenosis, synovial facet cyst with facet effusions.” Sounds painful, and it is. The resulting discomfort and sleeplessness have severely restricted my activity, making my transition to retirement in mid-2024 far less enjoyable than anticipated. One noticeable impact has been my absence from the range — I haven’t been shooting since
December 2023. In recent months, the pain has kept me from standing or walking for more than a few minutes at a time. Thankfully, my enjoyment of beer, whiskey, and fine cigars remains intact, as those are best appreciated while seated. As long as I maintain good posture and avoid staying in one position too long, I can enjoy those small pleasures with some level of comfort.
Now, after exhausting all other options, it’s time for the final and most extreme solution: surgery. This coming week, I’ll undergo a procedure to remove the problematic tissue and bone, followed by an L4/L5 spinal fusion. Or, as one nurse put it, “cleaning up the mess and putting in some hardware.”
This won’t be my first time under the knife for my spine — I had surgery in the same area about 40 years ago. My surgeon expects the new incision to be fairly long, which has me wondering if I’ll end up with cool parallel scars.
Of course, there’s some anxiety. Some may recall that just over six years ago, I experienced a
cardiac arrest. Naturally, that adds an extra layer of concern about undergoing surgery and general anesthesia. However, I’ve had regular checkups since then, including a full review by my cardiologist before scheduling this procedure. As confident as one can be in these situations, I feel reassured that my heart and general health is up for the challenge.
In fact, as the surgery date approaches, my anxiety is giving way to something unexpected — excitement. I know the road to recovery will be long and that post-op pain is inevitable, but the thought of standing without the searing pain I’ve endured is an encouraging one. Incredibly, they tell me I’ll be up and walking just hours after surgery.
As expected in today’s litigious world, I’ve signed multiple pages of disclaimers outlining possible complications and failures. The risk percentages are low, but they do make for unsettling reading. Fortunately, I’ve had several conversations with others who have undergone similar procedures—interestingly, all of these discussions have taken place in cigar lounges. (Then again, that’s about the only place I’ve been going lately.) These conversations weren’t just about sharing painful stories; they were uplifting and added to my growing optimism.
Beyond knowing that a full return to “normal” could take at least six months, the healing process remains an unknown. I hope my need for post-surgery medications will be short-lived — so bourbon tastings can resume sooner rather than later. I’ll be taking a short break from cigars to aid the healing process, but thankfully, no long-term restrictions have been imposed. I don’t expect to be competing in any IDPA matches anytime soon, but perhaps by spring, I’ll at least make it back to the range for some target practice.
This post isn’t a plea for sympathy. Like most of my Musings, it’s a cathartic exercise. That said, if you’re so inclined, I’d appreciate prayers — for a successful surgery, for my medical team, and, most importantly, for my dear wife, Colleen, who, as always, will be my rock during recovery.
Throughout this journey, I’ve often thought of a quote that appears in the sidebar. It’s from Cigar Lounge Wisdom: Ruminations Inspired in a Cigar Bar by Frank Borelli — a book I coincidentally happened to be reading in the hospital after my heart attack.
“Remember, when you’re having what seems like the worst day of your life, your survival rate for bad days so far is 100%.”
More updates soon…
Cheers!
