When will it end?

I am now a few days past 6 months since I came out of surgery. My aftercare regimen is now far more relaxed but unfortunately, I've developed yet more complications that's freaking out my surgeon a wee bit - I left a message with his staff and he called me back within 15 minutes. To give you an idea how rare this is, my typical wait time ranges between a day to half a week before he'll respond.

So now I'm on this aggressive treatment plan which includes, among other things, me nuking the surgical area with a blast of Betadine solution everyday. I hate Betadine. It has this indescribably foul sour odour that drives me up the wall - it reminds me of death.

I was rather looking forward to passing the 6 month mark. Due to the new aftercare regimen, I get at least an hour back every morning because I don't have to go do painful medical aftercare. But now I've to worry about whether I'm healing right and whether the bleeding complication will get worse. *sigh* Colour me depressed, worried and unhappy.

Hope for the future (part 2)

I met with my primary medical case officer recently and I mentioned the recent research. He smiled and noted that among physicians, the cause for the Condition has been known to be definitively medical in origin for years now. Apparently, the clincher was a comparative study performed on the preserved amniotic fluid of those afflicted vs. unafflicted - there's a very clear and distinct difference in the composition of the fluid that pretty much points a conclusive finger that what has and will happen was charted by biology.

Why is this important? The treatment for the Condition involves quite a number of medications and is a long term treatment plan. Therefore, the opponents of the theory that the Condition has a biological origin claim that the effects of the medications skew the results of any indicator tests or autopsies performed on those with the Condition. However, the amniotic fluid composition predates anything the afflicted individual may have taken to "skew" the results.

It is easier to revile those different from you than to love them. I think it's sad that the overwhelming cases of prejudice and bigotry against folks with the Condition comes from those who believe themselves to be following God.

It took centuries for the church to accept the heliocentric model of the solar system, simply because the leaders at the time cannot accept that we aren't the centre of God's attention. Well, I believe that for us who are afflicted by the Condition that either God made a mistake in our genetic composition...or if the idea of a fallible God disagrees with you, that God made us exactly the way He wanted to.

Hope for the future

Well...I have to say that I'm feeling quite relieved; scientists have recently isolated a DNA variance (a "marker", if you will) that is unique to folks like me who have the Condition. We're not talking crackpot science here, folks - this is a major multi-year joint international study involving a large sample of subjects.

What does this mean? In addition to past findings off autopsies of irregularities in brain structures, it's starting to look pretty conclusive that the Condition has biological origins, not psychological. If so, it means that there's a possibility it can be treated in the future via early screening and gene therapy.

Those of us afflicted have always known that we're not imagining it. Certainly the extent of risks we run to successfully cure it requires very rational planning to succeed - not exactly a characteristic of the insane. And the intense pain involved in treatment plus the exorbitant medical costs serve as a barrier to entry for all but the genuinely afflicted.

I would not wish the Condition on *anyone*. If it turns out that the current generation is the last generation that has to go through the horrors that is the Condition, it would not nearly be soon enough.

Done

In the middle of June, I flew off to another city where one of only two surgeons in Canada capable of doing the surgery performed a procedure on me that cured my Condition once and for all.

Or so the Government of Canada decreed. Insofar as I was concerned, I was "cured" last year when I took a pretty radical step in my treatment plan. But...I'm not going to complain.

Still horribly tired with practically zero energy levels. Unpacking a "welcome home" prezzie that was a Lego kit exhausted me and I hadn't even started building yet. Ack.

I'm seriously thinking of taking an extra week of unpaid leave off work right now.

Some humour that arose when I was chatting with a dear old friend:


Me: Pain's always there. It comes in bursts, like someone is taking a scalpel to me.
N (laconically): That's...because someone did.
Me: *pfffbt* Thanks for pointing out the obvious.
N (drily): You're welcome.

Ah...with such friends, how can I fail? Seriously though, I want to take you all for your support throughout this time. Thank you thank you thank you.

And now, I'm off to bed as I'm seeing spots in my vision. Stupid exhaustion.

Cycling airlock...

