+ 23 hours and Counting

So don't expect your usual high level of wqith and typingm bewcause I'm still loaded up with ... stuff.

But I wanted everybody to know that I'm still alive, and liable to stay that way.
I can do a decent coopy later when I'm up for it.

The good news is that this is not the sort of thing you can expectr fromme from now on -- I'm assured that this fuzzy head is merely tyhr result of bad medications and not (primarily) from the hole in my head which in am7y event is still pretty fresh.

Anyway, just wanted you yto know the most significant thing, which isa that 1) the CAT scan indicaties that the first scraping worked successfully, which means thwt won't have to go in and clean pout eh the rest later. and 2) although it was none of the interesting and unusual growths they thought iot was, it is benign, which means I am liable to live, or at least not get any wporse. Sounds good to me.

Kathe thinmks it' s stupid to leave this as is, as though this indicates something about thet state of my mind., OTOH., it alsop m,eans I won't have to go back and crtrect it all, and that sounds good to me right about now.

18 Hours and Counting

I'm at my parents' house in Monroe after dinner, using their computer and struggling with its unfamiliar keyboard.

Mom & Dad, Kathe and me, our son Waldy and his girlfriend Mary, my brother Tom and his girls, Linda and Andrea. Our daughter Biftu (aka Asnakech) was going to come from Portland, but she thought the family was gathering in Corvallis, and by the time the bus would have brought her to Corvallis we would have been long-gone to Monroe. So Biftu went over to her sister Sarah's house instead. Oh, well.

And all the while, the countdown continues: nine hours until I become NPO (not a big concern on the evening of Thanksgiving), fifteen hours until I check in at Sacred Heart, seventeen and a half hours until the drill bites in.

Am I boring you yet?

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Sometimes you bore, and sometimes you get bored."\\

38 Hours And Counting

As the clock runs out leading up to my surgery, I'm getting a flurry of unexpected calls from people wanting to schedule a massage.

So many people (and so much money) that I'd be tempted to suspect a pronoid* fantasy of people conspiring to hit me with a raft of money just before I go off work for awhile, except that these are mainly people I've never seen before.

One more night in my own bed....

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Why wait until the last minute?"

*Opposite of paranoid.

60 Hours And Counting

Kathe and I had dinner at Izzy's with my parents and Uncle Charles, as well as Aunts Pat and Sandra. A sort of pre-Thanksgiving, since Charles won't be at the main gathering at my parents' place on Thursday.

The time of surgery fast approaches, will I or nill I.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "3600 seconds per hour. Not just a good idea, it's the law."\\

Still Waiting

Tonight is my last shift of home-care work. No more night shifts, and no day work at the activity center. I may get a call or two for a massage (I hope so), but otherwise there isn't much to do except show up at my parents' house for Thanksgiving, sleep overnight at my Aunt Pat's place in Junction City, and check in at Sacred Heart in Eugene at 0600 Friday morning, to be prepped for surgery at 0730.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Fear is the mind-killer."\\

I'm Scared

In the morning, Kathe and I will be going to Eugene to meet with the anesthesiologist who'll be conducting me through the Ivory Gate. Tonight, I sit and wonder if the thingie in my brain is as innocuous as all of the doctors seem to think.

I've never had a really good memory, but now it seems bad enough to actually scare me.

Months ago, I told Kathe that it was my understanding that X was blue. A few weeks later, I said, "Of course, you remember when I said X was red, right?" We had a rather heated discussion on the subject. It was unpleasant, and not the sort of thing a person is likely to forget under normal circumstances.

And yet, the other day I said to Kathe, "I don't know why anyone would think X was blue. I certainly never said so." She had to remind me of our previous discussion, at which point it all came back to me -- but how could I not think of it whenever the subject of the color of X came up?

This is scary. Or am I just reading too much into an ordinary lapse because I'm already afraid of the surgery? I don't know.

//The Magic Eight-Ball

Poor, Poor Religious Right

"Kathe, I notice that people are making a big fuss this year over how the Religious Right have little to choose from among Republican candidates, as though this were something new."

"If you're the Religious Right and you're limiting yourselves to Republican candidates, you're bound to wind up disappointed."

"Exactly. Oooh, I must go make a blog post, I just thought of a wonderfully snotty turn of phrase."

"By the way, I don't think you've mentioned that you now have a firm date for your surgery. I think the last time you mentioned it, it was still 'we think the 23rd' and you said 'Get back to me when you know for sure.'"

"Gee, I thought I'd mentioned at least once that my surgery is now definitely set for Friday, November 23rd at 7:30 AM. But if not, I'd better mention it today."

[15 minutes later]

"So anyway, that wonderfully snarky turn of phrase was:

It must be pretty discouraging to be a member of the Religious Right these days, having to choose between unpalatable contenders like Rudolph Giuliani and Mitt Romney, or a wretch like Mike Huckabee, who's foul in quite different ways, and besides would lose to Christopher Dodd.

But what else is new? At least since Ronald Reagan, every Republican candidate has painted a picture of himself as a titan with a fiery red white and blue halo, a Bible in one hand and the nuclear button in the other, a gay man crushed under one foot and a teenaged girl under the other. And every one who's been elected has delivered Babylonian corruption and Pharaonic incompetence.

