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This isn't one of those gross 'What Did We Get Stuck In Our Body' images but it is what is stuck inside of me.

My follow-up appointment with Dr. Sean Astin-look-alike was today and what I learned was interesting and a little shocking.

First, I met with a new resident doctor. I told him about the effectiveness of the last sacroiliac joint injection and how I still had minor discomfort in my lower back. I shared that I’ve really been going all-out and that we recently went rafting. He appeared jazzed about that, but did warn me that the leads in my back could’ve moved due to the rowing motion and that I had to be careful, but he also understood YOLO! He took notes and asked if I wanted a visit from the on-site Abbott representative, which I happily agreed to because it had been a couple years since I had my stimulator adjusted and a firmware update. 

Enter Dawson, the Abbott Representative 🎶I don’t want to wait for our lives to be over🎶

Dawson reconfigured the DRG stimulator and added a new third software program. I asked Dawson how much my device was turned up compared to the average patient and he said that it was relatively high. This was the justification I needed. I started shaking my head up and down thinking ‘see, I told you, my shit’s all fucked-up real bad like!’ I asked if having the stimulator turned up like that would reduce the battery-life and he confirmed that it would, but that it still should last another 2-3 years. 

Exit Dawson

My wife and I sat quietly waiting for my doctor. As we waited we overheard a man in the adjacent room say his pain level in his knee was a 9 out of 10 and his back was at an 8. That’s really bad. Like, moaning that you want to die bad. I know, I’ve been there. There’s worse things than dying. Then before entering my room I overheard the resident tell Dr. Landphair Astin my issues and concerns before entering and disclosing I went whitewater rafting and we heard them laugh.

Enter Dr. Samwise Gamgee (aka Sean Astin, Mikey Walsh, Rudy, Bob Newby, etc.)

Doc asked how I felt and I shared what he already knew. He was pleased that the second injection had extended my pain relief and suggested that I try taking 600-800mg of Motrin three times a day for a month and to schedule another follow-up appointment a month out. According to him the Motrin should reduce the lingering inflammation. If it did I could cancel the appointment, if not then I need to keep the appointment and we could try something else. I asked if taking that much medication was safe. That’s when my wife spoke up and said I don’t like taking drugs. Then I interrupted her to say unless, of course, it’s the magic ganja and added that I don’t want to rely on any kind of drug because people like Pharma Bro are just waiting for me to get addicted so they can jack-up the price. For real. My doctor rolled his eyes and told me I’d be fine.

Next, he pulled up my x-rays he ordered back in April and saw that one of my two leads had migrated, meaning it had moved and wasn’t providing any relief. This also means my stimulator is operating at 50%. However, since I’m still getting some noticeable relief my doctor said not to worry about it for now and called Dawson to shut down the disconnected lead remotely, saving more battery-life. There’s no telling when it became compromised, just sometime before the x-ray in April. My wife suspects it probably happened when I complained after doing some sit-ups a while back when I was trying to get back my pre-accident Brad Pitt of Fight Club washboard abs. Or when I fell on that icy hill in January. But, who knows when it happened? Nor does it matter. At least the other didn’t come loose when we were rafting. 

As we left the office I reached for my wife’s hand and sparks flew...err, a spark. We went a few more steps and I did it again. It seems the adjustment of my stimulator has given me Raiden-like static electric powers! I kept shocking her until she gave an audible yelp and I finally stopped. I’m looking forward to learning how to harness this new found superpower. Until then I will have to distance myself from highly flammable materials. No more pumping gas for me. Time to go electric. I mean, have you seen those prices at the pump?

End

Holiday Road

🎶Rocky Mountain High (Colorado)🎶

  It’s been three weeks since my second sacroiliac injection. After the first procedure my non-CRPS pain was relieved for approximately 10 days. Not long, but I knew that it may not last going into it and yet it was worth it. Living with chronic pain is the pits and even if temporary, any relief feels like a miracle. Also, I admit that I haven’t taken it easy after either injection, much like when I test drive a potential new car. Let’s see what this puppy can do, so I red-line it and go off-road…figuratively and literally. You see, we took a road trip to Colorado and I went HARD.

We packed up the station wagon and left on Thursday, July 7. We spent that night in Lincoln, Nebraska. On Friday we continued our journey and that afternoon we made it to Colorado and were greeted by a “Resist Fascism!” billboard which energized me. I struggled most nights to get much sleep because of my slipped disc and leg cramps from being cooped up for so long during the drive, but a family member we stayed with used homeopathic light therapy on my leg that helped bring some relief which, like I said before, is a small miracle. 

Humans observe fossilized dinosaur footprints at Dinosaur Ridge on a very hot day.

The next day we hit up the Denver Museum of Nature and Science and stayed cool in the AC since it was 99 degrees outside. Afterward, my insatiable prehistoric bird hunger needed more nourishment so we headed to Dinosaur Ridge to view some ancient footprints left behind by the behemoths. The ridge is closed to traffic so we had to hoof it about a mile uphill. That sucked, especially for the 12-year-old and my wife who had to hear her complaining since I left them in my dust as I burned up that 8% grade slope with child-like enthusiasm as my fuel. The kid minimized the fussing when we promised her ice cream upon our return to the visitor center and fortunately we made it back before the shop closed. Quickly we used the restroom and wouldn’t you know it, by the time we finished the ice cream man closed up shop at 4:47 pm. I asked if he could help, but he flatly said “No, we closed at 5.” Dumbfounded and exhausted, I looked at my watch as if it were broken, put my ear to it, scratched my chin with my right middle digit, then walked away and promised the kid ice cream back at our base in Fort Collins where we eventually delivered, +3 more future visits. I’ve been told that you gotta splurge on vacation. 

We didn’t plan on it, but during this trip we did something taxing one day and then low-key the next. It just happened that way which was great, because with chronic pain you never know how much is left in the tank. I’ve been pushing myself hard for the past year because I want to live and experience before I no longer can. I know it’s coming, so YOLO! It really is a fine line of pushing it and finding the right amount of time to rest or you are in a world of hurt and then you contemplate calling your doctors to have them fill a script for opioids and it is a slippery slope from there.

Check out the sweet drug rug on that kid.