I'm here at the hospital with about 2-3 hours left to go before the surgery happens. It's been quite a stressful experience so far, with some sweet spots. I'm glad that my friends came by to visit and that my sis is here too.

I had a serious attack of the doubts last night, as I sat all alone in my hospital room. I mean, what if this is *NOT* the right path for me? What if I'm mistaken and this is just some mid-life crisis?

However, there is evidence that this is the right path - I'm apparently happier, healthier and not as much of an annoyance. :) Heck, my internal users (I manage an internal-facing software team) wished me well and one of them dragged herself back from maternity leave to have lunch with me to see me off.

That's...never happened to me before. It's strange being liked, but that again, that's almost a textbook example of what a successful treatment of the Condition is.

I'm pretty sure this is the right path for me. As a dear friend last night put it, it's like wedding jitters...and that's what this is, pre-surgical jitters.

A kind nurse (who's working at the Hospital today instead of the Residence) came by to tell me a joke that she'd promised to tell me earlier. That was really quite nice of her.

Well, I suppose I should rest or meditate or something before I start climbing the walls. I obviously haven't learnt too much patience in all this. 2.5 hours to go. Whee!

Entering the airlock

Well, I'm sitting on my bed at the recovery residence, anxiously awaiting my surgery to happen next week. The surgeon came by, had a pre-op examination on me and assured me that everything is A-OK. I'm also meeting other patients who have already had the same surgery...and they're all universally in pretty rough shape. I'm tense and stressed.

Whee.

The staff here seem excellent though. T-2 days and change...then I should be free from this Condition.

Checkpoints

I've always stopped at various checkpoints during the course of treatment for my Condition to ensure that I'm still on the right path, emphasis on the "I" given that in cases such as this, there's a lot of commentary and pressure from external sources, some motivated by personal gain, others out of love and good intentions. I will say that the phrase "The road to hell is paved with good intentions" is certainly true here.

I'm now sitting just shy of a week before surgery, one that requires me to sign an amazing number of disclaimer forms prior to the doctor operating on me. The gist of all the forms all revolve around the following concepts:
a.) If I die, it's not their fault
b.) No exchanges, returns or refunds

It's the last one that makes my sis and I giggle, but I guess there have been some poor unfortunates who have chosen to skip all the safeguards straight to the remedial surgery then regretted it. In fact, the support groups are all rife with "Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!" notices warning everyone considering this particular course of treatment to be really, really, absolutely, totally sure.

Am I 100% sure? To be completely honest, not quite. Also honestly, I don't think I've the type of personality to be 100% sure about anything - the worm of doubt is always at the back of my mind, which has both advantages and disadvantages. But as things go, yes, I'm as practically sure as I'm ever going to be, which is around 99.9997% sure.

Surprisingly, I passed the threshold of "am I really sure" last night. As part of surgical prep, I had to go off my medications a couple of weeks back to allow the meds to flush out from my system before I go under the knife. I've gone through this once before in early 2007 when I had to go in for my last surgery and the effects of going off meds was...unpleasant. This time, it's been touch-and-go thus far and I was terribly afraid that I'd regress back to where I was prior to treatment. However, what I'm finding now (even though all the meds have been flushed out of my system by now) is that some changes, especially the neural remapping seem semi-permanent; I'm not having the same brutal hidden side-effects as I did the last time. That came to a head last night when I had an unplanned event that in turn made me realize, really realize that this surgery I'm going to have is truly remedial surgery, in that what it's doing is fixing certain birth defects (from my viewpoint - most of you without the Condition will most vehemently disagree, I'm sure) and making the current me congruent with a healthy me.

Which is the textbook case of "yes, this is the right course of treatment for patients with the Condition".

A Hope for Peace

I had a good long chat with my friend who is recovering from surgery similar to what I'm scheduled to have. She's had a nasty time of it, with pain-filled days as recovery happens ever so slowly. Despite all that, she's quite cheerful today and she remarked that the day felt odd to her but that she's finally figured out why. She said that she's finally at peace, and that is going to take her a while to get used to.

