short post-it note:

that phrase of Dr. Nemechek's that bothered me..."you're just starting your journey through cancer..."

as I thought about it, mostly compulsively, it occurred to me...you know, there's no guarantee I have a malignant cell anywhere in my body.

so in my mind, which is the part I can immediately do something about, I am saying,

I am just starting my journey through cancer treatment.

it could be...I suspect it will be... a journey not of a thousand, but two or three steps.

it brings to mind what I have been thinking lately...a journey of a thousand miles begins with...what did I forget?

"that's only for the really sick people!"

at the meeting with the radiologist today, I was given a packet with a picture of a couple on the front who are so supposed to be my age, a dozen pages of glossy text, lined paper in the back to write notes on, and some pamphlets. one of the pamphlets listed counterindications for a great number of drugs during radiation...which I breezed over, since I am taking none of them...and the back page listed counterindicated foods, including some of my least favorite vegetables and some pretty choice fruits.

I had to ask Dr. Casey about it.

he said, "Don't worry about that. that's only for the really sick people."

that's the best thing anyone could possibly tell me.

other good news, to me, included the timetable...it looks like I may be starting the six weeks of five day a week radiation as early as a week from monday. sooner is better for the therapeutic effect, and also for my schedule, which is a lot more intense in June than it is in May.

it also included Dr. Casey's evaluation of how tired I am going to get come the third week (or 3 1/2) in.

he said, half the people don't report fatigue.

he predicted that I'll need to take a nap in the afternoon. but he said he didn't think I would not be able to perform. he said, if you're motivated to, you'll be able to.

the area in question is small, the radiation kind of confined.

he said, it would reduce the chance of recurrence by 50%.

I am always glad, gentle reader, when someone doesn't snow me, gives me the straight info without trying to put an unrealistically positive spin to it.

so I am going to tell you the worst of things as well as the best.

Dr. Nemechek, when I spoke with him today, used the phrase, "you're just beginning your journey through cancer."

wow.

he said it in regards to my asking him an impossible question..."how freaked out should I be?"

he said it was a great question.

it is very, very, very rare that a growth such as mine begins benign and turns malignant. he said there are only a few cases in all literature. so, he said, prognosis is not going to be easy.

I've had a lucky, lucky, lucky life, and this basically tells me there is no basis to believe my luck will change concerning treatment. but...the malignancy...a very low odds piece of misfortune.

he said, we do the radiation, and we wait. he said, there's no assurance, there's no peace...only the passage of time without trouble can relieve us to any degree.

I said, then, after the radiation, until something comes up...I'm healthy.

he said, that was the attitude to take.

I was on the phone making arrangements for the PET scan when Dr. Nemechek called...he jumped on the phone when I called back...but...I feel like I'm becoming a professional, career patient.

which has to stop.

and...I'm sorry if there is too much detail in here for anyone reading...this is somewhat of a therapeutic tool for me, and needs to be a place to vent...I still want to cope with all of this and get back to the important stuff, like whether the guitarist for Herman's Hermits stuffed a hanky in the strings to play "Mrs. Brown".

here's the other thing Dr. Casey said that I found funny. (I couldn't have gotten Kildare.)

I said, so, the PET scan is supposed to contain a considerable amount of radiation, isn't it?

he said, not compared to what you're going to be getting.

...................................never mind.

so, other than the dozen or so physical things I was paying attention to before this all hit, and other than my actual life, which is listening to background music while on hold, here are the levels I see things taking:

1. I continue my recovery from the surgery, which could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be going better

2. I commence and commence recovering from the six weeks of radiation.

3. I keep my eyes on the prize, on the skies, and on the MRI's, and until an alarm sounds, I am healed and healthy.

4. if the PET scan shows, as Dr. Casey deemed very unlikely, that the cancer exists anywhere else in this 60's lovin' body, then the radiation is called off, and it's going to be time to get really tough..."agressive" as the pair'o'docs say...like chemotherapy.

the PET scan is tomorrow. Dr. Casey said they could have the results by late tomorrow...most likely, he said, Monday...none of that for Dr. Nemechek, who said he will be reading the film and calling me on Saturday. (how great is he, and how lucky am I)

but...check it out...

the PET scan operates on the premise that malignant cells consume sugar more quickly than normal cells...I think I had a malignant childhood...and that gamma rays attach according to sugar consumption (wasn't it gamma rays that made The Hulk?)

and...we get the gamma rays...from the annihilation that occurs when an electron meets a positron.

a positron, the existence of which was unknown before 1930, is the mirror image of an electron, but while an electron has a negative charge, a positron... you're way ahead of me.

positrons are the antimatter correspondents to electrons.

