I want to thank everyone for their wonderful help and offers of aide and support. I hope I deserve it and have the opportunity to help anyone who needs it in the future.
There’s lots more to be said about family and friends.
At the moment I feel a bit like a rodeo clown at the sharp end of a bull. The surgery went well, and I have no idea when, where, or how long it took. I can’t remember anesthesia being given. But I do remember waking in the recovery room with Iago in my throat. Something about Othello being tricked. Anyway, the pain is incredible, but it’s a pain I can deal with, so much more bearable that the deep and slimy pain of an intestine knuckling its way out of my abdomen.
The surgery taught me and the surgeon a few things. He informed us that there were in fact two hernias, one on the left and one on the right and that these were congenital. He caught the second via the laparoscopic procedure. He claimed that I walking time-bomb, with threats to testicles and all kinds of other bad things, this after years of heavy stone work, rock climbing, weight lifting, fence building, light construction, carpentry, child-making, and other day to day functions of life.
The first cars I drove as mine were a ’69 Buick Lesabre and a 57 Chevy four-door (too bad). These cars were broken but functional, high-mileage vehicles, and fun. They worked as long as you didn’t fix what had been fused over the hole or crack. That’s how I’ve felt for a long time, that something wasn’t quite right in the lower regions. Like a squeak deep in the engine that you just live with. Yes, this tangible pain is a better kind of pain.