Friday, December 09, 2011
Monday, October 03, 2011
Save The Mails
I hear people talking about the
United States Postal Service (USPS) going out of business because no one writes
letters anymore. This is nonsense. People stopped writing letters when the
telephone became a common fixture—many decades earlier. Some, particularly
older people, continued to write letters to their friends (and get letters
written in return) but this was an insignificant percentage of total postal
flow. Greeting cards have increased nowadays simply because of the antique
delivery service (snail mail!) --and peoples hopes that such hand-delivered
messages are a sign of greater sincerity (especially if it’s got money inside).
Oddly enough, not so long ago, people
eschewed the ‘greeting card’ as less
sincere than the handwritten note—but enclosing money never goes out of style.
But even greeting cards (even Xmas greeting cards) combined with the
vestigial letter-writers can’t come close to the commercial mail. I was a
member of the DMMA’s Legislation and Policy Committee back in the nineteen-eighties,
one of the major lobbyists for USPS laws and regulations at that time. It is
difficult to even imagine how different the world of direct mail marketing (call
it junk mail, if you must) was just
those few decades ago.
One of the biggest sticking
points for direct mail fundraisers in those days was the debate over whether ‘thank-you’
gifts were merchandise or a fund-raising strategy. At the time, the issue had
relevance: as some non-profits experimented with the thank-you-gift campaigns,
they began to see tremendous response and, naturally, started offering ever
more expensive ‘gifts’. We see the results of that struggle today—fund-raisers
will offer a thank you gift, but nothing very costly—and absolutely nothing
that doesn’t relate to the cause of the non-profit organization.
Another big issue was ZIP+4—a program
implemented to refine the geography of our nation’s postal routes beyond a simple
five-digit distribution. It fell into disuse almost simultaneously with the
rise of PCs and, soon after, the Internet. But it should be remembered that the
USPS, right up to the advent of the digital age, had been growing by leaps and bounds—it
was even regarded as one of the examples of our growing technological culture.
Consider this: there was a time
when mail catalogs were so ubiquitous that several retailers (most famously the
Sharper Image) opened for business without opening a store! And niche marketing
was born. Magazines were considered important tools for keeping abreast of
changes in one’s business, one’s retail purchasing, and the world in general.
So it is not the fault of
personal postage that is killing the USPS—it is the next step after the deaths
of all its customers: Magazines, Catalogs, Newsletters, and the forced shift of
Marketing from ‘junk mail’ to ‘spam’.
The magazines are all online
now—the catalogs have all become e-commerce web sites that accept payment by Credit
Cards or Pay-Pal—the Direct Mailers have always derived their power from the
magazine subscriber and catalog buyer lists used to target promotions at the
proper demographic. The mailing lists have all but evaporated—and direct mail
advertising was the single greatest profit center for the USPS forty years ago.
Back then, the Postal Service
could defend its shrinking domain only by enforcing the federal laws that prohibited
the use of mailboxes for any non-USPS business—this remained a boundary to
deliveries from Third Party Carriers (UPS, FEDEX, etc.) until quite recently.
I’ve experienced the worst of
both worlds—I have a problem I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy: The Post Office
doesn’t deliver to my house and the Third Party Carriers, until recently, were
prohibited from delivery to my PO Box! In the earliest days of Internet retail sales,
few sites specified what shipping method would be used to deliver my
merchandise. There were many times, a few years back, when I swore I’d never
buy anything online again. But, I’m an old hand now and I rarely have my purchases
returned to the retailer as undeliverable.
We know, intellectually, that in
the age before automobiles, every vehicle was horse-drawn—or the horse itself
was the vehicle. But I once heard an old person being interviewed, and when
asked whether she missed the quieter days, said, “O gosh, NO—the whole world
smelled like horse-s**t back then. It was everywhere—you spent a lot of time
trying not to step in it.”
Future generations will have
the same disembodied knowledge of the days of the United States Postal Service.
They’ll have no inkling of the relief one felt when the week’s TV Guide came on
time, or the thrill of seeing handwriting on an envelope—a sure sign that an
actual person had written one a letter. They’ll miss the childhood excitement
of the arrival of Sears and Roebuck’s Annual Xmas Catalog (with the big Toy
Section!) which provided me and my siblings with fodder for wishes and dreams
for the better part of two months. There was a time when failure to mail to,
and maintain, an annual Xmas-card list was just downright anti-social behavior.