I understand that that is a common sentiment amongst my fellow sufferers of the Condition, that there is a serenity so deep that can only come post-operatively.

I'm not sure I know what to think of that. I don't believe I've ever felt completely at peace and certainly nowhere near serene. But...it would be quite pleasant to finally rest after what really was a lifetime of dealing with the Condition. And I suspect that very well be the key, that the sense of serenity comes from knowing that that part of my life will be resolved forevermore.

Truth be told, all the problems of life are still there post-operatively: the bills, taxes, work, etc. But, like the Bene Gesserit Litany, where the fear has gone there will be nothing - only I remain.

Meanwhile, I'll just go hide over there under the surgery happens, shall I?

"The clock is running"

Today was a day of frenetic telephone calls related to surgery whereupon I found out that my surgery date got moved a day earlier. Nothing major but I was feeling pretty drained after all that, plus I had a very bad night because of some gory details of the impending operation had been told to me by a friend who at this very moment, has undergone the same procedure herself and is under a great deal of pain. In fact, she had some major complications with her medications today, which led to the doctors placing her back under observation. Long story short, I'm at the cusp of clearing all the hurdles, but not quite. It's hard to live life when so much of it is in the hands of strangers.

I headed home early because of the snowfall warning that was in effect. Lo and behold, there was a letter from the provincial health authorities in the mailbox. I got home, opened it in the car and read it.

Back during the heady days of the Moon Race, the phrase "the clock is running" meant that the rocket and crew have successfully lifted off and on their way into space.

The answer from the provincial health authorities was in the affirmative and the authorization to go ahead with the surgery has been granted. All in all, from when I first became aware of the possibility I may have the Condition to when the surgery will correct it will have been 3 years total, give or take a week or so. Even though it's been hours since I first read the letter, I'm still a little dazed and afraid to believe it.

I'm still not out of the woods yet - I was notified by the surgeon's office that I will be receiving additional instructions by mail next week. I assume this is the mandatory blood test, which if they find anything objectionable will cause me to get bounced back to the provincial authorities to await reassignment to the secondary surgeon. The clock's running, but I haven't "cleared the tower" yet.

Less than two months to go before I'm rid of the Condition. So close yet so far.

Irising shut

I was in another city this weekend because I had two appointments there. The first one was with a doctor who I had been seeing for a long time. Our doctor-patient relationship was a little off-kilter in the beginning because of the rarity of the Condition; I felt I should be under a different care regime than he did. Over time, we compromised as we both did research and came to a care regime we both agreed on. One thing that cannot be disputed is that this doctor *cares*.

I passed a pretty major medical milestone today and to my surprise, my doctor told me, "Well, looks like you're all set for surgery. Book an appointment with me after you're all healed up. If you need a refill for your meds, or if you have any odd symptoms, call. Otherwise, good luck and I guess I'll see you in a year's time."

Wow. He's pretty much closing up my case in preparation for handoff to my surgeon. It feels...odd after such a long time under his care.

After that appointment, I went in for a medical interview and examination by another doctor at another hospital, who is verifying the diagnosis for yet another doctor (my medical case officer) of mine. This one was the next hurdle; if his diagnosis contradicts my case officer's, it's back to the drawing board for as we run test after test to figure out if it's the Condition or not. It was a long process today as we covered my entire medical history from start to finish, including that of my family's. At the end of it, the doc smiles at me and says, "Yep, I concur with Dr. and looks like surgery's the right treatment for this."

After nearly 3 years, it's finally starting to draw to a close (I hope). The government being the government, it'll take some months before things really happen but at least it's probably going to happen.

It's also the first time that I've had my family with me on a trip like this. My dear sis wanted to make sure she and the kids were there to support me on this milestone, especially if the medical interview didn't go well and I got tossed back into the treatment pile. Thanks, sis and kids - it meant a lot to me that you were there.

Now, I get to cool my heels while my case officer is on vacation and about a month from now, I get to travel almost 8 hours round trip for a 15 minute slice of time with him. If he signs off on the surgical order, it'll be a most worthwhile 15 minutes of my life. So, we'll see.

