oh, that's bad...no, that's good; or, worst night of my life, best day in a long time; or, singular day, pleural effusion

did Archie Campbell and Roy Clark of Hee-Haw originate this joke, or appropriate it? either way, I heard it told many times:

Archie: Well I bought me an airplane and learned to fly
Roy: Well that's good
Archie: No that's bad
Roy: How come
Archie: Well I was flying upside down the other day and I fell outta the dern thing
Roy: Well that's bad.
Archie: No that's good
Roy: How come
Roy: Well when I looked down under me and there was a great big ole haystack.
Roy: Well that's good
Archie: No that's bad.
Roy: How come?
Archie: Well I got a little closer and I saw a pitchfork aimed right at me
Roy: Well that's bad
Archie: No that's good
Roy: How come
Archie: I missed the pitchfork
Roy: Well that's good
Archie: No that's bad

Roy: How come

Archie: I missed the haystack, too

methinreallyhappens.

yes, I'm giving you the fluff before I give you the mednews. I do that sometimes when the news is really, really good.

it's sadistic.

but not nearly as sadistic as introducing to 99% of you, and causing the other 1% to remember, this song by Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs:

Not long ago, I was walkin' down the street
When a woman in a car knocked me off my feet
(Oh, that's bad)
No, that's good

My insurance paid me a lot of dough
More money than I'd seen in a year's payroll
(Oh, that's good)
No, that's bad

On doctor bills is where my money went
And all I had left was a very bad limp
(Oh, that's bad)
No, that's good

'Cause the way I walked, it got me a role
As the Marshall's partner on a TV show
Pretty young actresses started hanging 'round
And every night we'd do the town

(Oh, that's good)
No, that's bad

I ended up back in a hospital bed
'Cause my horse fell on my bad leg
(Oh, that's bad)
No, that's good

'Cause just when I was feeling my worst
I fell in love with a beautiful nurse
(Oh, that's good)
No, that's bad

'Cause I found out she was the doctor's wife
Now I'll be in a wheelchair the rest of my life
'Cause no matter how I pleaded and begged
He operated on my good leg

(Oh, that's bad)
No, that's awful

Sunday night, I couldn't breathe.

I lay flat in my bed for hours, feeling like, this isn't getting it. I'm not asleep. and I can't breathe in enough to get enough air.

not a blocked passage...just not enough lung.

when I sat up, I was pretty much ok. around 3, I got up and sat on the couch.

sleeping has been tricky for awhile. the shoulder tumor keeps me from laying in any position but flat on my back. after too few hours, my body will just need to change position and wake me up. if I don't go back down, I have to get up.

this reminds me of the great debate in black music of the 70's, whether to Get Down or Get On Up.

on the couch, I kind of fell over against a pillow in a sideways sitting position and got a couple of hours of grade C sleep.

the next morning, which seemed a lot like the same morning, I was pretty down. so, this isn't a drug side effect. this was the cancer appropriating my lungs. and no relief of any kind could be anticipated before sufficient time had passed with THE miracle drug, if, if, if.

I couldn't go from room to room without a major coughing fit, and dizziness compelling me to sit down immediately. I had a red mark on my forehead the size and shape of the uncompleted (but fully operational) Death Star in Return of the Jedi. my shoulder tumor is unsightly and hurts. every time I sang, I was aware that my years of hiding and sneaking breaths was being put to full test...I couldn't hold a note.

and now, I can't breathe.

I try to focus on the hopes and not on the losses. I try not to whine much in here. but this was a morning where the breaks were beating the boys.

after calling a batch of numbers at the hospital, I ended up talking to Sarah, the wonderful and wonderfully pregnant study assistant overseer. she picked up the phone when I called...amazing. she said she would page Dr. Gore and get right back to me. while I was waiting, I called Stewart Greisman, who is not only someone to ask about all things medical, but seems to welcome it from anyone and indefatigably from me - and was in the midst of making arrangements to come into the studio with me-

the words "pleural effusion" had barely left his mouth when Sarah called back. I rudely switched calls.

what can never be forgotten about troubling situations in life, Dear Reader, is that you really never know which one is going to be one they have a trick for. lower a guitar song's key a step and a half? you're going to have to learn the song all over, with the brand new inversions. raise the song a step and a half? put a capo on the third fret and play it the exact same way.

the first time I heard Neil Young sing, "they give you this but you pay for that", I though it was less iconic than idiotic, something to fill a line.

but damned if it hasn't taken an amazing number of profound experiences under its umbrella.

Sarah spoke without hesitation of my considerable pleural effusion...described as follows:

I've spent a few happy times at Disneyland, waiting for the end of the night fireworks or the Main Street Electrical Parade, and seen those Mickey Mouse's head-shaped balloons, with a conventional spherical helium balloon totally enclosing it.

they looked magical, though I never knew what it would be like to take care of one after the parade, until it went flat...never indulged myself.

but if you turn it upside-down, Mickey's ears pointing towards the ground, it's a little like the chest and the lungs within.

some small amount of liquid is normally generated between the helium balloon and Mickey, to keep things sliding smoothly. but several things- pneumonia, tumors leaking through the lung lining- can lead to considerable deposits of liquid in that cavity, eventually putting pressure on the lung and pushing it in, lessening its capacity.

I had a little pushing on my left lung, a lot shrinking my right.

Sarah said there was indeed an answer, called thoracentesis. they use local anaesthetic, go in through your back, introduce a catheter, and drain the liquid. relief, she said, is immediate.

tell me if I'm just wrong, if I don't owe you Faithful Followers this stuff, if it's just too medical and gross. it always has been to me. I close my eyes when they draw blood.

I used to think of an airplane flight as a totally unnatural, synthetic experience...but this shit seems totally unimaginable. who thinks this stuff up?

til you can't breathe. then you're doing American Sign Language for fine, fine, whatever, just bring it on.

they got me into the hospital that day. the procedure was nothing. they took out a liter of fluid...all they dared.

relief was immediate.

I went to a rehearsal party that night. I felt like me singing again. which is to say, at my former level of suckiness, not my new, improved level of suckiness.

relief, where I had imagined none was immediately possible.

I'm going to try to sleep some more today. last night wasn't great. feel like I'm still getting used to the new/ old way.

I couldn't breathe. oh, that's bad. no, that's good...it led me to something that made me feel a lot better.

still not sure how much better than this I will come to feel...

(p.s. if you have a baritone guitar, which plays a fifth lower than a standard guitar, you can put a capo on the fourth fret and play the song the way you had learned it, in the correct key. you never know, Dear Reader, which troubling situations they are going to have a trick for.)