Sears & Roebuck had the
distinction of being the catalyst for passing a federal law to protect the
Postal Service. In the days of early settlement out west, many storeowners were
also Postmasters for their towns. When Sears and Roebuck catalogs came to
them, they would often burn the whole pile-- Sears andRoebuck was offering
the same things the storeowner sold, and at a lower price! Those early towns
and cities of the Old West benefitted greatly from the Federal Protection
against tampering with the government’s Postal Service—those Sears and
Roebuck catalogs gave them access to everything that a New York city slicker
could find and then some: fabric, clothing, beds, utensils, watches, gardening
and farming tools, you-name-it—at the height of Sears and Roebuck’s
catalog's popularity they were even offering a selection of homes—fully-built houses delivered to any place from coast to coast!
The Post Office was such an
important part of our lives before our present became so digitized—yet it’s
fade from existence into history will go as unnoticed as the creep of progress
that finally rendered it obsolete. I saw an op-ed article today (online, of
course) that pointed out that the Pony Express, almost immediately replaced by the
telegraph, saw the inevitable and shut its doors after operating only eighteen
months. I take exception to the implication that our USPS is as obsolete and
useless as the Pony Express—the Post Office remains the cheapest method of
mailing letters and shipping packages. The anti-tampering law protection and
the commitment to serve all our citizens, rich or poor, near or far, are just
two examples of what we would lose along with it, should the USPS be
dismantled. I have nothing against UPS or Fedex or whatever, but what will they
become when they are no longer competing with the USPS? Will their prices
climb? Will financial concerns cause them to change their policies and reduce
their services to the mid- and lower-income population? If the Post Office is
dying, why are the darn lines still so long?
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Hello, World!
xperdunn here, Sept 21st, 2011
I’ve just set up my brand new PC
Andwith this post, I have confirmed a Xtion between
Google-Windows Live-Writer & my blog: One Aspiration!
Hooray for me.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Okadey-Smokely (by Chris Dunn on Friday, December 10, 2010 at 11:44am.)
The new indoor oil tank stood empty (well, lightly filled with filtered fuel from the old, outdoor, underground tank—we didn’t want to waste the oil, but filtering it did take time and muscle—we just wanted to check that everything would work okay after the lines were switched around) until two days ago, when I awoke to find a chilly house. Claire had already gone to work. I went down the cellar steps and tried the red restart button on the furnace—nothing. I called the tank-replacement guy—no one home. I called Claire. Claire had the tank guy’s cell number. She called me back, “He’s on a job but he’ll be back around three or four and will come by then and filter some more oil from the old tank.”
I had told her I was comfortable in the bedroom with the space heater –also I have a 41” Plasma HD TV and that’s the old tech—I shoulda got me an LCD, but ‘Plasma’ sounded more hi-tech so I got one of those. Plasma is old tech, however, and puts out major BTUs of heat when switched on—it’s inconvenient in summer—but it really turbo-charges a space heater in the winter. (It’s also prone to ‘permanent imprinting’ when a static image is displayed over and over, or for long periods. But that’s not pertinent.)
Claire also said the new oil provider would make a delivery the next day—problem solved. So the tank guy comes over—but not four or five—more like seven or eight—and then it takes forever to filter the fuel—‘watched pots’ and all that…. The furnace finally gets going, but there’s only five gallons in the tank. Claire returns from night courses around nine-thirty—just as the heat has returned to the house.
We sleep, Claire goes to work, the heat goes off—I’ve run out of gas again. I hole up in the bedroom, confidently awaiting the oil truck to pull up any minute. I call Claire at work at 4PM, “There’s still no truck.” She calls the new oil provider, they tell her (who tells me) that the truck is in the area and should be there any time. They arrive at dusk, they fill the tank ($900!) and I stand outside watching and talking with them (it’s no warmer indoors).
One guy is new on the job—“First day”, he says. I said he was lucky to get a job in this economy. He goes into his employment history circa three years ago, at which time he was earning a comfortable living as an employee of a building sub-contractor. When the work dried up, he drifted. He got hooked up with an indoor job at an oil company in a different area—which had to trim salaries, and he ends up here in Northern Westchester, in his forties by the look of him, standing outdoors all day delivering heating oil for the winter. And glad to have the job! And me glad to be on disability so I don’t have to go out looking for the same kind of luck!