Fear...and redemption

Regular readers will know that I have had medical issues for some time. Close friends of mine will know that there are two issues troubling me, one of which is the Condition that I'm being treated for, the other involves my eyes where I've repeatedly gone under the knife for over the past decade and a half.

This year is shaping up to be a scary one; if everything goes as planned, I'll probably be having at least one surgery, perhaps up to three. One surgery is going to arrest (and hopefully reverse but not completely) an issue that is making me slowly blind in one eye. The other ones are all Condition-related.

I remember when I was young and healthy - surgery was what old people and distant relatives went through. Now, having been operated upon quite a number of times, I will admit that the fear is still very much there but there's a certain grim determination to just get it over with so that I can get on with my life.

I received the first set of supplies needed in preparation for one of my surgeries today. I'm going through and checking them against the shipping manifest with that determined grimness above, knowing full well that the road to recovery is going take nearly a year post-op. It's one thing to know you're going under the knife but it's quite another to see and hold supplies in your hand that you're going to use during a painful recovery.

Do I want to undergo these treatments? To my surprise, the answer is yes. As horrible as it may be, I just want to be healthy again and to avoid surgery merely means putting off the inevitable.

There is a certain calmness that comes from that special mix of deep primal fear coupled with a profound sense of rightness. I'm going through a fearful time knowing that there will be intense protracted pain but my redemption lies in focusing on the fact that there will be healthy normality at the end.

Deep Blue

I tend to be pretty high energy these days but every now and then, I do fall into a deep funk. I'm not normally a depressive type - when I'm down, there's usually a good reason and I snap out of it either within hours or at worst the next day.

I do understand depression; folks like me tend to be depressed as a side-effect of our Condition, but this goes away as we are treated. Since my full treatment began nearly a year ago, the mind-killing depression has gone away almost completely. I say almost because there's still quite a ways to go before the treatment's fully done. What I have seen of it is quite an amazing change though.

Condition and its treatment aside, life still happens. The past month and a half or so have been particularly stressful and today was probably one of the two sharp spikes of peaking stress I've experienced thus far. Compared to other times in the past, perhaps it's not as bad but I've been feeling very worn around the edges for some time, so my immunity to changes is very very low. I know this for a fact because an area of the treatment for my Condition have been excruciatingly painful lately, far far more than it ever has been.

I'll be honest here - I had second thoughts about posting this entry. Depression isn't something you blog about, leastways not if you don't want it to haunt your future when your online identity is compromised. Having said that, I'm not exactly whining about it - this isn't an entry about "oh no poor me I'm so blue". I know I'm blue now but I also know things will be better in the morning. Depression seems to have a social stigma...but it's a part of everyone's life, young or old, rich or poor, single or partnered. Hiding that fact it exists, that it can strike the healthiest, most well-adjusted person is just dumb and won't solve anything.

Am I depressed right now? Yes, and I even know which particular stressor pushed me down this path. But I'll snap out of it in the morning. I believe that accepting it as a normal, transient condition is the healthy approach. Your thoughts?

Having said all that, I still hate it when it happens during a bout of insomnia. :(

Mortality

A double post today. Lucky you, you who are bored enough to come here. :)

Around two weeks ago, I received news that a teenager with the same Condition as I had had died. His Condition was caught very early and treatment seemed to be going well. Suddenly, he just...passed on. I'm not going to repeat the details here out of respect for his family but it was very sudden and shocking.

In this year alone, I have seen no less than 8 people with my Condition whom I know in one way or another pass on for various reasons, none of them natural causes. Counting my support groupss, I'd guess that cumulatively, we're talking about 20-30+ folks dying this year. Given that this Condition is rare, it means that the survivability rate is dropping this year as 20-30 people is a *huge* chunk of our community.

This makes me sad. I'd say that even though my symptoms intensified slower than others, I have been fortunate to retain that which I still have. I know that others have not been so fortunate and I try my best to help them where I can.

But...this young man had every advantage too, more than I have. He was farther along in his treatment and seemed to be responding better too. But he is no longer with us.