On Monday we took a ride through Rocky Mountain National Park where we saw some awesome scenery and badass nature. Atop Trail Ridge Road we parked our vehicle near the Alpine Visitor Center and we began our ascent of 230 stairs to the peak at 12,005 feet. Going up those steps was hell. I was out of breath in no time. Even the kid was having trouble and she’s three decades younger. I saw some folks bail halfway up, but we I was goddamned determined. Our reward for making it to the top was a breathtaking view of the top of the world and a pack of nine elk. Worth it. On the way down I observed the faces of people we passed heading in the opposite direction and I began to feel better about myself. There was an elderly man heading up with his family that looked fatigued. Out of nowhere and surprising myself, I blurted out “You got this! They don’t call it Huffers Hill for nothing, amirite? There’s even elk up there.” I swear I saw a spark in his eye that ignited a fire in his soul and even his party lit up by those words of encouragement. “Oh, the elk are there!?!” I heard one of them say and they began to pick up the pace. I was feeling good about myself and my body was holding together and it needed to because things were about to get real in a couple more days.

The apocalyptic aftermath looks promising.

The next day we took it easy by visiting some old mining ghost towns. Correction, it should’ve been easy, but I, as the navigator, told our pilot the wrong directions when we were leaving the second town and our descent down the side of a mountain was terri-FUCKING-fying. Please understand that I can no longer drive safely in even moderate traffic due to foot-drop and dead nerves in my right foot so I’ve relinquished all driving duties to my wife. She could pull off the Kessel Run in 12 seconds if you rounded up, that is with me as the copilot. As second in command I have taken it upon myself to offer unsolicited advice on how to drive properly as well as the best way to get to our destinations because my sense of direction is paramount, yet somehow I led us down a path less traveled that I figured was a shortcut. This path had no rails and was unpaved. You couldn’t see over the edge of the roadway because it just dropped into oblivion much like Rainbow Road without Lakitu there to rescue you. I began to wonder how many people fell to their deaths tumbling down rag doll-style. How long would it take to die? God, I’d want to die. Skip surviving that. That’d be like being thrown into a dryer…which actually happened to a family member’s cat during our visit. Fig the feline survived three minutes in a running dryer. Jesus. I need to get an update on the cat when I’m done here, but it did survive and so did we.

The day had come. Wednesday. It was time for our whitewater rafting adventure. BIG TIME STUFF.  I feared this day. My anxiety was piquing. I worst-case scenario everything and I imagined getting bucked from the raft and landing square on my back on top of a boulder without anyone noticing I’m gone. Unable to move in the blistering heat of the sun, a vulture lands on my chest and begins eating my eyeballs and nose. I survive, but now I’m unable to walk, unable to taste, can’t see, sunburned lobster red and I still have all the pain I started with and then-some. Just kidding, I honestly only feared my injection of steroids would wear-off and my inflammation that causes my pain in my sacroiliac joint would return due to the jostling of my body as we went down Class IV rapids. Or perhaps all the paddling would tear away the leads of my DRG stimulator from my spine and my CRPS pain would max out and I’d have to schedule more surgery. You know, real-life fear, but again, YOLO!

After being briefed for half an hour that had our kid’s head spinning, we boarded a bus with five rafts in tow. We departed into the mountains along the Poudre River at breakneck speeds with death-defying hairpin turns and yet I was unfazed. Cheating death is my morning commute. I no longer fear death, I fear more pain.

We arrived at the boat launch and exited the bus and were assigned a guide and boat. I informed the guide that I’m disabled and he said “like fibromyalgia or something?” And I said “yes, something like that.” He told the kid and I to grab the oars as my wife, two other women and our guide lugged the raft down to the water. As we grabbed the oars I noticed our kid looked very concerned. Once we boarded and departed from the shore my wife looked at the kid and said, “isn’t this exciting?” And she replied tersely “leave me alone. You’re embarrassing me.” This was it, the distraction I needed to calm down. I gave her the ‘it’s gonna be ok nod’ and I think I even said it aloud, but she just looked away.

The adventure got real, real fast. We began with some lower class rapids and after we made it to calmer waters I looked back and saw a grin creeping on the kid’s face. More rapids, more happiness (I think?) on her face. Then we hit some Class IV rapids and witnessed a boat carrying only three employees hit a rock, flip upside down and they lost all of their paddles. Good GAWD. They’re the experts. That’s not supposed to happen. Our boat helped gather their paddles and eventually returned them. I could feel my anxiety returning and see it in my kid. We needed a new distraction and then one of our boat companions spotted a bighorn sheep. Whew. A little later we arrived at a swimming hole and the kid was one of the first to jump into the river. She was so pumped that she nearly jumped onto a kayaker. She was having real fun…with her parents. I decided to try jumping in and, holy fuck, the water was like ice and I started drifting downriver and no one really noticed that I was struggling to make it back. Panic almost set in, but I found some strength and made it back safely. I had my fill at the hole, but the kid jumped in two more times.

OMG! Do you see that?!? No, not the showboating tour guide, but my Child is actually smiling! I'd even guess that she is enjoying spending time with her lame parents.

After four hours riding the rapids our trip ended without any issues including pain-related. We returned to the bus and were taxied back to the shop where we viewed pictures of our day and, wouldn’t you know it, there was an image of our child with a genuine smile that wasn’t coaxed so we bought it. The day was done. Originally I had hoped we could see The Black Keys at Red Rocks that night, but we were all way too exhausted.

Inside the Great Stupa of Dharmakaya

The next day we rested and visited the Great Stupa of Dharmakaya. My head was pounding all morning on the way to our destination. Ever since my accident I get brain-splitting headaches. I can’t predict when they’ll begin or when they’ll end. It just happens. I’m sure all the energy I exerted the day before added to my state of being. I really wanted to enjoy the Buddhist temple, but my brain was broken. I felt better after lunch and a couple of fountain Coca-Cola Classics. Later, after returning to base, the kid and I rented electric scooters. I downloaded the app, located two scooters about a mile from us, so we walked to retrieve them, unlocked one and then struggled to get the other one up and running. I had to keep my cool. I was getting somewhere with the kid and I didn’t want to lose it. I even kept the cursing quiet and to a minimum. Eventually all systems were go and the two of us cruised down a main drive in Fort Collins and through a traffic circle with zero difficulty or collisions with any other moving vehicles. That evening I almost messed it all up by crushing her at miniature golf, but redeemed myself by losing to her while go-karting which was really hard for me to just let happen, but I did, even though I could’ve blown her shit up with a blue shell I sat on. 

Friday was our last full day in Colorado and we planned to take it easy, but my wife’s aunt offered to watch the kid so we could tour the New Belgium brewery. I couldn’t believe it…a date without the kid? We haven’t had a date since a Halloween party at the local VFW in 2017 when my wife went as the The Dude and I as Walter Sobchak. We gladly took her up on the offer.

