All I can amount to for now is words. Except for this…
Fall 2023 I had my first MRI, in my case an MRI of my brain. I thought it was a bit of an extreme action to address my infrequent but severe morning headaches. I rolled with it anyway following the advice of my primary care provider.
To say I was surprised to read I had a brain tumor was an understatement.
Fast forward to January of this year. I scrambled to draw up some sort of will and asked my S.O. to smother me with a pillow if any life altering disability resulted from my surgery.
January 16th came and went. I underwent a craniotomy. My brain was sliced open behind my right eye, tumor removed, and my temporalis muscle stitched back so tightly that as of this writing I still struggle with opening my mouth to eat. (Sorry boys, but you all know what is not on the docket for eternity.)
I returned home post op day two, “gorked out” on pain medications and overcome with fatigue.
SLEEP.
And that is what I did… A LOT.
I "recovered" at home for six weeks.
Fearful of losing my sight and visual attention to detail, I turned to art. Re-honing my visuospatial skills that had been lying dormant long before my surgery. I birded some, gradually hiked some.
I slept A LOT.
I had a reckoning with who gave a fuck and who did not.
The risks of my surgery were immense. Death at the top of list.
I pondered about those who wished for my demise: my sister and so on... I realized my niece and nephew who I adored and spoiled with love throughout their entire childhood, the spawn of my sister, could not have given even half of a fuck if I died. Not a word from them even though my mother shared my situation with my sister against my wishes.
I have accepted, like others in my life who have betrayed my devotion, that they are now dead to me. Life is short. I am moving on.
I mostly cherished the great and small acts of those who cared. Gourmet chocolates and cards from casual birding friends, co-workers and such; orchids and plants from distant and dear acquaintances, the many meals prepared and delivered by Shawn, and the love and gratitude of my young nephews. The love of few is plenty. It is sustaining.
During my down time, I became consumed with my orchids. They had long been neglected, dying, dead. Some remarkably thrived under years of minimal care. I continue right my wrongs against these beauties.
I bird some. But it seems to have taken a back seat to my orchids. I have chased a few birds. But mostly, I simply open my senses to the moment, to my surroundings, not the dips, agenda and lists. I simply do not have the energy.
I am more irritable now and less inclined to hold my tongue. This is possibly a side effect of the anti-seizure medication. Or perhaps when faced with my mortality, I have simply grown more impatient with the bullshit. I have zero time for passive-aggressive conflict avoidance. I will call out injustice and battle to a figurative death on such matters.
I am so tired of entitled egocentric people in all walks of life especially the inconsiderate free-roaming pet owners. I am at war with my neighborhood and beyond on this matter.
Life is short and perhaps I should not waste my time on such matters. But why should we, the people whose enjoyment of nature is being infringed upon, stand idly by while domestic animals roam freely, consume resources, contribute to the decline of native species, spread disease through their feces and invade our private yards and public spaces. The irresponsibility of pet owners is ALARMING.
Our society has lost its empathy and ability to consider the perspectives and experiences of others.
So here I am. ALIVE. Back to working. Functioning with a literally numb skull.
I prepared to die, but I am still alive.