It took me a while to come to terms with this. I'm not sure I totally grok my feelings about this yet. I'm certainly scared and demoralized. I'm not sure if all of this is going to be for naught in the end and if I will just end up being yet another statistic. Given that I very nearly was a couple of years ago, this is something that I am actively trying to prevent, for whatever good it does. However, I have reconfirmed that the treatment path I'm on is the right one and that I should continue. In this, I have the full support of my family, for which I am thankful for - family should never be taken for granted.

Silence

For all of my life, I've always had a particular song that I draw inspiration from when times are tough. In fact, my life can be divided into periods, each with a particular song. Sometimes it's a classical piece, other times it could be a little pop ditty. It's kind of like the bagpipe music or drums for troops when they go to war; it stirs the blood and provides encouragement.

During the last month or so when I was unemployed, there was just silence in my head. No song, nothing. It's the first time it's ever happened. I'm not sure what it means quite yet and I'm not sure if it's permanent. Whatever it is, it's different. I guess I'll just have to see what develops, if anything.

I've also realized something over the last month as well. There are some well-known accounts of folks with my Condition but all of them stop shortly after a particular point in their treatment. It's like as if they got Cured and Lived Happily Ever After.

This is, of course, patently false.

A few months back, I considered and decided against starting up another blog that focused on my experiences and coping mechanisms for my Condition, parallel to this one. I've reconsidered it and will be starting it up soon. It's true that once you've reached a certain point in the treatment, things settle down. However, things are subtly different...and that was what kept tripping me up over the last month. This is not a blog for my friends and family and most of you have indicated you're not interested anyway, which is perfectly fine. It's geared towards helping other folks with my Condition learn how to cope mid-treatment. I intend to break the silence on what happens afterwards, in the hope that it will provide some guidance to others in my community.

Why am I mentioning it here? Well...the Sanity Defence is going to go into hiatus for a bit while I ramp up on the other blog. I'll still be posting here but nowhere near as often as before. Don't worry, you'll still get a decent picture of what's happening. :)

Thankfulness

I've been writing about a lot of trivial things lately and unfortunately, this entry is not - it's an update of what's going on, for my friends and family who read this.

A good friend of mine who is afflicted with the same Condition is in the hospital. I just found out about it today and have visited her. She seems to be recovering (thankfully!) but these things take time. I intend to go see her daily and keep her spirits up throughout her recovery.

I've come pretty far in the treatment plan for my Condition; I have a family that is supportive and things are going well. However, the treatment can come off the rails quickly and suddenly, which is when folks like us end up in the hospital. My friend isn't the first one this year to encounter trouble; there have been others, not all of whom survived.

This comes as a rude awakening for me, as things have gone well enough lately that I lead a normal life again, mostly free from pain. I've forgotten just how tough it was in the beginning, just facing up to the horrible fact that I do have this affliction and that if I don't deal with it one way or the other, it will kill me. There were a couple of times when I came close to landing in the hospital myself - these are the things one forgets during the blessed times when life is going well.

The fact is, even after I'm cured, even after they've operated, I'll still be on meds for the rest of my life. I've already had a taste of what being medicated for life may be like; after my eye operation in January, they thought I may have glaucoma and put me on drops for life. I'll do what I do to keep my eyesight. Having said that, the drops are *expensive*. Heaven help me if I'm ever without health insurance, even in Canada where doctors' visits are covered by the government but prescriptions aren't. Fortunately, they found out that I didn't have it and told me to discontinue the drops.

I'm not doing so well right now, alas. My friend's farther along in her treatment than I am; while our treatment paths aren't the same, if she can end up hospitalized this far along then I am also at risk. It may seem cold blooded to think this way but I've managed to deal with the pitfalls in my life by looking ahead and evading, not by trying to climb out of them after I've fallen in. I'm taking quite a heavy dose of meds right now, just to stabilize my Condition; one of my doctors reminded me at our first meeting that the meds carry with them the possibility of complications, up to sudden clotting and death. I, like most others in my position, figured it'll never happen to us. Or will it?