The tour pays for itself in drinks. I was worried when the tour began if I’d be able to complete it because there is a lot of standing around which my back cannot tolerate. However, after my third sample I said to my wife “I gotta tell you, I don’t hurt so much because I’m kinda drunk.” She replied, “I keep telling you that you just need to be high all the time. I don’t know what your problem is.” 

As the tour was wrapping up we watched the bottling process and my wife said it reminded her of Laverne & Shirley. I told her that her references are so obscure and old, unlike mine that are contemporary and hip which induced an eye-roll. At the end of the tour we went down a spiral slide that my wife was sure, psychologically, supposed to give you that boost and confidence that you fine to drive home and it worked on us, but first we had to purchase drinks exclusive to the brewery and other souvenirs we didn’t need, but since we exited through the gift shop we needed them.

The next morning we set course for home. We spent the night in Council Bluffs, Iowa and, I gotta say, it makes Ottawa look like Beverly Hills. Everyone smokes cigars and is required to have a Harley Davidson motorcycle or very loud gas-guzzling vehicle that makes your ears bleed. Also, wearing only a bikini and flip-flops when you may or may not be pregnant into the Walmart is completely appropriate (we needed dog food, because that’s right, our dog travels with us on vacation). I even witnessed a car being repossessed at that Walmart. What an adrenaline rush that was to watch.

Coolhound is getting too old for this shit.

We arrived home on Sunday very, very tired. We celebrated our safe travels with a Lou Malnati’s buttercrust pizza and watched Bill Burr’s special at Red Rocks as consolation for missing The Black Keys. Oh, and the injection is still holding up. I have a follow-up appointment later this week where I will discuss with my doctor if a third injection is needed. Until some other thing relating to pain happens to me, farewell.

Inject It Directly Into My Joint

This is a prescription drug drop receptacle at Rush University Medical Center. Marijuana is a Schedule I substance and, to my dismay, I have learned that it won’t be accepted here. Please contact me if you can help me dispose a few ounces of expired weed.

Yesterday we headed back downtown to Rush for my sacroiliac joint injection to help alleviate my lower back pain. (This is another pain issue that resulted from the accident I was in, but is not quite associated with my CRPS.) Traffic was not too bad this time, only an hour and forty minutes. WINNING. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to be funny, this was an improvement.

Upon arrival, I checked in and waited with my wife. The waiting room was empty so instead of people watching, I pulled up Wordle. I hate admitting I play Wordle, for the simple fact that I very much dislike when people share their Wordle results on social media. However, this is what I did to pass the time and to calm my nerves. Yes, I’ve had many blood draws, injections, and surgeries, but I still get anxious. I tried to focus on my task, but simply couldn’t. And after 47 successful Wordle solutions in-a-row, I failed for the first time ever. Sorry, I just felt that needed to be shared and now you know. Before I could let that sink-in and have a sky-is-falling moment, I was called back, said goodbye to my wife and was put behind a fabric curtain where I was ordered to strip down naked, put a gown on and a free pair of non-slip socks.

Now, I was in the pre-op room waiting on my very own hospital bed. I quickly grew tired of my roommate’s disturbing bodily noises, so I got my phone out to distract me. There are signs everywhere prohibiting cellular phone usage, but I’d done this before and I began to stare at my phone screen like a Project X monkey. After a while, a nurse asked me if I had anything to eat after midnight. I think this stems from an irrational fear that you’re going to transform into a gremlin. I hadn’t, so she continued her questioning. Next, she asked if I have ever had surgery and quickly she gathered that this wasn’t my first rodeo and she dispensed with the pleasantries. Soon she aggressively tied a stretchy band around my arm like a heroin addict and put a needle in the back of my hand. I asked her if I was going to be put under for the injection. She told me I’d be put into a twilight state. Yes! Challenge accepted. I always try to remember as much as I can when they begin the anesthesia. I love it. As I was administered my cocktail, which the anesthesiologist called “the good stuff,” I began paying attention to everything around me. I watched a very white doctor tell two of his colleagues that he was here today to observe in the OR and then proceeded to give the lamest handshake that included a fist bump and ended with a snap of the fingers. This got me thinking about Avengers: Endgame and how I could probably handle the infinity gauntlet because I’ve been bombarded by so much radiation from all my x-rays and was about to get some more in just a few minutes…

🎶 Fur, I am covered with fur
From my snoot to my spur
I'm a furry fella 🎶

“Welcome back,” greeted my nurse and just like that I had returned. I was given a bottle of apple juice and a bag of graham crackers and was told that if I felt fine I could go, so I did. I wasn’t fine. Far from it. I was stumbling around like I had just shut down the bar and someone told me that I didn’t have to go home but I couldn’t stay here. I even stopped to weigh myself on a scale while I made my way out. I entered the empty waiting room and wondered how I got there. Then I remembered they sent my wife away to wait in the cafeteria so I texted her I was done. I looked down at my hands and saw I was clutching paperwork and recalled I was told to make another appointment a month from now for a second injection, so I moseyed on over to another window and scheduled it all by myself like a big boy. As I was finishing, my wife arrived and escorted me to our car. On the way home we stopped for burritos and I was happy. 

Later that evening my pain medication began to wear off and it started to hurt where they injected the anti-inflammatory concoction. I took it easy on the sofa and fell asleep early. In the morning I awoke and very gingerly got out of bed. I noticed my lower back pain had lessened, which was the goal but I am still being very cautious. Hopefully this pain has been remedied, but if not, round two is coming soon. Until next time, I bid you adieu. 

Overdone

ATTENTION! ATTENTION! It is finally nice outside (for only a day, though).

It was finally nice outside yesterday. My wife decreed that everyone had to be outside for a majority of the day except for bathroom breaks. We’d been cooped up inside for far too long.  Everyone fell in line, even the dog. After a short walk up to the post office and some sailing (garage sale weekend in town) we returned home, unleashed our dog and he got the zoomies, like a mug. The weather had pumped him up. He began running around the backyard kicking up mud and grass like a thoroughbred racehorse. His Devin Hester-like cuts aren’t as sharp as they used to be, but merely calling him spry is an insult. He’s still a badass at 14-years-old. However, he is unable to recover like he used to and we tried to corral him to save himself from injury. The old hound’s endurance isn’t what it used to be so it didn’t take long to wrangle him and he eventually calmed down. Unfortunately for him, he was toast the rest of the day. By six o’clock while we were enjoying our first meal of the year outside on the patio, he was barking at us, not for scraps, but to go inside and lay down on a sofa. He’s still feeling it today. 