I know the lab guys have heard every possible Star Trek reference. "Scotty...we need more juice!" "if we don't get the DiLithium crystals out of the Matter/Antimatter chamber, she's gong to blow!!!"

all I know is, this is an awful exalted neighborhood to find myself in. if I got off on $3,000 cables, a $12,000 lab test is pretty inspiring.

and I need to close with this-

these last three days have been the best days in a month. whatever shadow this all brings, I feel great. not taking so much as a tylenol. starting to sneak rehearsals in next week. did a percussion track the other day for Ellen Klaver's album. sleeping better than in the ten years before.

I anticipate quite the celebration after Dr. Nemechek's call on saturday. I'm going to be somewhat of a positron myself. and since the electron meets the positron tomorrow...maybe it'll be no charge.

recently added new Medical Mystery Tour dates

not the news we were hoping for from the pathology studies of the tumor.

it seems there were both benign and malignant cells found. Dr. Nemechek used the word "malignant" about 8 times and "cancer" once.

he said there are three approaches possible when those results are obtained.

one was to go in and take a batch more stuff out. he felt pretty strongly that that was at present uncalled for.

he also said that chemotherapy wasn't appropriate.

the third recourse is radiation, which I got the sense he feels is indicated.

he's ordering a PET scan of the whole body, too check for the cells "metastasizing" (hard to type and harder to say) into other areas of the body. it's the latest and greatest scan, I hear.

I said, so, give me a snapshot of what the radiation treatment looks like.

it's not much like other types of treatments for, say, stomach or breast...the neck is such a small area, and that limits the total dose. it's six weeks every day (five days a week, I find out), and the most pronounced side effect is, after three or three and a half weeks, there's some tiredness, fatigue.

there usually is in the middle of my summer...

it can't even start, he said, until I'm well healed (already well heeled) in five weeks or so. I have an appointment with Radiology Tuesday morning the 4th they'll watch for an earlier one) and they're trying to precert the insurance for the PET scan now.

we all kind of hoped that there wouldn't be a bad cell for miles.

my construct for a bit was that, since I reread the part of the operative report that said once the tumor was out...felt more like a tuber...there was nothing else that felt abnormal...that the radiation therapy was more preemptive, more just in case, as Dr. Nemechek felt like he "got it all". that that was more the case than "Scott has cancer."

Dr. Stewart Greisman had a more refined construct.

he said that there could be little pockets of malignant cells close to the site, and that radiation would really reduce the chances they could turn into something.

I can live with that construct.

everyone has small troves of malignant cells. it's what they are, and aren't, doing that is the determinant.

all along, I heard nothing but, we have to take the tumor out to know if there is malignancy in it. no other way of finding out exists.

if something shows up in the PET scan, I say, go ahead and panic. I would. but I also say, in case someone is taking odds and making bets, smart money says nothing will.

then, if I do the radiation, there will be no one to say, now, my boy, you're malignancy free.

instead...as we would have anyway..we watch.

but Stewart agreed that, throughout this Tour extension, until some scan shows something wrong...we have to think, I'm ok. I do the radiation, and then it's Condition Green until someone sees something.

and, smart money says Nemechek got it all, the radiation will dispirit the few possible cells left, and smart money says I'm ok.

as far as the summer goes, I may be kind of tired for a couple of weeks. and I won't be staying anywhere out of town for six weeks. if I had to have help moving equipment, if I had to sit down for a Little Bear gig, if I had to take breaks at Fanny's...I see those things as possibilities.

I don't see changing current summer plans.

it was a beautiful morning outside, and I'm feeling better than ever today. and I get to. and I get to enjoy what there is to enjoy these days.

truth is...I'm considering sneaking in some rehearsals after this weekend.

