Under the Knife, Part 2

Becca told me that Rosie lit up when she heard her dad's name read as my inspiration over the intercom.  The crowd was waiting for me to arrive at the bottom of the Slush Cup run and the announcers were filling time.  When I signed up for the event, I had to answer a list of questions, including naming something I love (Juneau) and something I really don't like at all (Dallas, TX).  One of the questions asked what my inspiration was.  Instinctively I wrote John Caouette.  While I hadn't thought of John when I decided to run the Slush Cup, John has been an enduring influence on me ever since his passing in 2010.

John Caouette
Jan 17, 1964 - October 12, 2010

John died in a freak running accident, leaping over a guard rail on a running trail he once knew in his home town of Minneapolis, MN.  Construction had altered the trail and John thought that the other side of the rail was grass and not the 20 foot drop to pavement it really was.  Ever since John died, I have been inspired by his zest for life and his wide and sundried passions.  Instead of shrinking from life and its inherent risks, since John died, I have sought out new experiences, and tried to learn from whatever they have to teach me.

I really didn't think the Slush Cup was that risky.  I had seen it several times and it looked like a lot of fun.  I've snow skied since childhood, and grew up waterskiing in southern Louisiana.

As I waited my turn on the top of lower Hilary, I started to wonder how best to cross the pond.  Not many people were making it.  For some reason, I thought the ones that went cautiously down the hill were foolish. Surely I needed to get as much speed as possible before hitting the jump.  That was the only way I was going to make it across.

So I swooshed down the mountain, no ski poles in hand (prohibited since they might puncture the pond's plastic lining), holding my wide-brimmed hat in place as it tried to sail off of my helmet.  By the time I reached the bottom, the scene was a blur, and as I left the jump, I prayed for the best.  Unfortunately, I leaned back too far on my skis, and my cartwheeling left hand caught the water's edge and my arm ripped straight back.

It's been five weeks since the accident now and I have an eight inch scar up my upper arm and eleven weeks of arduous physical therapy in front of me.  But I don't regret entering the Slush Cup.  Sure, I wish I hadn't hurt myself.  But I still would have wanted to experience the event.

I am fortunate that I have good health insurance, thanks to my wife's employment at the State of Alaska.  And I am thankful to have the skills to be a discerning consumer of medicine, willing to read research articles to come to my own informed conclusion of the necessity of a medical intervention.  And I have a slew of Alaska Air miles, thanks to my current and past jobs that have flown me all over.  And to top it off, I am lucky to have family and friends in the Portland area, making it a great destination for some necessary medical tourism.

I had my doctor appointment on Tuesday.  So I flew into Portland on Monday evening and spent the night with my sister-in-law's family in Battle Ground, WA. On the drive north out of Portland, I took it as an auspicious sign when a meteorite streaked across the crepuscular sky.  It was so bright it left a trail like a firework, even though it was still twilight out. That night I reported the fireball on this cool fireball reporting website.

It was comforting to see my wife's sister, Jona, her husband, Jeff and my two nieces, Lynday and Nicole.  I also got to meet Jeff's mom, Fern, who was now living with them.  When I married Jessica, she warned me that her family would become mine once we wed.  It felt like coming home to family to be with the Tompkins.  Their home in the woods would be a welcome place to heal over the coming days.

breakfast at Imperial

The next day, I had an early start. I was to meet my mentor, Tom Keller, at a research committee meeting of Oregon Mentors in downtown Portland. I had a full day planned, with breakfast, lunch, and dinner mapped out, sandwiched between my doctors appointments.  Over an invigorating discussion of youth mentoring research, Tom and I had a tasty breakfast at Imperial.  I had coddled eggs in a spicy tomato sauce with fry bread, and some beignets and honey for a starter.

After breakfast, of course I had to pay homage to Powell's Books.  And there was time to visit one of my Portland faves, Cacao, for world-class drinking chocolate.  A shot of the spicy dark chocolate gave me a nice buzz to carry me to my first doctor's visit of the day.

at the top of the OHSU tramway

I drove my rental car to OHSU, with assistance from Jona's handy GPS unit.  It took me to the top of the hill, where the OHSU hospitals overlook Portland and the waterfront.  I learned my pre-op appointment was at the bottom of the hill, and got to take a ride on the aerial tram down to my visit.  Ferguson would have loved to be there with me.

