RANTS FROM OBLIVION

As the days approaching vacation slowly, oh so slowly, wound down, I anticipated being free from the intense focus I'd had at work - free to concentrate on my "life". Music, and especially playing music with my friends back home was a priority as well as running on the beach and diving in the ocean.

But a sense of something impending had been troubling my soul since the fender bender I'd had on 8/1. The year so far had been such a blessing - career, love, and money - and this was the first wrinkle creasing the face of my reality. Then 3 days before vacation, doing a random marking procedure with a razor, I seriously sliced a chunk off the side of my index finger, rendering the likelihood of playing at the vacation jam from slim to nil. A growing sense of foreboding accompanied this unlikely mistake.

But life goes on and after some hugs, kisses, and stuff from Boo (as well as some instructions re: hurricane Gustav, now barreling its way thru the Carribean), I flew North to the Jersey Shore.

The first couple of days were great - dinner at the Rio, a little tanning, jogging. On Saturday I recorded "Dream On You" to send to Boo, called a realtor about a lot in 'Metro New Orleans', and proceeded to the beach to relax, take more of a tan, run, etc.

Well, the "Etcetera" was not exactly an item I had included on the day's agenda. After reading for some while, I went running - a mile and a half or so and on returning to my starting point, I was feelin' pretty frisky so I kicked it into gear, determined to extend the run. Picking up speed, I stepped on the bulkhead to cross onto the next section of beach........

Ahhhh! A moment in time.

As in the car accident; as in the razor's edge, and now, as in "bad things come in 3's" my world came crashing to a halt. As I stepped on the bulkhead a little voice said to be careful, but this bulkhead crossing was something I'd repeated hundreds of times over a lifetime - and on this specific beach.

Airborne, hands and feet to the sky,
silence.... confusion
then full contact on the hard surface -
compression, compression on compression;
searing pain.

The bulkhead's unctuous surface had denied me any traction and now moments later, from someone delighting in life's vitality, I now lay unable to get up - fearing that I would not even be able to walk, to make love, to make a living.
A wave washes over me. I attempt to rise from a reclining position. No can do....
Strike three, I am out!

I crawl to my chair and a gracious lady gives me an ice pack and some Ibuprofen. After an hour and in excruciating pain (and shock!!) I make it to the car and drive to my mom's.

I refuse to go to what would surely be a typically crazy Saturday night live at the emergency room, and only find out the true extent of what's occurred the next afternoon at an Urgent Care Center. X-rays (see pic at right) showed that T-12 had fractured due to compression. Not good news for a guy on vacation! Ok, it was just plain bad news.
Fortunately, the physician at Urgent Care knew one 50 cent word - Kyphoplasty (Clik title: A MOMENT IN TIME above). Four days later, the word and my achey-breakey-back met on an outpatient bed and became intimately acquainted.

An hour later, I arose from the bed free from the searing pain of the vertebral fracture, though uncomfortable from the procedure. Having read accounts of people whose doctors were unaware of the Kyphoplasty procedure and the brutal repurcussions of neglecting treatment, or as people without benefit of it would have suffered just a few years ago, I thank the Lord above, that I again was blessed to have been where I was and with whom I spoke during THAT moment in time.

Guess I AM just a lucky so and so....

Oh yeah, Gustav missed New Orleans - another real blessing!!!