The treatment is working. I want to live. I'm happier than I've ever been before. I shall be very cross if I shuffled off this mortal coil just as I've begun to live. Trust me, you do not want an incorporeal me sliding a sheet of paper under your bedroom door with "OO EE OO EE OO" on it.*

Yes, there are many risks, any of which has the potential of landing me in the hospital, morgue or in extreme cases the loony bin as the mind unhinges from the pain. I can continue to dwell on these morbid thoughts (and being human, I will for the next day or two) but I intend to not worry about what I can't control. I'd rather be thankful that I have this second lease on life and try to be a positive force in the lives of my loved ones. I hope I can, anyway.

Update 9/25/2007: the development office that I work at was just shut down today, so I'm out of a job. On the one hand, the whole unemployment thing is frightening. On the other hand, I'm tickled pink someone's actually paying me money to go away - I've never been laid off before until today. My sis thinks I've a twisted sense of humour. Perhaps she's right. I guess I could cry and rue my unfortunate circumstance, but I think I'd prefer to stay positive and go job hunting instead. Wish me good luck!

*Pratchett's Discworld series - if you haven't read it, do give it a shot.

Distance learning

My dear mother lives in another country. She's getting rather along in her years and I delayed telling her about my Condition for as long as I could. She's a worrier and I figured she didn't need something else to obsessively worry about. Our family's like that - we spread good news fast but tend to hold back the bad news. So there was precedence and I made peace with my conscience.

I ran out of time around Christmas of last year when she surprised me during one of our semi-regular phone calls with the announcement that she was going to come a-visiting with one of my cousins. I would have welcomed her into my home with open arms. My ultra-religious cousin is another matter altogether - we got along quite fine when we were younger but our circumstances have changed significantly as we became adults.

So I told her what was going on through my brother; after nearly two decades away from home, I was no longer fluent in her native tongue and given the complicated medical nature of my Condition, the last thing I wished to do was to flub up the details due to bad translation.

It went over reasonably well, I guess. My brother, who was also hearing about the details for the first time, coped surprisingly well. I was quite relieved that he didn't overreact and eternally grateful for his assistance in translating the situation to my mother. And so it sat, like the proverbial white elephant in the centre of the room for the past 8 months.

My brother has been unstinting in his love and support. My mother had a tougher time dealing with it, given the extreme nature of the treatment. It has taken months but over the last 3 calls or so, she's started to ask questions about my Condition. She's trying to learn more, which is something that my late, cold and unforgiving father wouldn't have bothered trying. It's hard, given the distance both geographically and generationally - the medical world of her generation was far simpler than the scary complex one today.

There is an unspoken gap between us still, one where she attempts to cope with the Condition that her child has. It makes my heart ache that I had to put her in this position. My sis has been a great comfort but what I yearn for is the closeness that used to exist between us. I can only hope that love, time and understanding will help my mother heal.

New blog?

I have been repeatedly asked by several of my support group members to blog about my experiences with my Condition. I am generally a very private person but I've Survived long enough that my tale is apparently worth telling.

The new blog is going to be completely separate from this one; in fact, this is the only reference here that I will ever make about itt. It's geared towards bringing hope to others with my Condition, to show them that yes, it's survivable and that they're not alone. As with this blog, all entries there will be at most a "PG" rating: it's only not a "G" because of the medical complexities involved.

My Condition has been touched on here every now and then. That is as far as it will go here. If you, dear friends, are interested in knowing what happened in the past two years, please drop me a note so I can gauge if it's worth opening that part of my life up. So far, I do not consider that quorum has been reached and the current state is a No-Go.

Closing the book

Today, I gathered up practically all of the old clothes that I no longer wear nor need. The majority had already been put away 3 months ago but I decided to hold off for a bit. There were some pretty expensive items in there, along with quite a few memories. I don't use them anymore nor is there any chance that I will ever use them again. So, I took them in to Goodwill and donated the whole lot. It's a cleansing ritual of sorts.