I like a good walk in the woods, but I'm sorry I'm not out of them yet. still, anyone would be a fool who was persuaded to bet that things are not going to be allright.

each succeeding demo of Good Vibrations

each succeeding take on my 80 minute cd of the "Mr. Tambourine Man" sessions

each new ten minutes of dawn

every ten miles closer on I-70 to the mountains

each new mix of a song

each six months experience with Pro Tools

every second louder of a Moody Blues cosmic fade in chord

how to describe everything getting better everyday. being aware of the improvement at the moment of awakening.

neither Advent calendars nor Hanukkah presents seem to work such that each day's present is a little better. recovery from colds happens gradually, but not usually over weeks; there's usually a day when, though we know what well is from 98 1/2% of our life, we reexperience so much more well so suddenly that we're elated.

I'm still reaching for the right analogy.

Chris was the love on my life in 1992; she taught me how utterly hip being positive actually is. I said to her, well, the decay of the body with age is a pretty well documented fact- what do you think life offers us that is beneficial to that magnitude?

she said, healing.

without healing, everything that had ever gone wrong with us would still be wrong, and have spent all that time getting worse.

without healing, the only middle age person in the world would be someone to whom through some improbable odds, no calamity or disease had ever happened.

with healing...we are all that person.

lisa's mother, Dorothy, sent me a get well card. one of the things she said was...enjoy this time. take it from one who knows.

it is indeed an infirm, annoying, boring kind of paradise. I am aware of the absence of almost all of my usual "have to's". I'm also aware of the absence of a lot of my favorite "get-to's".

Tuesday it will have been a. ten minutes, b. two weeks, c. ten years. (pick three)

I think it will be time around then to consult the doc. am I still not supposed to drive? is the anaesthesia out of my lungs? still best not to shave?

and...I'm thinking of starting to see folks...and...maybe a spot of rehearsal.

maybe a Fanny's pork burrito.

a Bruce Springsteen song played backwards, so the hero gets the girl, gets his job back, regains his faith...

"In The Year 2525" played backwards, with mankind able to become increasingly physical, and do more things for itself...

all I ever needed for analogy, though, is the increasing warmness and growing profusion and strengthening of life in these reawakening spring days. I can just ride that wave all the way in to shore.

End of the First Week

seems like about 18 hours since the operation. or, a year.

all signs continue to rise. kept going back to bed last night...slept from about 11pm to about 7:30 am. if I could sleep 12 hours a day, I would.

took a longer (1 hour) walk...it was so amazing out, hard to stop...hospital feelings and smells still lessening, though there's more to go...trapezius is settling back in, but my new recipient of max care is my sternocleidomastoid muscle, the big one in my neck on the right side. it was pried to the side when they were disconnecting the big bump, and it doesn't quite know where it fits in anymore. it lets me know when I'm prematurely demanding of it...

I wrote a 'cello part for Ellen Klaver's project today...seems the MotherFolkers (the most carefully pronounced name in show biz) will be convening this September, and anything that can help her project meet that deadline is all to the good. I'm reaching for musical activities to fill the days...a sure sign that up is returning to up in my life.

still have some bodacious halacious time to do in the Recupertorium.

a mastiff lighting a camping stove with a kaleidoscope...that's how my sternocleidomastoid muscle feels.

visit with the doc today

staples out. I was kind of hoping that would loosen me up for stretching, more exercise, etc...but it's necessary to be more careful than ever now that the support of the staples isn't there.

rats.

some of the disciplines are to be changed a little bit. but the upshot is, I need to hang in the healatorium and don't push for too much health too fast. barely a week tomorrow. don't sing, he says...hum. don't play guitar too hard or long.

well...there goes my solo adaptation of the Ring Trilogy.

there is the small shadow still that, somewhere in the mess in the neck mass, could be some small part that wasn't completely benign. that would mean more surgery , or chemo, or radiation. he's sending the Schwannoma out to 25 nerve guys around the country, to make as sure as possible of the findings. so...no pathology report so far.

personally...I am not ready to imagine I have spent 25 years with a malignant tumor. everyone so far bets their smart money on it being benign...I'm betting that as as well. but some folks will be relieved to get the final word.

I sent Christy a somewhat mastered cd of her concert today, and some video files; sent Lost Alamos some practice videos I had. sending Mark Bleisner a CD package tomorrow...

as if...I were slowly coming around to think about some musical projects, while healing up.

so...I do feel better, less wobbly. more ready to be me. and tomorrow, marking a week, I anticipate that trend continuing.