You’d think since I know the limitations of my dog I’d have a pretty good handle of my own, but I don’t. I still think I’m invincible. I know I’m not, but even as I write this I know I’d still be of some use in fist fight. I’m confident that I could land a few good blows before being destroyed. I used to annihilate my body when I was younger back in my skateboarding days. I don’t know if it was an addiction to adrenaline, but I loved going all-out knowing I’d heal. I once threw myself down a handrail over 80 times like a rag doll just to get that fix and I left bruised, bloodied, and unsuccessful, but determined to return when my body had healed. Hell, it took me 36 years until I broke my first bone, pelvis, and I didn’t even do it to myself. I was awesome. 

Then that accident happened and I learned my body is vulnerable.

After dinner the dog went inside to retire to the basement while the kid, wife and I played some kickball, pitcher’s hand rule, of course. During my first at-bat I crushed that rubber playground ball so hard that not only did I lose my slip-on shoe in the blast created by my leg’s tremendous display of force, but I cleared the bases so fast that I decided to clear them again for a second run, still with only one shoe on. It didn’t stop there. I kept going at Mach 6.72. I told my wife that my heart was pounding so hard that if I collapse, please make sure to add that I died doing what I loved in my obituary, WINNING!

I woke up to a dreary Sunday morning. It’s raining, much cooler than yesterday and I’m currently listening to Terri Hemmert’s Breakfast with the Beatles show on the radio like a retiree. My body is sore. Like the dog, I’m toast. My CRPS is flaring. I over did it. Soon I’ll retire to the basement sofa to join the dog and probably watch the Bulls get their asses handed to them again. Sucks that I’m not invincible. I’ve accepted that, but I’m still a badass. 

Block and/or Charge?

It is Good Friday, from Chinatown!

Today we headed down to the city to visit my pain doctor at Rush because I’ve been experiencing pain in my lower back for a few months. We gave ourselves an hour and forty-five minutes to get there and we were five minutes late due to an emergency potty-break and an accident on the Eisenhower near Harlem. At the peak of my gridlock stress as we inched forward I think I uttered, “JUST FUCKING GO ALREADY! I can’t stand this shit. Goddamnit!” Suffice to say, I don’t care much for traffic. 

Anyway, we made it and when I finally answered to the receptionist, nurse, and resident doctor, I was finally reunited with my doctor. Our masked faces met and our eyes locked. I heard a piano, Hello by Adele began to play inside my head. Being the professional my doctor is and the fact that we weren’t alone in my room — my wife, kid, Abbott representative, doctor-in-training, and some other guy asking for my doc’s signature during my appointment (how rude) — we got down to business. 

Yes doctor, I fell [for you]. Oh, lay down on the gurney? Here? You really do like my shoes? Relax my knee? For you, anything. Does that hurt, you ask? Yes, but no worries, I feel safe. Oh, I need a sacroiliac joint injection? Tell me more!..and then I saw the ring on his left hand. 💔! Like the abrupt zipper-like sound of a needle being forcibly removed from the Adele record I had turning in my head, my fantasy was dead.

Trying to hide my disappointment, I changed the subject by asking about my possible two-fer deal of a nerve block and battery charge all packaged into a single surgical procedure. Dr. Taken told me insurance wouldn’t allow that and said I probably had at least two more years of battery-life left in my stimulator. I scheduled my injection for next month and was given a script for an x-ray to rule out a fracture in my pelvis. We fist bumped and that’s when I realized that I’d have to settle for only a bromance going forward. 

To avoid another unnecessary trip downtown, we decided to get the x-ray of my pelvis done before heading to Chinatown for lunch. The radiologist had an opening and saw me within the hour. While that worked out for the best, my mood quickly soured because I didn’t find any suitable throwing stars to purchase during our visit to Chinatown. Nor mogwai. Not even a Jack Burton sighting. However, I did keep a watchful eye out for David Lo-Pan since my wife has green eyes.

X-cited that I got some new shorts for my x-ray!

Here We Go Again

Remember Domino Rally? I never had a set but I wanted the deluxe set featuring the rocket launcher.

Well, I didn’t want to, but I began the process of visiting with my pain doctor after a three year hiatus. 

Since January, after a slip and fall down an icy hill (see previous post) my piriformis muscle, or butt muscle, has been giving me trouble. It feels like Ben Affleck beat me down with his “FAH Q” paddle as seen in Dazed and Confused. Not like a single hazing, but every single day. I thought it’d go away by now, but it hasn’t. It hurts every time I bend my waist. I fear sneezing. Also, sitting on hard surfaces is awful. I would benefit from one of those inflatable donuts used for a broken tailbone or hemorrhoids that could double as a pool floaty, preferably in pink.

My DRG stimulator doesn’t help with my piriformis in any way. However, before I was considered a candidate for the stimulator, I received five nerve blocks in my lower back that unsuccessfully gave me any relief, except for this very same pain-in-the-ass that I’m experiencing right now. Knowing this pain can be resolved, I decided to call my doctor and make an appointment to discuss another potential nerve block.

Sounds like no big deal, but it’s a HUGE deal for me, because I’m anxious AF. First of all, my doctor is all the way downtown at Rush. This means I have to be chauffeured by my wife because I can’t physically drive in stop-and-go traffic. (I probably shouldn’t be driving at all due to my foot drop and half my foot is numb. I can’t feel the pedals very well. Once, one of my doctors asked me who cleared me to drive and I told her she signed off on it and I instantly saw guilt on her face. That’s right, YOU DID THIS! Shame on you!) Second, I’ll be around people at the hospital. Like, a lot of people and they’ll probably be breathing. GROSS. At least masks are still required at medical facilities. Third, this is the initial visit, which means at least one more trip back. And finally, what is this going to cost? Can you believe some countries have free healthcare? Absolute madness!

While I’m worried, I am looking forward to seeing my doctor because he’s good at his job and, as I’ve mentioned before, he looks like Sean Astin, which makes me think about The Goonies, the LotR trilogy, and Stranger Things. When is that coming back? See what I mean!?! My doctor is the best. I also plan to discuss the battery life left in my stimulator because if I can get a two-fer deal in one shot, let’s do it. BOGO! Doc, while you’re injecting me with anesthetic just grab a scalpel, cut me open and replace my batteries with those new fancy rechargeable ones all in one shot. Perhaps I can save some time, money and stress. What do you say?

So, I scheduled my appointment and now I wait for two more weeks to pass. Anxiously. Please stay tuned and in the meantime, send me your thoughts and prayers because they really do make all the difference, but not really at all.

ICE!!!