Three months ago on this date, something significant happened for me and no, Saint Patrick's Day had nothing to do with it. Friends and family will understand that with me gathering up all my old clothing, I'm closing the book on a part of my life and the only path forward now is the one I'm on - there's no going back.

Do I feel a sense of loss? Yes, I do. I think it's perfectly natural to feel sad given how many years I've lived that life. It hasn't been all bad - there were some very good times. But it wasn't sustainable over the long run. Still, I took a good long hard look (again) at the path my life was on a couple of days ago. Is this still the right thing to do? Has it ever been the right thing to do? What will happen to me as a consequence in the future? Can I even go back to that life now? The reality is that none of these questions have clear-cut answers either way. They're all value judgments of one kind or another. In the absence of hard data, I relied on the one test of values and morals that I have always trusted to lead me true.

I faced myself in the mirror. The telltale twinges of guilt were absent. But that's not how I know I'm on the right path. You see, not only can I look myself in the mirror, I was happily smiling too.

Twin scalpels of Damocles

I went in for one of my regular post-surgical checkups earlier in the week. Bad news: there's complications arising from my eye surgery in January. So, they have to operate again to remove my lens then replace it with a plastic substitute. I am *not* looking forward to it. I have to sit and wait until the surgeon calls me in for a preliminary examination and then a surgery date will be set. Suffice to say, this has cast a pall upon my mood lately.

I also have a pre-surgery checkup in the autumn with a surgeon in Eastern Canada who will be performing a very specialized and major operation related to my Condition sometime next year, date also unknown. This one I have mixed feelings about; on the one hand, I really want this over with so I can get on with life. On the other hand, I don't want to go under the knife again and certainly not for 6-8 hours.

I've had far too many surgeries for someone my age; one is too many and I've had at least 4 major ones so far for various reasons. To say that I hate surgery would be putting it mildly but it has become an unpleasantly unavoidable fact of life. It has been a traumatic time lately and I have practically no emotional reserves left; were it not for the love from my family, I would be lost. I am keeping my fingers and toes crossed, praying that these two will be it for a long while, hopefully forever.

Stapler of Pi

I had to print a large manual at work today but when I went to the giant stapler, I found that it was out of staples and no one had bothered to reload it. Typical, I thought as I reloaded the stapler with its frighteningly large cartridge of giant staples. As usual, I punched out a couple of staples to release any clogs and also to align the cartridge. Lo and behold, when there's no paper, the stapler punches out Pi-shaped staples! It was a tiny thing and a geeky one at that, but it gave the rest of my day a little sparkle.

My Condition has resulted in me viewing the world quite differently these days. It might also be that I'm (finally, at long last!) fitting into a life role that I'm comfortable with. Regardless, when I was a child, little things delighted me, for the world was but a playground of discovery. I remember reading about an article in Reader's Digest a long time ago that if you cut an apple the "wrong" way (i.e. along the "equator" of the apple), the cross-section of core looks like a star. Yes, I did try it out and it's true! Somewhere along the way whilst growing up, I've lost a lot of my sense of wonder. It's been replaced by concepts like Duty, Honour and other such adult values.

I think it's a shame.

Maybe I wouldn't have had the major successes I've had in my career if I didn't pay homage to Ambition. Perhaps I wouldn't be where I am now if I didn't have the Drive to succeed. Don't misunderstand me; I'm not saying that these values are wrong. Far from it - being an adult means being Responsible and those values I've mentioned are important if you want to survive in this world. No, where I went wrong was in having these values drown out my sense of Wonder and other feelings of amazement that I used to have when I was a child. Being well-educated can be a curse sometimes - you start to understand (or think you understand) the world to the point that miracles seem ordinary. If you don't believe me, just look up at the giant tubes of winged steel flitting across our skies and ask yourself if it evokes any amazement anymore.

This is a timely reminder for me personally. I'm engaged in volunteer work locally as a guest scientist in schools. My original intent was to go and teach them about the subject matter. Now, I think a better path is to nurture their sense of wonder by feeding their need for comprehension. There is no better place to start than with my own kids. Now, where did I put the parts for that tabletop plasma accelerator I had...