I woke up this morning worried about

...The Modniks' Herman's Hermits medley.

we've got a summer's worth of parks and rec gigs coming up, and I was the one who strongly recommended totally selling out, and learning some wimpy 60's stuff for the 60's age group. as if there were any level of pop I couldn't find guilty pleasure performing.

so, the H'man's H'mits medley has fallen to me to construct.

we don't dare do "Must to Avoid". we don't dare do, "Dandy". we don't dare do "Just A Little Bit Better".

and, then there are the must do's. the saving grace of those, to me, is the guitar playing, and the harmonies. if you really nail the parts on "I'm Into Something Good", you have something worth playing. and, y0u try to play that muted rhythm part on "Mrs. Brown", and you remember the chords to that bridge...

the point is, I worked on it this morning, and then again after lisa and kathy and I did our nightly guitar physical therapy session. it's wonderful to have an in-house group with a forgiving nature, to work up to speed with.

played longer, smoother, voice a little better. encouraging, after yesterday.

final tally:

"I'm Into Something Good" (C) up til instrumental, "Baby, Can't You Hear My Heartbeat" (A) one verse, "Mrs. Brown" (C) one verse, then bridge, then "No Milk Today" (Am) from the intro, perhaps through "just two up, two down", ritarding into "Listen, People" (A) one verse, into "I'm Henry VIII" with mandatory audience participation and maybe even the guitar solo (you try to play it!)

timed at 6 min. "Leaning on the Lamp" left out.

so, a little of yesterday's heaviness seems to have passed. tomorrow at 10am the staples come out, which will be a boost. I'll have a chance to check in, ask questions. most of them will be...all the stuff you said I have to do...when do I not have to do it anymore?

but those annoyances are the deepest of bargains, for what I am getting in return for them, for what it has been my profound good fortune not to have to go through. from day 1, when we thought the growth was on the spinal accessory nerve, Dr. Nemechek demonstrated with his body the way he anticipated my shoulder would come forward after the surgery...that didn't happen. I thought that half of my head being numb was what I would feel as the (well justified) price for my voice and guitar mechanisms being left intact...but daily, already, the numb circle is shrinking. my body still feels like there is anaesthesia in my lungs, steroids, the vague wobbliness...

but instead of the condition getting daily worse as it was before surgery, it is daily better.

and when I come back to doing each thing I used to do, no matter what it was, it is going to be cause for such elation in the next months, I can't even tell you.

into the warp and woof

of recovery now, the longer view and the territory ahead.

the first thing I did when I got back to consciousness after the operation was to move my right hand as if I were holding a pick. I was immediately rewarded...hmm...feels pretty normal, pretty loose.

then I played a couple songs the first night home. kind of hurt, kind of stiff, but not so different considering.

last night I tried to play a little more, and observed some stiffness and discomfort after only a few minutes.

I've been noticing that my right trapezius muscle is hurting a little, stiff, not responsive. when I talked with debra about that, she said she had told me that Dr. Nemechek had told her that that muscle often takes a year to totally return to form.

wonder how I missed hearing that.

I saw a physical therapist before I left the hospital who assigned some very simple exercises, which I now know to be for that muscle.

I'll be doing them. it seems like it's an endurance muscle, for setting up PA, and long nights of playing guitar.

it's kind of snuck up on me, made me a little afraid. all the stuff I was aware of facing, I felt I had a handle on, and plenty of time to adjust to. and I've barely begun to heal at all in my muscles, which had to be stretched and moved to get to what the doctors needed to get to. there's still so much time.

and all the stuff I was looking at is noticeably better every day. the numb, non-me part of my head is a shrinking semicircle. sleeping better, breathing better, less weird drug related stuff, less weird respiratory stuff.

just feel weak today.

but yesterday, debra unwittingly gave me a new motto, whenever I make a colossal musical boo boo

my version of it is...in this world, there are folks who can really play guitar, and folks who really can't. and I'm one of them.

oh, there's no place like home from the hospital...

and while it shows you how very much you're still you, it also kind of highlights the new aspects you're going to be dealing with as, like, recovering you.

a year and a half ago, I paid a number of visits to someone who was at Lutheran for awhile. I have to say that Swedish seemed way better in every way during my experience there...a lot of smoothness, competence, personability. it may have helped that I wasn't in pain and pretty much didn't need anything, and had just as Dr. Nemechek said, "experienced a miracle".

but one of the nurses watched the "swordfish" scene from Horse Feathers with us. and they all took a minute to look at the Dead poster I had just bought. (go ahead, laugh...you've never seen anything like it)

they were great. it was great. and it was so time to go when it was time to go.