I insist that you read the headline in Tom Thibodeau voice. I fell on that ice-covered hill in the background so that's why I gave it my middle digit. And while it doesn't look like much of a hill, I assure you that there's at least 5 degrees of slope happening there...at least.

It's winter and in northern Illinois and that means ice and the hazard of potential falls that come with it. This is a PSA for the elderly and disabled: Be careful on ice.

Our senior dog turned 14 on Sunday. According to this Pedigree calculator, our Treeing Walker Coonhound is 103 in human years! We've been good friends for a third of my life and he's been around for my daughter's entire life. Since about the age of 10, every single day we have with him feels like we've unlocked a bonus level. To celebrate his birthday we did an early morning walk in the woods. Then we enjoyed an afternoon nap while the Bears sucked some more for the last time this season. At dinner, he enjoyed some very rare filet mignon and for dessert we baked him a dog-approved cupcake with a candle, that amazingly, he blew out right on cue with a sneeze the very moment we finished singing Happy Birthday. Baller. Everything was just dandy.

On Monday, we attempted a short neighborhood walk during the kid's P.E. time slot because once again we are remote learning after NINE STAFF MEMBERS tested positive for covid last week, but this isn’t the time or place for my opinions on that. Unfortunately, the sidewalk outside was icy and the hound slipped. Soon after, we noticed blood dripping from a mangled-looking dewclaw and he was limping. We quickly returned home and called the veterinarian and he was seen within the hour. After an exam and X-ray we learned our dog broke his dewclaw and needed surgery to remove the entire broken digit. And for icing on the cake, they recommended a tooth cleaning. The total estimate was near $2K. Goddamn. First thing that needed to be done was bloodwork to make sure he could handle the anesthesia for the surgery. Like a jerk, my initial reaction was "2,000 FUCKING DOLLARS!?! Are you kidding me? Dude, he's 14. How much longer does he have? And for fuck's sake, another tooth cleaning? Can't we teach him how to use a straw or just buy wet food?" I eventually stopped sounding like my old man and agreed with my wife and kid that we'd do whatever it takes to help the dog. Like I said, (through gritted teeth) everyday is a bonus. They wrapped up his wounded leg and sent him home with us. Now we just had to wait for a return call from the vet with bloodwork results to make sure he has a good shot at surviving surgery at his age.

Pathetic-looking old AF dog.

The next day while still waiting for the return call from the vet, I went for my daily walk at the nearby state park. I try to go to the park five days a week and hike for at least three miles every visit. The dog used to come with, but he's just too old now and is unable to do it. Yes, I am disabled and that sounds like a lot of walking, but it's the only exercise I can do now and it's cheap because you can just go outside and do it. I suppose I could get a Pelotone bike or a MIRROR, but I like being outside and I already do enough self-loathing that I don't need another asshole yelling at me to push myself harder while exercising. Anyhow, the paths at the park were icy and halfway through I slipped on an incline and fell on my side. At first I panicked trying to grab onto anything to halt my descent and I stopped for just a moment, like Ralphie from A Christmas Story at the top of the mall slide, I had a temporary moment of clarity where I finally remembered what to ask Santa Claus for Christmas, "I want an official Red Ryder carbine action 200-shot range model air rifle!" And like Santa Claus who responded with, "you'll shoot your eye out, kid" and a kick to the face, I could no longer hold on and gravity took over. At first I managed a "NOOOOOOOO!" but then I accepted my fate and relaxed. I slid about 25 feet and finally stopped and I just laid there for a minute. I was muddy, my back hurt but I could still walk. Unlike the dog, all my digits were fine. Except for my ego and some general soreness, there was nothing wrong with me. So I got up, finished the walk and returned home. 

When I returned I found my DRG iPod controller and made sure my stimulator was still functioning properly and then decided to take it easy. As I recuperated in bed that afternoon my wife informed me that the dog's bloodwork was complete. He is as healthy as a puppy so we scheduled the surgery for next week. I swear to Christ if we don't get another six months out of this dog...just kidding, he's the greatest dog ever, even if he listens for shit.

Fast-forward to Wednesday and I decided to take some precautions before my hike. A couple years ago my sister had bought me a pair of crampons for stability on the ice and my wife dug them out of the closet for me to use. I never used them because I feared how it'd feel under my CRPS foot and I worried about my foot drop, but I had to try them. I arrived at the park and opened the box containing the brand-new traction devices. I quickly read the instructions and found an "L" on the first cleat so I securely attached it to my left foot. Then I grabbed the other one, which was also an "L" and put it on my CRPS-affected right foot. It felt funny because it was on the wrong foot, but it is not like I could exchange them now and, honestly, everything I feel with my right foot feels odd, so I went with it. It was like night and day. I was booking it. That hill I fell on the day before, I no longer had to sidestep down it like a mountain goat. I went full-speed ahead like a boss. At one point I caught up with one of the park’s regulars that I saw earlier and he couldn't believe I had covered so much ground in such a short time. He said "when you get to be my age, you take it slow because it's hard to move." I still haven't shared with him that I'm disabled. I have learned by watching Cobra Kai that you shouldn't show weakness because it will be exploited by your opponent. That’s right, I said opponent because he parks in my spot sometimes. In the end, I made great time and didn't have any falls.

I can't dance because I only have two left feet crampons.

I've now been home for about four hours since my hike and I haven't had any residual effects from wearing the crampons on my CRPS foot. As long as the trails are icy, I think that I'll continue to wear them. Also, I noticed they make a metal-like jingle sound as if I was wearing cowboy spurs so now I can either imagine that I'm Clint Eastwood or a Mandalorian. I mean they're basically the same thing, right? I highly recommend crampons even if you have CRPS. I think I should design some for the dog so we don't have to fear the ice any longer. Perhaps my invention will rival Charlie Rutherford Kelly's Kitten Mittens and I'll finally be able to make it rain.

CRPS Awareness Month

CRPS feels like this illustration. Also, orange is the color for CRPS awareness. Coincidence?

November, the PENULTIMATE month of the year, is Chronic Regional Pain Syndrome Awareness Month.  

I was going to copy and paste the Mayo Clinic’s breakdown of this rare disease but it was boring and it would take up way too much precious digital internet space, so here’s a LINK instead. 

According to the McGill Pain Index, CRPS rates higher than chronic back pain, fibromyalgia, and even childbirth. Now this disease really sucks, but childbirth? I witnessed our daughter’s birth and that didn’t look like a walk in the park. High five, wife! This makes me think about that Arnold Schwarzenegger movie Junior. Now, I’ve never seen this classic, but if he didn’t give birth by caesarean section, I guarantee his pain was much, much worse than having a CRPS flare-up. Also, did you know Danny DeVito was in that movie? Those two were magical in Twins, which I’ve seen about a hundred times at age eight. Maybe I should see Junior. (Looks up Schwarzenegger/DeVito movies…OMG, what is Triplets!?! Not only Danny and Arnold, but Eddie Murphy and Tracy Morgan, too!)

