To Every Stupidity There Is a Surgery

by Tom Shafer

December 12, 2018

So, I will be undergoing back surgery sometime in January (2019).  And really, this should have been completed back in the middle of November, but a last CT scan in early November suggested a couple of minor procedural changes – and my insurance company balked.  After a week of deliberation over my case (and apparently some new eyes), Medical Mutual postponed my surgery pending completion of a month of physical therapy.  My neurosurgeon, furious, made his own appeal to the evaluating committee, arguing that PT will not repair a badly damaged L5 and a crushed S1.  His plea fell upon deaf ears, but he assured me that come January (and after “I have wasted my time and money with physical therapy” – his words!), he will repair my broken back.  So now, I’m just waiting for some sweet relief – really, praying for sweet relief!

Technically, these are the procedures that will be performed: a bilateral posterior lumbar foraminal decompression and posterolateral fusion L5-S1 with instrumentation.  Some have asked if this is the Tiger surgery (because they know I am also a golfer – he’s just not at the same level that I am).  My surgeon would say yes – sort of.  Actually, he would tell you that these are the procedures that should have happened the first time Tiger was on the table.  However, because he is such an elite athlete, Tiger (and his team) chose less invasive procedures the first three times.  And, I completely understand why.  Decompression and fusion surgeries might have been career-ending – at least for a professional athlete like him.  He knew he was taking a risk with his last surgery, that he might never make it back to competing on the PGA Tour.

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But his pain was worth the risk.  He admitted that he had days when it was all he could do to get out of bed in the morning – then, only to move to a lounge chair to sit and writhe uncomfortably until it was time to go back to the bed.  Most of my days lately have been like that.  I have been told that there are no guarantees with this surgery, that I may not be returning to golf, biking, kayaking, and other activities that I enjoy.  But, I can’t do any of those activities right now anyway.  Like Tiger, my pain is worth the risk.

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And, this has been a long time in coming.  Frankly, I have no one to blame but myself (I seem to be admitting that a lot lately).  My failing back (and shoulder and hip) are the result of a moment of stupidity back in the summer of 2016.  In June of that year, I took a couple of my nieces on a tour of our western national parks and monuments.  In the middle of our adventure, their parents and my wife flew into Denver and joined us for a week at Rocky Mountain National Park.  We enjoyed a number of family-fun activities, but my brother-in-law Dave and I decided that we wanted to take the strenuous eleven mile round trip hike to Sky Pond.  This is one of my favorites in the park because of all that you get to experience: Alberta Falls, Icy Brook Cascades, Loch Vale (better known as “the Loch”), Timberline Falls, the Lake of Glass, and finally Sky Pond – and just above it the 13,208 foot Powell Peak and the 13,153 foot Taylor Peak with accompanying Taylor Glacier!

The nearly 2,000 foot elevation change makes this a challenging hike, but the trickiest part of it occurs at Timberline Falls.  The only way to get up to Sky Pond is a 120 foot chute just to the right of the falls itself.  However, because it was June and because of unusually high snowfall that winter, water was pouring over the falls and down the chute.  I few people were hanging out below the falls, snapping pictures and eating lunch, but no one was going up.  Dave and I looked at each other and decided that a little water wouldn’t stop us, so on we went.

The first forty feet or so of the chute were almost vertical – and very difficult because of the cold, rushing water.  Taking great care with each hand- and foothold, we got past this stretch and scrambled the remaining eighty feet.  We snacked at the Lake of Glass (a misnomer that day because of the wind), and finally reached our end destination, Sky Pond, around 11:30.

Outside of the issue with Timberline Falls, the hike itself had gone well and had lived up to its billing.  It was absolutely gorgeous and scenic – and even included a mountain lion careening over a snowfield between us just before reaching the falls!  Because the entirety of the hike out had been uphill, we were prepared to thoroughly enjoy a somewhat leisurely walk back to the trailhead.