I tend to experience the tension of things after the thing has happened, getting to the finish line before saying, whew.

being home marks the start of the last phase of this, the lay low, be lazy, do exercises, and maybe have a little fun part of it. which, at the moment, seems interminable, but I bet I settle in.

so I had a lot of emotions right off when I came home. like...so...what the hell was all that?

perspective on all of this is that I won the lottery, that there has never been a luckier man on any Emerson Lake and Palmer album than I. but I reserve about 1 1/2 % to say...ouch! man this is weird! we interrupt this life to bring you a special bummer...

and then go right back to, damn, I got lucky.

as per Dr. Nemechek's prescription, I picked up a guitar last night.

it wasn't six and a half hours nonstop at Fanny's. I played three songs. lisa and kathy sang with me. I dropped the pick.

I thought my voice sounded different...maybe not in a bad way...they felt it was the same. maybe my hearing is sorting out.

but it sounded like me playing, on a bad night. it was plenty reassuring.

and if I'm staying open to all possibilities, I have to stay open to the possibility that I may get help from this operation in areas I never let myself dream it could help.

I wonder if my arm not having to move a bean bag in my neck around every time I play a note might help me play more fluidly.

I wonder if the Jim Jones like apnea stuff I have had in my sleep might also yield to some opening up around there. last night, I slept deep for five hours...all things considered, that's really something...and lisa said my snoring was way down. went back to bed and got a little more later...sleeping propped up is none too natural for me, and there'll be weeks of it...but I have to stay open to some sleep easement...

they gave me a small carnival game to help my lungs. you suck on this mouthpiece...the nurse used the term, bong hit, repeatedly...hard enough to keep a little piece of plastic floating, and a larger piece rises on a number scale showing you how much air you took in.

anything that can get my lungs able to hold notes as long as Vickie (and Vicki) need me to, I'm all for.

and I'll keep listening to my voice. ya never know.

I still feel a little like those Terminator pictures, with half a regular head and face somehow attached to half a slower, stiffer, number metallic affair. some muscles on my right side still haven't forgiven me for what they went through.

the Grateful Dead say, I need a miracle every day. that's just how I feel. but they haven't been in short supply. I feel like all of you have been sending a miracle or two of yours when I need them the most.

it means more to me than I could ever tell you.

I remember some April 15ths

when I was not feeling quite as good as I do now. of course, it was mostly non-medical malaise...

it took me awhile to get tired last night. I feel like I must have some kind of override that tells me, as long as you might miss something, you don't get to feel tired.

I slept solidly between four and five hours last night, woke up exhausted. people will sometimes say the cause of waking up tired is that they slept too much.

I think instead, I am finally starting to feel normal enough to realize how wiped I am.

but there has been nothing in the surgery stuff that has felt nearly as challenging as the weeks before. I'm playing with actually turning my head...unthinkable five days ago. and sleep last night didn't mean pain...I'm ready to reinvert my perception, so that once again sleep is the best choice whenever I feel tired, and sitting up kind of more an awake thing.

Dr. Nemechek says I need to have a guitar in my hands soon. the stuff I'm used to doing, get used to doing. slowly slowly slowly but...right away.

perhaps he's heard some of the tapes, and understands how much practice I need...

he says, hum. don't sing energetically, but hum. wonder what that set list looks like.

I should be going home late morning, early afternoon. Nemechek says hospitals suck as a place to recover. honestly, this one could be a lot worse. but I'm ready for home.

he's very impressed with my support system..."loved ones" he calls them. it's a surprisingly good term, says just the right thing. but I think of it more connected with memorial services than, say, weddings.

I keep trying to get Dr. Nemechek to say he nailed the operation, that he did really well. today, he recited the litany of cautions he still has...he'll be happy when pathology comes back with the report on the tumor. when I don't get sick for a week, when I have a real sense of what kind of motion, singing, etc is there.

he's totally right. but he rocked that operation.

I haven't needed so much as an aspirin yet.

I don't know how long it will be before I know there's nothing from the hospital in my bloodstream. I may still be under pain relievers from that period.