CRPS is an exhausting painful nervous system disorder. The pain fluctuates and is located primarily in my lower right leg. I call it the Devil’s Caress because, at times, it burns so bad that it feels like I stepped in lava. On top of that, every step I take feels like walking barefoot on LEGO. The cause of my CRPS is either from the moment I broke my pelvis in a multi-vehicle accident caused by a distracted driver or by the emergency surgeries that I underwent to have my life saved because of that accident. It’s a chronic condition, meaning it will never stop. I no longer take any medications, but I do use a neurostimulation device to reduce the pain. It took three years to become eligible for the stimulator which helps dull the pain by about 50%. My leg is withering away due to atrophy. When I stretch, my leg cramps up. When I get dressed, I have to sit, otherwise it looks like I’m attempting the crane kick and I risk falling. I can’t stand or sit in one place for long. The only exercise that I can do with a minimal increase in pain is walking, so I power walk like a mug everywhere depending on the weather. Colder temperatures increase my pain sensitivity. Illinois winters are rough sometimes. I probably should move to a warmer climate, but fuck Florida. I can’t sleep through the night due to insomnia caused by the pain, or it was my TBI. Anyway, I take cannabis to aid my rest. Some other weird issues that I have going on with my affected limb is hair loss, skin color is blue and it is 5-7 degrees colder than my left leg on average. Shit’s all jacked.

Unfortunately, for me, there is no cure for CRPS. Distractions are the best way to live with this disease, so with that I will now end this post and read the latest book my therapist has recommended. The last book I read that he suggested, The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment, was recently touted by Aaron Rodgers and, yeah, I don’t want to say Rodgers “should stick to sports,” because that’s how my favorite sports blog ended…however, now that I think about it, the writers of that blog quit en masse and started their own new better blog. Perhaps, Mr. Rodgers, you should stick to sports and leave for a better football division, far, far away from the NFC North so Mr. Justin Fields can own you, Green Bay Packers. 

 

You Look Fine

 

That guy looks fine. Knowing everything I know about him, I should let him know that.

It’s been 10 months since I last made a post. Why? Honestly, there hasn’t been much new going on with my condition. It is still painful, that’s why it is called chronic and I also feel no one wants to hear a complainer. As I write this, I pause for a moment and wiggle my right ankle and, yup, it still feels like I just rolled my ankle. Super tight, a slight burning feeling as if someone is rubbing my leg with fine sandpaper and overall discomfort in my lower limb. It makes me feel nauseated. I observe my calf and it continues to twitch uncontrollably as if a microscale alien wants to burst out of my leg. Nothing new. I’ve plateaued. I try not to think about it. I am mastering the art of distraction, but with my PTSD I have found that, occasionally, I still lose my shit over nothing. Because of that, I started going to therapy at the start of spring so my toolbox that I use to deal with my overactive brain has been upgraded. And if one of my tools breaks I simply need to stop by the local Sears to have it replaced for free and… oh, Sears is defunct? Dang. The times they are a changin’.

One thing that I could do better when it comes to handling my emotions is when I get the obligatory, well-meaning comment “You look fine.” It’s usually from someone who knows what I’ve been through offering what they think they have to. They look at me from head to toe, and force a empathetic-looking smile. GAWD, I'd rather you talk about sports or the weather —How did Nagy do a complete 180 on Fields? There must’ve been pressure from the top. Was it Virginia McCaskey? Or, I knew Gruden was a shitbag! Or, how about these unseasonably warm temperatures? I think I might be pro-global warming.— Instead I get the awkward conversation topic of my appearance. I generally respond silently with a nod, accompanied by a sheepish half-crooked grin and then the other party, which again is trying their best even though no one asked for how they think I look, sometimes will add, “I mean, for everything you’ve been through, that is.” Yes, I am a living miracle or as I see it, like a weed that won’t die no matter how many times I’m sprayed with your costly Ortho herbicide. I’m the irradiated cockroach that survived the nuclear Holocaust.

You see, as Lord of the Grievances, I am learning through therapy how to let things go and live in the present. For example, recently, the village president of our small town stopped by while I was cutting the grass on the riding mower, one of the few chores I can do with relatively minimal pain. BIG TIME STUFF parked in our driveway and walked into the yard and waved me over. This must be important I thought to myself. Perhaps he was here to tell me the boys back at the garage were finally on their way to remove the racist (won’t be sharing) and vulgar (above) graffiti spray painted under the vehicular bridge that spans the creek behind our house where young children play. My wife had reported the crude-looking graffiti to the village back in January, March, July and again in September done by some local teenage artists. ‘Crude’ is me trying to dress up the terrible compositions. El Barto’s portrait of Principal Skinner with the word bubble  “I AM A WEINER” on the Springfield Elementary School wall from S1 E2 looked like a Rembrandt in comparison. I turned off the mower, struggled to get off the machine, because I stiffen up after sitting for too long, and walked over to speak to him. As I began my slow saunter over to The Man, I wondered to myself, what could he possibly want? I don’t think I’ve ever said more than ‘hi’ to him at church. Whatever, a new adventure awaits. He started off with “I don’t want to anger you, but…” I stared blankly and motioned forward as if to say let’s hear it. He continued, “We are going to have to start cracking down on clippings in the street. I mean ticketing offenders.” Still silent, I just watched him as he continued, “Motorcyclists could slip on the grass that you left in the street and have an accident.” Then he gazed back at me expecting a response. ***crickets*** “So you gotta blow that off of there,” while pointing at the street. Really? Twice daily I watch newly teen drivers, as well as experienced adults, race past my house, not only ignoring the posted 20 MPH school zone signs and stop signs, but they do this while driving distracted by staring at their phones. A deep cut for me. But who am I to complain, amirite? Besides, the kids walking to and from school have already had their shot. Yet here I am learning about the dangers posed to cyclists by negligent homeowners like me not properly disposing of my grass clippings, not that I wasn’t going to take care of it eventually like I usually do since I was still in the middle of the first part of the job, but that’s enough of my nonconformist thoughts. #smalltownliving So I struggled, but managed a meek “OK” and he finally left. In the end I decided to just let it go and move on.

