It all started during the blizzard that hit Knoxville in the middle of January.
Ten inches of snow fell in the city, the most at one time in nearly 30 years.
Our city isn’t equipped to manage that kind of snowfall, so most of the side streets, like ours, went unplowed and became covered by sheets of ice.
It took 10 days for the snow and ice to melt enough to let people safely travel down the hill on Twin Pines Drive. Our house is in the middle of that hill.
Around day eight, the people of my neighborhood rose up and we started clearing the road ourselves. With shovels, axes, ice breakers and whatever we could use to break up the ice and clear it away.
In retrospect, I should have stayed in the house.
But, like joining any good revolution, I wanted to work side-by-side with my compatriots to let our people go.
To work.
The grocery store.
Out of the neighborhood.
It was while cracking ice with my late father-in-law’s long-handled spade that I took a step backward, not on cleared asphalt but on slick ice.
Next thing I knew, I was on the ground, my entire weight landing on my right shoulder. I looked up to see the two pieces of the now-busted spade skittering down the hill.
I cursed. Then I got up.
Like a stubborn-ass man, I borrowed a flat-edged shovel from a neighbor and continued the work. Pain tore through my shoulder with every scoop of ice I shoveled away.
Should have stopped. Didn’t.
I kept working, and the number of neighbors dwindled until I was the only one still standing.
I sat in pain for a day, until I could get out of the neighborhood and go to my orthopedic clinic’s urgent care center.
Long story short: the nurse practitioner who saw me didn’t think I’d done anything serious but wanted me to do an MRI to be sure. Turns out I tore two-and-a-half of the muscles that make up the rotator cuff and the biceps tendon is completely torn off.
The torn biceps tendon explained the ugly black bruise that appeared on the underside of my arm. Like I’d taken a beating, which I guess I did.
On a side note, I’d forgotten how coffin-like a ride inside the MRI can be. Thankfully, I was given a pair of headphones to drown out the noise of the machine. I’m not usually a metal guy, but it was calming under the circumstances. Maybe I need more of that.
Bottom line: no good deed goes unpunished I need surgery.
As soon as possible, according to my new shoulder surgeon.
”So, I travel a bit for work and for cancer advocacy. How long will I be off the road?”
”Two weeks,” he said.
“So, I have this trip to Tucson and DC in early March. I will be out of town until March 12.”
”Do you have to make this trip?”
The look on my face must have said everything.
Tucson is the site of the Cologuard Classic, a PGA golf tournament sponsored by Exact Sciences. I’m not going for the golf, I’m going because the tournament is start of the March “high holy days” of colorectal cancer advocacy. After the tournament I head to DC for Fight CRC’s Call on Congress.
Every colorectal cancer advocacy organization will be gathered for this event, as will Man Up to Cancer. While not a CRC organization, many of our leadership team folks are survivors.
More importantly, though, guys I love are going to be there.
My best friend, Ryan, doing exceedingly well after surgery to remove a cancerous lesion from his cerebellum, will be there. After everything he’s been through I need to lay eyes on him, and hug him long and awkwardly.
Same with my friend, Trevor, who is doing exceedingly well after HIPEC surgery. He’ll be there. We both have long condor-like arm spans. Even with a bum shoulder there will be hugs, long and awkward.
My friend Joe Bullock will be there. We can celebrate his recent port removal and marking six years as a survivor.
So many of the guys I count in my inner circle — JJ, Brandon, Jay, Don, Tim, Keith, Andrew, Ule, Michael, Jason, Joe, Shawn, Chris and so many others — will all be there. Several of us will make the dual trip to DC as well.
Sarah is going with me to Tucson. She’ll get to meet the guys I talk about all of the time, and some of their wives. Ryan’s wife, Emily. Trevor’s wife, Sarah. A bunch of us are bringing our wives along.
I’m glad for that. Aside from a great getaway to a beautiful place — the resort where the tournament is being held is amazing — it’s the first time Sarah will meet people from my advocacy world.
“Do you have to make this trip?”
If my arm was dangling from a single nerve fiber I would put off surgery to make this trip. For my emotional and mental well-being I need to make this trip.
Besides, the pain isn’t horrible. My surgeon and people who have torn their rotator cuffs say I should be in excruciating pain. I’m not.
Unless I forget and move the wrong way or try to pick something up that I shouldn’t. Then there is pain.
Surgery is scheduled for March 19.
I don’t know how long I’ll be down. Reviews are mixed from being up and at ‘em the next day to being down for the count for a week or more.
The universal sentiment is that recovery will be long and tortuous. Four months of physical therapy. Important to do to maintain range of motion and shoulder strength.
In the meantime, having a crap shoulder is a bit of a mind screw. Before cancer I was a runner, then neuropathy took that from me. So I started weightlifting. Now, I can’t do that. Well, except for leg day. And holding myself up on the elliptical is a bit painful, so I’m going to have to take to walking, inside or on the treadmill.
All of this is short term and I’ll be back in the gym eventually. In the meantime, I’ve got places to go and important people to see.
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