It's as though every Democrat had billed himself as the new JFK and then...

Oh, right.


//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Souls bared on Larry King Live may be smaller than they appear."\\

Lest We Forget (As Usual)

"Hello?"
"Hi, Waldy. You're at our place, right, making lunch with Food Not Bombs?"
"Yeah."
"Could you do something for me -- I forgot about doing it before we left for Meeting."
"Sure."
"Could you go to the corner by the bedroom door and get the flag and hang it out?"
"Okay."
"Great. The Stars and Stripes, not the peace-symbol flag. It's Armistice Day*."
"Okay."**

I made it through Meeting without any abnormal reactions, so I guess that makes it a good week.

* It just now occurred to me that by calling just before Meeting, I caused the flag to be hung out at 11:00 exactly. How traditional.

** Waldy is a man of few words.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Remember."

Still Waiting Patiently

So, surgery on the 23rd, still haven't received anything in the way of information about how to prepare for surgery, still no hour set for surgery (the previous one was going to be 9AM, check in at 7 -- makes sense, since my day will be ruined anyhow).

Anxiety is definitely having an effect on my quality of life: headaches, chest pains, acid reflux in my mouth in the middle of the night -- tons of fun.

And a good time is had by all, thanks to my bad temper, gloom and fuzzy-headedness, which allow me to share the wealth with Kathe and other people around me.

Weirdly, the only times I really feel like myself are when I'm at work. I guess my work-self doesn't know he's about to have surgery.

And speaking of work: any mid-Valley resident who reads this should be aware that I will be working right up until surgery, including my massage practice, so by all means don't hesitate to call for a massage appointment between now and Thanksgiving. I could use the money, for the time while I'm off work recovering.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "I'm not saying anything. I don't participate in spam."\\

Guess What?

NOTE: The following is not an actual transcript, just the gist of the conversation put in a form I thought would be enjoyable. The person I spoke with made a small error but corrected it at once and was professional throughout. No disrespect or misrepresentation is intended.

[Phone rings]

[neutral voice, not knowing if it will be friend, massage client, bad news] "Hello, this is John Burt."

[chirpy voice] "Hi! Your surgery has been approved, so we can put you on the schedule now."

[icy voice] "I thought I had been on the schedule for November 20th. For a couple of weeks now. All my plans were based on that."

[abashed voice] "Um, oh, I see, I was thinking you were one of the ones just approved. Yes, here, the doctor is having a family emergency, so his surgeries are being rescheduled. I think I can get you in for the 23rd, the day after Thanksgiving."

[pleasant voice] "I see. Well, thanks for the update. Let me know when a firm date is set, and I'll make plans accordingly."

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, [portentous voice] "The best laid plans...."\\

[Update: Surgery will definitely be on the 23rd. Plan all visits, massage appointments, &c. accordingly.]

Boom

Sorry, I'm not feeling like being a responsible liberal today.

Or even a Quaker.

Don't mind me, I'll be feeling better soon.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Ka-Blam."\\

Do Your Job or Get Out of the Way, Nancy!

Congress would like to restore at least part of the Consumer Product Safety Division, which used to do such a good job of keeping unsafe products off American shelves.

Unfortunately, CPSC chair Nancy Nord is opposed to Congress giving her a bigger budget, more staff and more enforcement powers. God forbid she should be invited to actually do her stinkin' job!

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Heckuva job."\\

[The 2007 Supplement to The Meaning of Liff defines "nord" as "v., p.t.: To have deliberately left a task undone. Contraction of 'ignored'."]

I Talk Funny

Awhile back, I noticed that I seemed to be speaking some dialect of English of unknown origin:

When I complete a task successfully, I say "Good-good." There are forms of English in which this is standard, but I've never lived around people who said it.

When someone thanks me for help, I don't say "'Tweren't nothin'" or "No problem," I say "Always-always." Gee, where did that come from?

There are more examples, but they'll have to wait for another time. I can't recall them right now.

[Update, 6 November: I still can't think of any of my other peculiarities of speech, except for a tendency to say "on offer" instead of "available" or "for sale". That's a Britishism, I think.]

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, //"Speak and be counted."\\

Free Elections [Take One]

Immense effort is currently being expended to ensure that people who are not U.S. citizens or otherwise not entitled to, do not vote in U.S. elections.

Not that there's been a big problem with this. Or even any problem. But the matter must be vigorously prosecuted.

Especially against Democrats.

Meanwhile, considerably less energy is being expended towards ensuring that legitimate votes, once cast, actually get counted.

Funniest thing.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "I'm not laughing."\\

Gargoyles

From: John M. Burt (john_m_burt@hotmail.com)
To: backfence@news.oregonian.com

To the Back Fence Columnist:

When you pass on to V.D. of Tigard directions to Portland-area gargoyles so he can show them to his visiting grandchildren, don't forget to mention that the most famous local gargoyle, the Doyle Owl, is missing.

Hopefully,

John M. Burt

[No quote is available from the Magic Eight-Ball today. Anyone knowing of its whereabouts should contact me at once, or at least put up a video on YouTube.]