Another example of my extraordinary letting-it-go ability is from five years ago, just a few months removed from my accident, my wife’s boss stopped by the house as he saw me, by myself, relaxing on a hot summer day while sitting in a lawn chair, sipping some iced tea under the shade of a tree in our yard. Again, #smalltownliving. He started with normal, mundane chit-chat, but then out of nowhere, he asked “Does your dick still work?” I nearly spit out the tea I was in the process of swallowing right outta my mouth like a bad sitcom. What in tarnation did he just say? Did he just ask me what I think he just asked me? Should I ask him to repeat that? I kept my cool and I answered with a passive “Yeah,” hoping I misheard him. He then replied with “Good. She’s a good girl and needs to be taken care of.” Holy shit! I didn’t misunderstand him. He actually did ask me that. What do I say now? Jesus. Fortunately for me at that moment his adult son with cerebral palsy, that he left out in the sweltering July sunshine that was belted into his seat of the Gator ATV that Bossman rolled up in and left parked at the edge of our yard, called out for help and needed immediate assistance so they had to go. Whew. Anyway, I let that go too.

So, yeah, I’m understanding of many things, people are weird, but as a chronic pain sufferer, “You look fine” kinda rubs me the wrong way on a difficult day. I know, it’s me, not you and I gotta work at getting over this hurdle. Before I do I just want to remind you that post-mortem photography was a thing in the nineteenth century. I understand that the kick-ass old daguerreotype that you have so proudly displayed in the parlor you wanted me to notice on the way into your home of your great, great, etc. uncle makes him appear so angelic and innocent as an infant forever frozen in time, but that is because of rigor mortis. Your ancestor was dead and merely posed to look that cute, not because he was fine. Don’t get it? May I recommend a future vacation travel destination? I hear there’s an old amusement park near the Chernobyl disaster site in the ghost city of Pripyat that has been untouched for over 35 years that you should check out firsthand. It looks vintage and quite fine as I’ve seen in pictures. Point is you have no way of knowing how anyone is by looking at them, so maybe just save it. I know you mean well, but it may be taken the wrong way. Instead, let's talk about that White Sox fan wielding Gandalf's staff. Or maybe just keep it simple and ask how I'm doing, ignore my reply and then you can tell me all about those goddamn liberals and their vaccines and masks that do nothing and are in fact killing us. #smalltownliving

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to patrol the neighborhood and look for violators not obeying the grass clipping laws of our fair community. Since the town defunded the police¹ years ago. I may have to take matters into my own hands and perform a good old-fashioned Mayberry citizen’s arrest. 

¹ Years back we used to have a police force of one, but then taxes, so the officer was let go. Now, nothing ever really happens around here, but when it does, like the time a man at the local car show set his truck on fire with gasoline and later went back into the burning vehicle to retrieve knives to throw at another man in the crowd, shit can get outta hand fast. The assailant, who I bet looked completely fine, was restrained when a few heroic individuals from the crowd forced him to the ground and sat on him until the authorities arrived. The man later died at the hospital after injuries sustained from all his excitement. A dedicated village law enforcement agent would have been a good thing to have on hand, but money. Read story HERE or try this LINK. It’s not that in an emergency we don’t receive help, it’s just that it takes county officers about fifteen minutes to respond because of the distance involved. (I timed it once after calling the police when we noticed someone with a flashlight inside an abandoned home near us one late night. I suspect it was the old residents who moved abruptly and they were tearing out the pipes for money, but I dunno, they left before the cops arrived.)

Crunching the Numbers

Thankfully, 2020 is hours away from completion. I have heard many people talk of how awful this year has been and I concur. But just imagine being old or, say, disabled and listening to people complain that they can’t do anything and they’re sick of being at home all the time. Boo-hoo. I apologize, the airing of grievances holiday was 8 days ago. Here’s some figures from 2020 that I came up with:

NOTE - this is all completely pointless, including the numbers provided below, except for my walking distance. That's some real substance there.

# of empty Fireball bottles found littered in 2020: 247; 240 found in LaSalle County and 7 in Kendall County

This started out as a joke when we lived in Ottawa and I quickly became obsessed. Collecting them made my walks more entertaining and I'd imagine a backstory for each find while also cleaning up my community. I am able to see the empty bottles of alcohol easily because I'm always looking down. You see, I need to watch my feet so as to not trip over them due to my foot drop. On top of that, the nerve damage makes it quite difficult to feel the ground. Also, spotting the red cap and safety yellow-colored label with fire-breathing demon make them stand out over other discarded containers. They pretty much emit a glow that I can see from a distance as if they were helpful items in a video game that mustn't be overlooked.

I don’t count the bottles unless I’m able to retrieve them and dispose of the waste properly. So, unless I see a glass handle of Fireball, my self-proclaimed Holy Grail, on the side of the road while driving, I will not be stopping to recover every hotel mini-bar bottle I see. However, I will come to a screeching halt if I see the glass bottle. Just like I would if there were a family of ducks crossing the road. (I have a soft spot for birds, because remember they are dinosaurs.) Even if there were a semitrailer tailing me too closely, because fuck semi trucks. Never forget: Me 1, Semis 0.

# of Cubs playoff wins in 2020: 0, again.

The Cubs haven’t won a playoff game since their last NLCS appearance vs. the Dodgers on October 18, 2017. The game before that win, Carl Edwards Jr. walked, then LA pitcher, Yu Darvish on 4 pitches to force in a bases loaded run. Remember that? Good times! Oh look, Darvish was traded to San Diego earlier this week.

If that’s not bad enough, the Bears haven’t won a playoff game since January 16, 2011, against a sub-.500 opponent, the Seattle Seahawks. The following playoff game on January 23, was against the Packers that I covered from the sidelines where Aaron Rodgers landed on top of me in the north end zone just past the pylon, uninvited mind you, and broke my film camera. If anyone ever tells you that greatness doesn’t just fall into your lap, please let them know they are mistaken. It literally happened to me. 

I don't foresee Chicago winning a playoff game anytime soon even if they miraculously defeat Mr. Rodgers and the Packers on Sunday nor if the Cardinals lose and the Bears back their way into a post-season spot.

# of moves my family made this year: 2

I’ve discussed this ad nauseam. Briefly though, moving is the pits. If you don’t have to move, don’t move, especially during a pandemic. Thinking about those potentially COVID-19 infected people touching my stuff still creeps me out.

# of days I’ve been alive: 15,018

# of days since we’ve had the Treeing Walker Coonhound: 4,637

The dog and I have been together for 30.87% of my life. And no, I have nothing to do with hound's Twitter account. I'm not Tyler Durden.