I feel like I prepaid my recovery in some ways.

I'm thrilled I had days good enough to participate as I did. but it was hard and getting way harder. I expected at least that much discomfort now...but there is nothing for life but to stay open and not fill in the blanks.

the current version of the scar is a doozy, staples and all. I'd say six to 8 inches from my clavicle to my right ear....that may just be what it seemed to Me when I saw it today. I may be wearing closed collar shirts to our outside gigs.

I guess I could change my style...go punk country or metal...and barely have enough body mod cred to get in the door.

I'm told the staples come out next week, though I might ask if I can wait til I've used my tickets to Young Frankenstein...

these essays are all Karen Smart's mother's fault.

her mom sounds like she was really something...til Karen remembers a fairly big sickness, and her mom coming home with a cholostomy bag.

when Karen expressed her sorrow and regret, she remembers her mom telling her, the real tragedy is trying to find shoes and a hat that match.

maybe I lean on humor too much when things are hard. but dammit, that's funny.

Dr. Nemechek may well prescribe some studio work and practices in a couple of weeks, if he's prescribing guitar now.

gotta do what the doc says...

on the other hand, if someone asked me to sign an outpatient form, saying that all of the healing I received in this building was due to their efforts and my body's natural defenses, and no prayers, energy transfers, love, or concern aided in this experience...I would not in good conscience be able to sign. I feel like I got a reduced sentence, changing the points to misdemeanor, and I have to feel that so many people caught the ears of the judge that he gave me a break.

we complain sometimes about our lives. but let the smallest cloud threaten our continuance in them, and perspective comes real fast.

all signs now point to my continuance in the role of me. no two by three inch square in the program saying, the role of Scott Bennett in tonight's drama will be played by Ernie Martinez.

and for that continuance to happen depended on more than Dr. Nemechek, my body, the hospital. it depends literally on everyone who has called, written, read the blog and held off on calling for awhile. Scott isn't Scott without Runaway Express, The ReJuveniles, Lost Alamos, Christy, Ken, Peggy, Bill Brennan, Bob Cannistraro, Keith Hughes, Denise and Kate and Karen and Tom and Kevin at Sweet Fanny Adams, Bonnie, and all of the people who inform my days with blessings.

I am going to love my down time. and I'm bloody well taking it. but I'm not going to be quite as much Scott, even in the hands of my loved ones who are giving me everything during this time.

and even after a small number of hours, I am feeling how dependent I am on all the people to whom it costs money every time I say, well I had this idea...

yours continuing

Scott

My draft number in 1969 was 360

a high number, a get out of the army free card...who could be thought to deserve such, and what wonderful thing could they have done?

I don't know. but whatever muse has steadfastly guaranteed me continuance in my life was in perfect control today.

I could not dare to dream I would feel so good so soon. as in, kicks butt over yesterday! and talk about your longshot horse coming in at 10000 to 1, the Scwannorama (as Dan Jones called it) was not even on a cranial nerve, but some unnamed non player that only carries sensation. I think my earlobe will be permanently numb.

the rest of me now...no pain reliever since this morning, feels just like me.

yah. scary news for all, that.

I'm not doing much online today. but twenty five year shadows are

disappearing.

it feels amazingly relieving.

Scott

THRILLED TO REPORT....ALL IS WELL!!!!

Scott's surgeon came out to report around 10:30. He came through the operation well, the mass has been removed, and no major nerves were involved, nor were any nerves cut, although they did have to move some things out of the way pretty seriously to complete their work. More details to follow, we're sure, but we wanted everyone to know right away that all is well, and Scott's expected to be out of recovery in around 2 hours. Thank you for all your thoughts and prayers.....we're feeling surrounded by your love for Scott.

Kathy, Debra, Janice, and Lisa

the Medical Mystery Tour is hoping to take you away

from excessive wondering or worrying about a certain blonde wannaBeatle during his extensively arranged time off, in hospital and at home.

the backstory: I've had a slow growing mass in my neck since oh 1985 or so, which stayed about the size of a dime for ten years, and was completely asymptomatic. all medical advice I received was...it can't be so small for so long and be any threat, but if it grows we should keep an eye on it.

about the time it reached a quarter, I had a cat scan done. well, we don't know for sure, but it can't be any harm, let's keep an eye on it.

a little over two years ago, I had a noted ENT recommend an MRI and a biopsy. the results came back...well, we think it's a Schwannoma.

not the end result when a bike runs into a string of Christmas lights, a Schwannoma is a random growth of sheath cells around a nerve. benign, in almost all cases.

the ENT recommended it be removed, leaving the nerve itself intact, grafting a new nerve should there be any problem with that. he would bring in a colleague, and have a neural monitor group attend.

