I can count on one hand the total number of times that I’ve canceled a gig due to some kind of medical need. Typically, you can count on me to deliver the goods whether I’m suffering from food poisoning, plowing through allergy attacks or balancing on a broken ankle. This is the guy who drives towards hurricanes for gigs, and won’t cancel unless the venue does. I’ve managed to have multiple highway breakdowns and still find a way to make it to the venue because a gig’s a gig, they’re all golden opportunities to share music, have great moments, visit with good people and enjoy the melodious times together. It’s also a pay day, so there’s that. I can’t afford to call in sick - I’m my only employee. So, I’m totally miffed that three dates this month had to be canceled because I have a tender bottom.

Let me please to explain. I’ll try not to be gross.

As a man of a certain age (52), I was advised by my doctor to have a colonoscopy, which I scheduled for September 3rd. During the pre-procedure exam, my gastroenterologist noted a Grade 2 internal hemorrhoid that was too large for a rubber band ligation (where they tie it off and it withers away) and so required a closed hemorrhoidectomy (where it’s surgically removed.) I guess, in the honor of all fairness, they asked me which procedure I wanted done first (!) and naturally opted for the painless colonoscopy first, with the fairly invasive surgery to follow. I’d have time to recuperate before starting up with fall gigs. Wasn’t looking forward to any of it, but felt good to get it on the calendar so that it could be over and done as soon as possible.

Well, Hurricane Dorian was up in Florida’s face on September 3rd, so they canceled.

With my hectic schedule, just lining up the initial dates was a major effort, and now I had to re-schedule both procedures and allow for recovery time. A new date was set and then they canceled again, citing an emergency with the gastroenterologist. Unfortunately, I had already begun the colonoscopy prep along with liquid diet and morning fast, so there’s 24 hours of my life that I’d like back, please!

Finally, on November 5th, I went in, got checked out and came away with a clean bill of health. How could I not, after two subsequent weeks of colon-blow? Seriously, the screening is for colon cancer, above all else, so I’m relieved that I don’t have that kind of cancer, at least.

There was no recovery to speak of, except maybe coming out of the funny and delicious haze that was the result of an administered cocktail of propofol, midazolan, fentanyl and lidocaine. The anesthetist called it “don’t care drugs” and I sure didn’t.

The surgery was scheduled for November 12th with an estimated recovery time of two to four weeks. I don’t think I processed that data entirely. Before this, I hadn’t been under the knife since high school. That time, it was a perianal abscess which actually required hospitalization and involved the worst pain that I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I remember the road to recovery from that procedure and wasn’t looking forward to going through anything like that again, but being an adult means doing things that you don’t wanna, even if it hurts.

Ohhh, it’s a little different this time…

So, first of all, I want to thank oxycodone for the first 48 hours after surgery. I think I love you, oxycodone. It’s good that there were only ten of you. Oxycodone and the first two streaming days of Disney+ were a match made in Recovery Heaven. It was one big theater-hopping adventure that was totally groovy and completely hazy. Jae has been the perfect nurse, making sure that I can remain in the Big Comfy Chair as much as possible and enduring a seemingly never-ending rush of cartoons and Star Wars. I followed the diet regimen, I got up to walk now and again, uncomfortable but still kinda loose. Most people who elect to have this surgery don’t have a bowel movement for three to four days after surgery and the doctors are really keen about making sure you can urinate the first few hours after release. Everything was going pretty smoothly, it seemed.

Then, the oxycodone ran out.

And the truth was revealed that Freddy Krueger had slipped into the operating room for a brief moment during the procedure and tried his hand at being my personal proctologist. This is purely a sensory-driven point of view but, it pretty much has merit in terms of the pain. Tylenol has stood in gamely, but seems a little embarrassed, really, like it wants to help, but all it can do is wring its hands and make “there-there” noises at you. I’ve never passed a kidney stone, thank god, nor birthed a child, and I know that both of those are well-cited for being two of the most excruciating pains in our modern world. But I humbly submit to you the horrific Alien-esque event that is Post Colorectal Surgery: First Poo for your future consideration.

It’s at this point, sweet reader, that I show my mercy and leave the rest to your undoubtedly very fertile imaginations. Needless to say, I went ahead and canceled the remaining gigs for the month of November, and it pains me to do that. Fine folks travel from long distances and schedule their getaways so that they can come out to a show, and I’m sorry if that screws anyone up. If you’re effected in any way, let me know and let me make it up to you. In the meantime, “taking it easy” is something that I’m seriously pursuing in order to have a successful recovery.

In past times, having to cancel three gigs would’ve been financially tough, especially in the fall. Thanks to my patrons on Patreon, however, there’s income generated every month, which softens the blow of lost wages and medical bills. Thank you, patrons, for your extraordinary support!

Looking forward to December shows and getting out of the house soon. Similarly looking forward to being able to sit upright again. Till then, I’ve barely scratched the surface of Disney+ and the Big Comfy Chair awaits.

Getting To The Bottom Of It