# of books read since January: 5.23 definitely not enough

• The Adventures of Tom Sawyer Twain
• Damned Palahniuk
• Doomed Palahniuk
• The Invention of Sound Palahniuk
• Point B Magary
• Don Quixote Cervantes (currently reading)

3 of the 6 were Chuck Palahniuk novels. I know I need to broaden my horizons. This count doesn't include trade paperbacks, young-adult novels (I get recommendations all the time and sometimes I oblige), kid, picture, art books, etc. I’m sure I’ve read more books, but my TBI messes with my memory and attention span.

# of video games completed this year: 6

• NHL '94
• Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2: Turtles in Time
• The Last of Us 2
• Legend of Zelda 3
• Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening
• Hyrule Warriors 

Again, 3 of the 6 were the same type. That's because The Legend of Zelda is the greatest video game franchise ever created, contrary to my kid's declaration that Pokémon is. Oh, and 4 of the 6 I had already beaten decades ago.

Pokémon card game record in 2020: 36-33-01

The kid and I tied once and I started looking into if that was actually possible - to tie that is - and it is, but you’re supposed to do a sudden death round which we didn’t. As I looked more into the official rules of the game I began to feel weird and I found myself asking, “What am I doing, man?” Like an addict asking that question to their reflection in the mirror and I stopped going down that rabbit hole cold turkey. 

My record is only above .500 because the kid plays me like a fiddle. If she wanted to, I'd have only won a handful of games. She handicaps me so I keep coming back for more. Like a Pokémon Bobby Fisher.

# of puzzles the family has put together in the past week: 3; 2 Christmas scenes and 1 Pokémon for a total of 2000 pieces

# of shows started and did not finish in 2020: 12 (that I’m aware of)

• Ozark S3 - We started the series this year, but lost interest. I did enjoy the way Laura Linney would belt out “CHAROLETTE!” I think that’s why we watched it so long.

• Schitt’s Creek S1 - For the name alone we tried it.

• Fargo S4 - We still plan on watching this.

• Space Force - Lotta big names here and I'm still waiting for something to happen.

• Black Mirror S1 - I'll stick with The Twilight Zone, which reminds me, I need to watch the Jordan Peele iteration.

• The Boys - I should like this, but, yeah...

• The Man in the High Castle S4 - This was the final season and I've invested some serious time into this show so I feel the need to complete this eventually.

• The Watchmen - I may return to this, but what was with lord dick science guy and his clone people he destroys? Also, does he live on Mars or something?

• Westworld S3 - Waning interest after season 1 and painfully made it though the second season.

• Curb Your Enthusiasm S10 - This is modern day Seinfeld and I'm neurotic like Larry David so I'll return to it. A big reason for many of the unfinished HBO shows was due to our HBO Max subscription ending. The main reason for that sub was to watch Last Week Tonight in its entirety, because watching only the main story on YouTube leaves you wanting more. Once the season ends, so does our sub.

• The Society - I have no clue what this is, but my wife said we tried it. TBI?

• Hunters - I'll stick with Mindhunter, but go ahead and kill all the nazis that you can.

# of shows started and completed: 7 (that I’m aware of)

• It’s Bruno! - There is no way to explain this one. It is not actually good, but I watched it all.

• Tiger King - This was like what I suspect watching the first moon landing was like and only because of COVID-19 lockdown. Everybody watched.

• It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia S14 - The gang could be in a hospice facility and I'd still watch their adventures.

• Silicon Valley S6 - What happened with Mucinex/Dead Pool bartender guy with all the drugs?.. Erlich Bachman!

• Homecoming S2 - Drugs that induce memory loss thing got me interested in this one. Memory loss is terrible, even if it feels that sometimes it'd probably be best to forget tragic events. I think erasing memories only stymies growth. There are many things in my lifetime that I'd like to forget, but I wouldn't be me if I could just erase it.

• The Mandalorian S2 OMG. - Boba Fett has been redeemed. That Fett episode, The Tragedy, was directed by Robert Rodriguez and he used his kids and some of his toys to mock up the action scene before production. If I were a doll an action figure collector and I got the opportunity to meet Mr. Rodriguez, I'd first compliment his work and next ask him how could he have blown up the Razor Crest? You like SW toys, right? Because when that occurred it was if 28,181 voices cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced after remembering they purchased this $349.99 toy earlier this year. Was that some kind of Rian Johnson Last Jedi reference of tearing it all down?

• Better Call Saul S5 - Jimmy was great in Breaking Bad, but better in this. And Moff Gideon makes appearances.

My wife and I would begin a series with high-hopes and tell each other how if we stick with them we will be rewarded. Then after a few episodes we'd would bail and go back to Family Feud with my man, Steve Harvey. He’s always gotta good one for you multiple times a night and I swear I’ve yet to see a rerun which is astounding.

As of this writing, we are giving Arrested Development another shot. In the past I said the hand-held camera bounce made it unwatchable, but now all shows do this and I'm used to it. This time is promising because we are now eight episodes in. The turning point for me was when The Fonz appeared on screen as the Bluth family's attorney. I've always said to my wife that our lawyer looks exactly like Henry Winkler.

# of movies watched in a theater this year: 2

• Rise of Skywalker
• 1917

I saw people discussing what movie they first saw ever in the theater and their last on the Twitter earlier this year before the pandemic. For a moment I thought Rise of Skywalker was my last and I thought to myself, “Wow, how cool! My first movie was Return of the Jedi and my last was ROS. I’m the coolest [geek] ever!” But I forgot all about 1917.

# of Terminator movies made: 6 And the percentage of those that are actually worth watching: 33%

We watched Terminator: Dark Fate a week ago. In an alternate reality, after successfully killing John Connor, we find Schwarzenegger’s terminator character has a family and even owns a business named “Carl’s Draperies.” Yes, really.

# of days since I had my permanent DRG stimulator installed or as I like to refer to it, my cyborg birth: 685 or 4.56% of my lifetime.

I wonder when the battery will need to be replaced? Will it beep? Will the unit self-destruct like a starship overrun by aliens in deep space? Cool. 

Average # of miles I've walked daily in 2020: 2.4 or 878.4 miles, approximately, for the year. 

This is fist pump territory. This is an increase of 3/10 of a mile per day over last year, which was 2.1 per day. My average dropped dramatically in October as I was projected to be at about 2.6 miles per day for the year. However, I started multiple home improvement projects and my slipped disc re-activated when I removed the mallard wallpaper from the basement and installed new trim throughout our home. My back has since improved and next month I’ll be begin removing terra cotta tile with a scraper and hammer drill. 

Happy New Year! Get vaccinated and then party like it's 1999.