I got from that that it would be his first time performing such an operation. I started looking about.

Dr. Nemechek, who was turned up by Stewart Greisman's far flung web of colleagues, was the founder (head?) of a head and neck mass specialty group, and had seen this and far worse every day of his career. he painted a sterner picture. he said, trying to leave the nerve is a guarantee the growth will recur...it needs to be removed. he whispered to me...nerve grafts don't work so great. he said, you cannot make an asymptomatic disease better...only worse.

it's funny how the person with the darker picture immediately looks the more competant. but Nemechek completely won me over. the office visit ended with us agreeing to another MRI in six months, but no immediate action.

he called after the third six month MRI and said, it needs to come out. this was this past January.

I said, well, I have a batch of really really important shows coming up, ending on April 9th. he interrupted to say, then we'll do it right after them, on the 13th,

twenty five years without a symptom...we both felt confident the timetable would work out.

a couple of weeks ago, it started hurting. kinda bad luck, or poor planning to anyone who felt I should have done it earlier.

days were pretty free of trouble...but at night, there was no way to lay and sleep without pain. I moved from my thin thin pillow to a beanbag neck warmer to a rolled up t shirt, and experimented widely.

advil completely took the pain away and let me sleep. it was the anti-inflammatory thing. but you can't take advil for two weeks before a surgery for fear of blood thinning.

I kept track of everything that seemed to mollify the growth, everything that seemed to piss it off. the list grew shorter...heat seemed to work, then stopped...cold never did much good...someone suggested alternating hot and cold, hot and cold, so I called my ex girlfriend who excelled in that.

but more and more, it likes not moving the best.

so we had discussions about playing guitar.

I took away some gigs, some rehearsals...asked people to carry stuff for me, drive...

days continued to bring relief...nights were hard. I tried to resist the progressive idea, that it was getting harder. tonight it seems like it has been.

I made it to the gigging finish line, and am within 36 hours of being there for the procedure. not long. if it's kind of hard now, it's not long. I've made it.

I think the biopsy acted as character motivation for the Schwannoma to grow. I think even Nemechek will be surprised at the self confidence it has acquired.

I called him out of the office two weeks ago. pain, some numbness. he said...well, that's why we're having it out.

he didn't think there was a new emergency. so I don't either.

surgery is never risk free, never a "gimme" putt. stuff happens.

but I am not haunted by spectres of some other outcome than Nemechek's plan A, two weeks of laying low, another two weeks I tacked on myself not to schedule a damn thing...and then a normal summer. he's the Big Lebowski. I'm going with his idea; the biggest long shot louie at hialeah wouldn't bet against it.

May 13th, we see if I'm ready to jump back in. if not before

the purpose of this blog, which I or Kathy or Lisa or Janice or Debra can enter posts in, is to have a place where the heartwarming numbers of good people who have expressed concern may find information and updates in a second.

I'll be in the hospital, I'm told, 36 to 48 hours.

they gave me a code for anyone who calls the hospital, to directly access my status updates...I think it was 3617, but I can't find it...

many people with beautiful hearts have told me of their intention to come see me in the hospital.

it's a gig I kind of don't want to have very well attended. whatever entertainment I can manage on a good day might not be appropriate while I am pulling my energy together. I won't be arranging or rehearsing any parts. I tend to be the loner kind of patient...less interested in telling my story again to new ears than silently regrouping. and what I think about hospital is that there is no lack of staff interruption at the very least.

I'll be online, here, the first minute I can be.

and I have a support system that any man would drop to the ground in gratitude for.

if everyone were to come who promised to, we could have our own version of the last scene of It's a Wonderful Life. and I'm taking every bit of every one of those good wishes with me, very, very gratefully.

I don't take breaks when I do my solo act. I've been saving up. I'll be taking one now. hope that's ok. talk amongst yourselves.

when it's over, the only time I'll mention sheath cells again, I promise, is if I see her selling them on the shore.