One Would Think

 Sunday, March 26, 2023

One would think, after open heart surgery (a triple by-pass, no less - major league stuff), a broken foot, and spinal surgery, plus the premature loss of a beloved dog and, not to mention, one subdural hematoma, all within little more than a year - add to that equation a guy looking at eighty-three - hangin' in but still - One Would Think - that I'd have some sort of profound take on things. You'd think, right? I mean, isn't the point of anesthesia to bring you close to death then back to life again? Shouldn't I have had some kind of experience? After all, you're lying there in a hospital bed, attached to machines, having survived a situation of some risk, folks in uniform efficiently monitoring your every trickle, relatives and close friends with worried faces...You should have some kind of at the very least a slightly unique take on "Why am I here?" Or more specifically, "Why am I still here?" But, nope. Instead, I came out of the anesthesia riven by the thought that my car needed a brake job. Open heart surgery, and I'm thinking, "My car needs a brake job." After a lifetime of searching and thinking and reading and watching and listening: my car needs a brake job. Forget God. Call Pete (Pete's my mechanic). There's a lesson here. Even here. It tells me that a sense of humor comes in handy, pretty much no matter what. Mass shootings? Tornado destruction? Not much funny about stuff like that but most things? Feh. A sense of humor:  In your emotional tool kit it's like your vice-grips of emotional tools - adjustable to most problems.

So, did I need brakes? Absolutely, but I doubt other worldly vibes brought me that conclusion...which reminds me of my gall bladder operation and Neal Diamond. Huh? Tru'dat. Stay tuned.