Thanks, Mom :(
Mama's gonna keep you right here under her wing
She won't let you fly, but she might let you sing
Pink Floyd - "Mother" - The Wall - 1979
As explained in A Fierce Return to Form, I've had some cervical spine issues. Those issues carry a backstory reaching back over 30 years and have a Flozberk footprint of disaster smack in the middle.
In 1992, I badly herniated two disks in my neck after a fall and was a hot mess, unable to move much. We sought medical assistance immediately.
Things went strangely and well short of ideally. Go figure, eh?
First, we went to the orthopedic surgeon who heroically saved my right leg after I got shot 12 years prior. He said I needed to see a neurosurgeon, pronto.
I had one in mind, a fellow named Dr. Gary Hutchinson at Presbyterian Hospital. He was glowingly recommended by a friend at SMU and was highly regarded as a cutting edge provider.
At just age 39, he became President of Presbyterian Dallas medical staff. He served as President of the Texas Association of Neurosurgeons and was a professor of neurosurgery at the University of Texas Health Science Center.
Dude's credentials and reputation were stellar.
The Marshall Plan
Mom shot down that idea, though, insisting that I go to Baylor and see the guy who operated on her neck, a fellow named Dr. Mark Marshall.
Her rationale was that Presbyterian was too far and we didn't know Dr. Hutchinson. To her, "too far" was 8 miles and 14 minutes, about twice the distance to Baylor. For the record, the family had automobiles and ample spare time.
I was leery of Dr. Marshall. After he operated on Mom's neck in 1979, she hit the sofa and devolved into a shut-in, very rarely leaving for 36 years until her death. She complained often of neck pain and disability.
That's hardly a confidence-booster.
But, Mom wanted her children to be like her and was very resistant to change. Even going shopping at a mall other than Northpark was out of the question. Everything pretty much had to stay the same, forever.
So, like a complacent fool, I agreed to have surgery at Baylor with Dr. Marshall. I was so miserable that I just wanted relief ASAP.
Relief from the searing pain and near-total disability was attained, but I never really felt good again. I still had significant symptoms, but was told such was expected. That does not seem to have been accurate - I should have made a full recovery.
30 years later, after much suffering and puzzlement, a much better surgeon would finally set things as right as circumstances could allow, but the decades of compression resulted in permanent damage, pain, and disability, including loss of dexterity compromising the ability to ...*sigh* ... play a guitar especially well.
Plus, There's That Other Stuff
As you likely already know, Mom's heartbreaking failures to act on my behalf when I was being tortured by John and when Lisa was injured also resulted in both physical and psychic trauma to my household that challenge us to this second, and surely beyond.
Under Flozberk-tainted leadership, things simply tend to go much worse than they should have. The collective woe inflicted on those around them, with Dad and I catching what seems to be an excessive amount of it, is immense.
Thanks, Mom :(