I've Had
Surgery An Exploitation Study
I have
never been accused of being a hypochondriac, but perhaps that's because my
health has always been relatively good. Of course, I had several of the childhood
illnesses of my day, including chicken pox and German measles, but I managed
to miss polio and the mumps. A vaccine for polio was discovered during my
formative years, but it came too late for a few children in or near the town
of Iuka, MS, where my family lived when I began my schooling. Were there
an Olympic event for worrying, my mom would have been a medallist, and there's
no way to measure the worrying she must have done over the possibility that
I might contract polio.
I've never been one to wish ill fortune upon myself, but I do recall thinking
it would have been nice to have had my tonsils and adenoids removed. Naturally,
Mom prayed otherwise, for she had read or heard of children dying either
during the surgical procedure or from hemorrhaging later. Yet, I knew of
children who survived the procedure and were allowed to eat all the Hershey
candy bars and ice cream they could hold. In my simple mind, the end justified
the means. However, I now doubt that candy and ice cream would have been
served in the generous portions I so imagined. As for my tonsils and adenoids,
I still have them. As for polio, it is apparently no longer a threat, and
I must have developed an immunity to mumps.
I've made it this far without a broken bone save the one in my nose which
I never knew was broken until I visited an ear, nose, and throat Doctor,
thinking my breathing problems were all sinus related. Surgery was required
to repair my "deviated septum," but I rarely think of my "nose job" as surgery,
because I wasn't cut open. In a similar vein, my last kidney stone required
a surgical procedure for removal. I would just as soon not explain that
procedure, but I was put to sleep for the surgery, and I was not cut open.
My mostly spotless record of good health and that of not being cut open came
to an abrupt end on February 17, 2004 when I was cut open in order to have
a cancerous prostate removed. Slightly more than three months have since
passed, and folks still caution me about trying to do too much for fear I
shall hurt myself. In most cases, I appreciate their concern for my well-being,
and in a few cases, I use their concern to my advantage. For example, consider
my fishing trip with friends a few weeks ago.
When Gordon Sansing and I were getting our gear into his lightweight aluminum
boat, and as I was about to grab the battery, he advised, "You don't need
to pick that up!"
Later that afternoon, as we attempted to drag the boat onto the bank, Lee
Gordon or Jim Hess offered, "Wait a minute, Wayne, let me do that."
At first, I was a little uncomfortable allowing others to do for me the things
I felt I could do for myself. Back at the lodge, Gordon Sansing helped me
unload everything from my car including a couple of heavy ice chests.
By our second day on the lake, I began to use the phrase, "I've had surgery,
you know," to my advantage.
If I failed to set the hook properly, I chimed, "I've had surgery, you know."
If I snagged my lure on a stump or limb, it wasn't my fault because, "I've
had surgery, you know."
My friends didn't seem to mind my reminding them continually that I'd had
surgery and good-naturedly accepted my attempts to be humorous.
Their reactions were predictable, "Well, that explains it, or I should have
known."
I only regret I didn't think of using "I've had surgery, you know," sooner,
and maybe Gordon would have strung the fish I caught, instead of me having
to do it.
Having returned home from my fishing trip, the occasions to sing my new song
haven't been too numerous, but I've managed to talk Jason into cooking supper
more than once.
Folks, with whom I work often ask, "Well, are you 100% yet?"
For a laugh, I typically respond, "I'll never be 100% again. I've got parts
missing."
Ive probably gotten all of the mileage out of my surgery that I can
expect, and any sympathy thats still out there is getting harder to
find. I told someone earlier that I feel physically strong enough to do anything
I want to do. However, Ive discovered Im not as strong as I feel,
and I do strive to keep that in mind whenever Im engaged in any strenuous
physical activity.
After all, "Ive had surgery, you know."
Landscape
Project It Started Out Small And Grew
My sister thinks it was my visit to Lamar Beardens home that prompted
me to begin a landscape project. I had to correct her thinking and remind
her that my flowerbed project had begun before I went to Atlanta. However,
I must say that upon seeing Lamars manicured landscapes, I was inspired
to do more than I originally planned.
There are not many flowers in our flowerbeds, partly because I dont
know which types of plants to put where and partly because flowers take a
lot of time to maintain and/or replace. Therefore, I'm more comfortable working
with shrubs and monkey grass in that these require less attention.