But that idea came to a crashing thud back at Timberline Falls – literally.  After we had finished our climb up the falls, I mentioned to Dave that it was going to be a bitch going back down it.  I couldn’t have been more right.  Because I tend to stop and take lots of pictures while hiking, Dave was leading the way as usual.  When we got back to the falls, we knew we were in for a challenge.  And, we were also going to have quite an audience; a crowd of hikers were looking up at the falls – and us!  After a very short scouting expedition, we knew that this was the only way out.  So down we went.

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The first section of the falls wasn’t too bad because we found many good holds, but when we attained that last forty vertical feet, we couldn’t see any obvious ones.  So, we were going to be winging it, making blind reaches with both hands and feet.  This wasn’t our first rodeo – as the saying goes – but this cowboy was in his early fifties then and certainly not as agile and skilled as he had been.  Dave was yelling out instructions over the sound of the water, and I was about thirty feet above him trying to take it all in.  Ten feet down into the vertical section, I reached an impasse; I could not find a solid foothold, no matter how far I stretched my body.  At about this point, Dave had mentioned a good foothold to the right, and perhaps it was there for his longer frame.  Just as I was reaching out with my right foot, I lost my left hand grip.

At this point, I could take you through the remainder of the thirty foot fall with incredible detail – and maybe two thousand words of description – how I pushed off the wall hard with my right hand (to get out over more water) and tried desperately to wriggle/manipulate my body into a horizontal position (to create maximum surface area to mitigate blunt-force damage).  I still marvel at how the brain’s alarm system triggers a powerful cocktail of hormones, dopamine, and electrical impulses throughout the body in an effort to save it.  Time doesn’t slow down.  We are just faster, quicker, and stronger (like Steve Austin!) – and, desperate to save ourselves!

Needless to say, my body was wrecked, and I was bleeding from numerous places.  I bounced straight up (from a combination of adrenaline, dopamine, and embarrassment), made a quick joke about my poor dismount, and answered Dave’s question of “Are you all right?” with a “No, but let’s do triage there,” pointing to a rock about a hundred yards away.  A young Japanese mother and her child actually swooned (I thought they were definitely going down!) when I passed them on my way to the rock.

Beyond the obvious cuts (forehead, left elbow, left hip, left leg), my knee was throbbing (torn meniscus), my left shoulder was aching (torn rotator, impingement), my left hip was extremely tender to the touch (labral tear), and my left leg was searing with pain (lumbar radiculopathy, L5-S1).  Oh, and I reinjured my previously repaired inguinal hernias.  At the rock, we did what we could with my woefully prepared first aid kit and a now torn apart t-shirt.

Though Dave offered to walk out for help (zero cellphone coverage), my pride and stubbornness would never allow it.  We very, very, very slowly walked the five excruciating miles back to the trailhead.  (Later, Dave would tell anyone who would listen that toddlers were crawling past us along the way!)  I had to stop to gather myself after every six or seven steps, and because of another much earlier stupidity, I was also absolutely dehydrated (we had purchased four large bottles of water at breakfast, and then promptly left them there!).  We finally made our way back to the trailhead hub where unfortunately we had to wait for a shuttle to transport us to our car.  At least we were able to glug perhaps the best water (drinking fountain) we had ever had in our lives.

Cut to today.  The knee heeled on its own; the shoulder aches when I outstretch my arm or lift it over my head; the hip is a great predictor of rain and changing weather; the hernias were surgically repaired in November of 2017; and, my back will be refurbished soon.  To every thing there is a season; to every stupidity there is a surgery (apologies to Solomon and the Byrds!).

Oh, and in case you were wondering, we finished our western National Parks tour (because I’m no quitter – well, that and the nightly beer and half-a-Vicodin chaser) – and had a marvelous time!  Of course, we were quite limited in what I/we could do, but I don’t think the girls minded at all.  And, Dave, who finished the trip with us (thankfully!), had to pick up the slack for my Rocky Mountain clumsiness.  But I don’t think he minded either.  After all, we camped our way home through Black Canyon of the Gunnison and the Great Sand Dunes.  The beauty and splendor of those two parks more than made up for any extra work – and without a doubt stimulated the healing process in at least one broken body!

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