I checked into my visit, had my vitals taken by a nurse and waited for the nurse practitioner.  This was my pre-operation meeting, to clear me for surgery the following day if my doctor called for surgery later that afternoon.  Before she arrived, I had to click through several screens on a computer to learn about a nerve block pump, which they would imbed in my shoulder to reduce the pain following surgery.  The screen said I had to have someone accompany me to the bathroom while I had the pump on.  I was going to be staying alone while my inlaws worked.  So there would be no nerve block for me.

The nurse practitioner came in and discussed the possibility of surgery in a very professional and direct manner.  I really liked her bedside manner and had been quite impressed so far with all of my interactions with OHSU staff.  She started talking about the process after surgery and how long I would have to wait before changing my bandage.  I'm not sure what triggered it, but I was suddenly overcome by a mountain of sadness.  I burst into sobs and couldn't control myself.  All the stress that had been mounting over the last few weeks came out in one big gusher.  I was scared and stressed out.  And I didn't know how I was going to help take care of my family when I got home.  All of that came out on this poor woman.  I felt terrible for unleashing her in this seemingly businesslike appointment.  She told me it happens all the time (maybe she just said that to comfort me).

Then, when she broke out the Hibiclens antibacterial cleanser and told me I had to shower with it twice before the surgery, I broke down again. All the memories surrounding Celia and Ferguson's childbirth flooded me associated with the acrid smell of Hibiclens.  I remembered standing guard at the doorway, armed with a bottle of it to douse anyone who had any thought of touching my newborn daughter.  The nurse comforted me again and I gathered myself together to make a discrete exit.

looking up one of the Hawthorne Bridge's
draw towers

The rest of the day went uphill from there.  I took a lovely stroll down the Willamette Riverfront, and crossed the familiar Hawthorne Bridge on my way to lunch with my dear college friend, Maureen.  Walking down the waterfront made me appreciate how wonderful a job of city planning Portland has done over the years.  As a symbol of Portland, its bridges grace the Willamette, but the riverfront preservation tells a great story of careful urban planning.  When we lived in Portland in 2010, I loved crossing the Hawthorne Bridge on my bike ride to school each day.  I would arrive at the bridge with sometimes scores of other bikers funneled together at this one crossing point and I felt like I was in China.

Lunch with Maureen was a refuge.  We caught up on our families, our careers, and our personal lives over handmade ramen noodles at Boke Bowl.  She had a chronic shoulder injury from years before and we commiserated about the shortcomings of our injured bodies.  Maureen and I had attended Rice University together in the early 90s.  We had stayed in touch over the years and got to live in the same city in Portland for a few months during 2010.  I always feel like my authentic self talking to Mo, the way you only feel when you are with someone who has known you for so long.

Maureen

ramen with carmelized fennel,
pork belly and fried chicken

Next up was my visit with Dr. Mirarchi at an OHSU clinic in Beaverton.  When he came in the room, I immediately felt relief. Here was a doctor that exuded confidence.  It only took him a minute or two to read my MRI, touch my underarm gently, and diagnose me with a partial tear of my pectoral tendon.  Obviously, I was with a pro.  He told me he only did 3-4 of these surgeries a year, but a half dozen shoulder surgeries a week, and the trickiest part was getting into the shoulder itself.  He also said that a partial tear was easier to fix, since my pectoral muscle hadn't sloshed back into my sternum, unfettered. And if I didn't get it fixed, it was only a matter of time before the tendon snapped completely.  I was only hanging by a thread.  Clearly, I had made the right decision to come to Portland for the procedure.

Dr. Adam Mirarchi

Relieved and hopeful about the surgery, I left for my last stop of the day, dinner with a Juneau friend at Le Pigeon.  It's one of Portland's best and a place I had fondly remembered from my earlier time in Portland.  The head chef recently won a James Beard award for best chef in the Pacific Northwest. You can sit around the bar and watch the chefs cook your meal.  And these guys are totally relaxed and will talk to you about the food and their technique while you eat.   We had the seven course tasting menu.  It was one of my top five meals of all time.  The highlight was probably the first dish, an appetizer of trout lox, trout roe, creme fraiche, and Oregon strawberries.  Six courses later, I left the restaurant buzzed, even though I hadn't taken a sip of wine (no alcohol allowed within 24 hours of the surgery).

the chefs at work at Le Pigeon

amazing appetizer

On the way back to the Tompkins, I stopped for some supplies to make beignets the next day.  Jona had requested them and it was likely my last chance to cook with two somewhat functional arms for a long time.  As I mixed up the batter for the next morning, I reflected on the day.  It had been a roller coaster, with many more ups than downs.  Yes, I was still scared for the surgery tomorrow.  But I had lived life that day, filled with some of my favorite people, and my favorite pastime, eating.  I felt John would have been proud.