A few weeks ago, as I inspected the flowerbed adjacent to the driveway, the
one that is anchored with a lamp pole, I noticed the grass was about to take
over the bed. I used the tiller to uproot most of the Bermuda grass and extended
the bed a couple of feet, thinking at the time that I would plant some variegated
monkey grass in front of the hedge to balance that along the front walkway.
Then, having returned from being inspired by Bearden Acres, I attacked the
grass in the flowerbed with a vengeance, getting on my hands and knees to
remove as much of the root structure as possible.
As I inspected the badly worn plastic edging that enclosed two sides of the
triangle-shaped flowerbed, I realized it should be replaced, and I decided
I should go ahead and purchase enough new edging to enclose the whole bed.
At The Hardware Store, where I had bought edging last summer, they told me
they had sold out, and because it was a special order item they could not
tell me when they would have any more. Instead, they directed me to Paradise
Pools, east of Pontotoc. In turn, Paradise Pools explained they didnt
sell edging and referred me to The Hardware Store. When I told them The Hardware
Store had sent me to them, they suggested Moores Feed Store. After
walking around for what seemed like miles both inside and outside of the
feed store someone finally offered to help me.
"Im sorry sir, we dont sell edging," he shared, when I explained
what I needed.
My next stop was our local Wal-Mart, though I didnt really expect to
find the heavy-duty edging I needed. And, sure enough, they didnt have
what I wanted. Had I chosen to use what they had, it would not have been
enough to enclose the flowerbed.
I remembered seeing my neighbor, Raymond Montgomery, with some in the back
of his pickup a week or so earlier. Finding him cutting his yard, I asked
him where he had bought the edging.
"Ive got some if you want to use it," he offered. "But, I can show
you something I think youll like better. Its made out of concrete,
and it comes in red and natural colors. Come on; get in my truck, and well
drive down the street to Barbaras. I did all of her landscaping."
We hopped into the truck, but we didnt go anywhere. Mr. Raymonds
wife had forgotten her purse when she left the church, borrowed his keys
to the car, and was gone to find her purse. Mr. Raymonds truck keys
and car keys were together, so we sat and waited, but it didn't take us long
to decide to stand outside the pickup and in the shade. After about a half-hour,
I told him to just pick me up when Miss Sue got back, and I walked back home.
A half-hour later he pulled up in my driveway in his Cadillac and honked
the horn. I was in the back of the house and didnt hear him, but Jason
came out about the time Mr. Raymond pulled in, and he told me Mr. Raymond
was waiting on me.
Mr. Raymond was quite pleased with how his project turned out. Barbara had
chosen the red edging and Mr. Raymond recommended a reddish colored mulch.
"I kinda' like the red mulch," he commented. "I think it makes the plants
stand out."
I had to agree with him, and I thought the concrete edging would be the perfect
thing to use at my house, too. I'll have to see if my Barbara wants red or
plain edging, but I definitely want to use concrete instead of plastic.
"What I like about the concrete is it's permanent," Mr. Montgomery added.
"That plastic stuff will work it's way out of the ground."
"I wonder how permanent it'll be if Sara Sue backs over it some night when
she's leaving my house," I thought.
Back at my house, I showed Mr. Raymond the flowerbed I wanted to enclose.
"You know what you ought to do?" he suggested. "You ought to go ahead and
run the edging in the front of your house from the garage door to the front
door. It would really look good."
The area he suggested was already bordered by a concrete walkway, but I had
to agree with him once more.
"What Id like to do is run it all across the front, and if I have enough
money, then I want to replace the plastic edging around the berm near the
street," I responded. (Berm may not be the correct landscaping term, but
the area consists of a small mound of dirt and mulch and houses a white crepe
myrtle, several dwarf nandinas, a section of hedge and several clumps of
monkey grass.)
"John, my brother-in-law, has one of those old-timey picks. It's just right
to dig the trench to set the edging in. We could help you, if you want us
to," Mr. Raymond stated.
John Schubert and Raymond Montgomery were kind enough to trim shrubbery for
me back in February while I convalesced and wouldn't take any pay for their
work.
I'll let y'all help, but I insist on paying for your work," I bargained.
The two men team-up and do a lot of landscaping around Pontotoc. One of them
is seventy-nine and the other one is eighty-two, and, believe it or not,
either one can outwork me on one of my good days.
All of a sudden, my simple flowerbed project of removing the grass and replacing
the plastic edging had mushroomed into a major project. Originally, I figured
it would cost as much as forty dollars for the plastic edging that I needed.
After measuring the linear footage of all that we discussed, I saw the figure
rise closer to three hundred. My simple project was no longer just mine.
I turned it over to a real crew.
When Mr. John and Mr. Raymond showed up at my house all loaded down with
concrete edging and tools, I kept out of their way for perhaps an hour or
two. When I could stand it no longer, I began helping them unload the two-foot
lengths of concrete edging. Soon after that, I was helping tap the edging
into place.
I had told Mr. Raymond that I wanted to divide some of the monkey grass and
set a few clumps of it in the flowerbed I wanted to enlarge. He thought that
was a good idea and suggested a few yellow lilies mingled in, too.
"I can get those for three dollars each," he explained regarding the lilies.
"I think a dozen would be plenty."
"I also think it'd be better to edge the other side of your garage, rather
than spend the money to put a ring around the berm," he continued, "But,
we'll do whatever you want."
I liked his suggestion and gave my okay to proceed. However, I soon learned
there didn't seem to be a stopping place with the expanded edging project.
Mentally, I could see the costs getting out of hand, but even then I sent
Mr. Raymond back for more edging to go in front of our guesthouse. That
afternoon, I tried to keep up with Mr. John, but the physical exertion and
the ninety-degree weather sapped my strength. At the end of the day, all
that remained to be done the next working day was some clean-up and the
scattering of two more loads of mulch. The three of us got more accomplished
in one day than I could have done by myself in six days, but it took a toll
on my body.
That night after showering off the dirt and sweat of the day, I sat in the
recliner in the living room, as my muscles complained with soreness.
"Well dear," I said to Barbara, "I think I may have overdone it, today. I'm
hurting, right now."
And I did truly hurt. My feet hurt and my toes were sore, probably because
I never changed into my boots. My thumbs felt as if they were stretched,
and my arms hurt from lifting the concrete edging. My legs hurt from all
the squatting, and my back muscles were sore from bending down. My face was
mildly sunburned and that also hurt. I had no doubt that I had overdone it.
Barbara looked me over and replied, "Yep, I think you have overdone it."
It's been a few days since Mr. John and Mr. Raymond finished the edging project,
but I'm extremely pleased with the results. The front of our house and the
front of the guesthouse, look great. The edging sharply defines the flowerbeds
and the red mulch really does bring out the color of the plants. Most of
my soreness is gone, and Mr. Raymond and Mr. John have volunteered their
time to help me dress up the berm, just as soon as I'm able to get the area
prepped. I hope that's no further out than Memorial Day.
Bodock Beau
Reminicsing Time Again
Ken Gaillard sent the following our way. For folks over fifty, some of the
following give cause for reminiscing.
Remember "Continental kits?" They were rear bumper extenders and spare tire
covers that were supposed to make any car as cool as a Lincoln Continental.
When did we quit calling them "emergency brakes?" At some point "parking
brake" became the proper term. But I miss the hint of drama that went with
"emergency brake."
I'm sad, too, that almost all the old folks are gone who would call the
accelerator the "foot feed."
"Coast to coast" is a phrase that once held all sorts of excitement and now
means almost nothing. Now we take the term "worldwide" for granted. This
floors me.
On a smaller scale, "wall-to-wall" was once a magical term in our homes.
In the '50s, everyone covered their hardwood floors with, wow, wall-to-wall
carpeting! Today, everyone replaces their wall-to-wall carpeting with hardwood
floors. Go figure.
When's the last time you heard the quaint phrase "in a family way?" It's
hard to imagine that the word "pregnant" was once considered a little too
graphic, a little too clinical for use in polite company. So we had all that
talk about stork visits and "being in a family way" or simply
"expecting."
Apparently "brassiere" is a word no longer in usage. I said it the other
day and my daughter cackled. I guess it's just "bra"
now.
"Unmentionables" probably wouldn't be understood at all. It's hard to recall
that this word was once said in a whisper - "divorce." And no one is called
a "divorcee" anymore. Certainly not a "gay divorcee." Come to think of it,
"confirmed bachelors" and "career girls" are long gone,
too.
Here's a word I miss - "percolator." That was just a fun word to say. And
what was it replaced with? "Coffeemaker." How dull! Mr. Coffee, I blame you
for this.
Share this article with a friend.
Home
Copyright © 2000 - 2004 RRN
Online.