So they’re out at the truck a long time after they fill the tank—I realize the old salt is showing the ropes to the new guy—it makes me remember how long it took me to get anything done while I was teaching a ‘new guy’ back in my working days. Their twelve-hour delay makes sense to me now. The old guy comes in for the check—but my pen won’t write—the cold has coagulated the ink in my Bic. He’s been there, he hands me his pen, says it happens all the time.
I wait the fifteen minutes for any debris to settle in the tank and hit the red button again—it coughs a minute and dies. I wait a few seconds—try again—nothing. I call the tank guy—he says keep trying. I go back down cellar—try it three more times. On that third try the whole thing belches smoke and starts back up again—good for 330 gallons, aha! But the house is well chilled. When the air starts to lose its chill, I notice that solid objects, like my coffee mug, stay cold for quite a while longer than it takes to heat the air. The house itself is now the coldness—but not for too long.
Then Claire comes home—she’s managed to miss the whole thing (excepting my phone calls—which are more comfortable than a cold home) and had a nice day at work—a half-day followed by the office Xmas party, then snuck back to her office to study—her semester ends on December 23rd, she told me as she left for work today, with a tone in her voice hinting that these cretins had no respect for Xmas, or the need to prepare for it prior to Xmas Eve-Eve.
My joints are still creaking! Still, like being hungry for a long time and then eating—I now luxuriate in my seventy-degree paradise—at least, til the next power outage—furnace breakdown—late oil delivery!
And speaking of the mere two weeks til Xmas and preparations therefore—I gotta go now….
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Check these free mp3 Downloads by XperDunn
Just Added: Mendelssohn Videos by XperDunn!
Have you ever wished you could add
XperDunn tunes to your iPod?
Your Hard Drive?
Burn your own XperDunn CDs to share with old folks?
WELL, NOW YOU CAN !!!
http://www.superbat12.blogspot.com/
Have you ever wished you could add
XperDunn tunes to your iPod?
Your Hard Drive?
Burn your own XperDunn CDs to share with old folks?
WELL, NOW YOU CAN !!!
http://www.superbat12.blogspot.com/
Friday, September 26, 2008
20080921XD-Improv-SOS01
20080921XD-Improv-SOS01-
1st Improvisation by XperDunn
on September 21st, 2008
[duration: 05:20]
1st Improvisation by XperDunn
on September 21st, 2008
[duration: 05:20]
Sunday, September 07, 2008
XperDunn's 1st 'Prov of Sept. 2008
XperDunn's 1st Improvisation of Sept. 2008
(9/5/8) - [Duration: 7 mins., 8 secs.]
(9/5/8) - [Duration: 7 mins., 8 secs.]
Saturday, July 19, 2008
20080719XD-CarmansWhistle(FWVirginalVol1)
2008 July 19th - XperDunn performs "The Carman's Whistle" ( FitzWilliam Virginal Vol1)
[Duration: 06:49]
[Duration: 06:49]
Friday, July 18, 2008
20080717XD-FitzWllm-WImprov
XperDunn plays Works from the FitzWllm Virginal - With an Improvisation in the midst - on 2008 July 17th.
(Duration: 25 mins., 51 secs.)
(Duration: 25 mins., 51 secs.)
Monday, July 14, 2008
20080714XD-ASongB4PITchaik-Seasons
A Song Before, then Peter Ilyich
Tchaikovsky - The Seasons (Aug., Oct., Nov., Dec.)
performed on 2008 July 14
by XperDunn.
(Duration: 33 Mins., 33 secs.)
Tchaikovsky - The Seasons (Aug., Oct., Nov., Dec.)
performed on 2008 July 14
by XperDunn.
(Duration: 33 Mins., 33 secs.)
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
A Bill Of Goods
We think we’re in control
We think someone’s in charge
We know there is a purpose,
Our life is no mirage.
The blinders that we wear
Will only block the bad—
We only hate to look
At stuff that makes us sad.
We neither see nor hear a God
But we still know It’s there
And if you’re thinking otherwise
We really do not care.
How can you ask? You do not dare
To question any answers pat.
Just try it and with us you’ll share
The chaos which ensues from that.
We think we have a clue
We think we’re VIPs
We think we’ll be remembered
Or perhaps defeat disease.
We will live forever,
Take Outer Space by storm
If only we’ll all stay in line
And not upset the norm.
XperDunn - Sunday, May 18, 2008
We think someone’s in charge
We know there is a purpose,
Our life is no mirage.
The blinders that we wear
Will only block the bad—
We only hate to look
At stuff that makes us sad.
We neither see nor hear a God
But we still know It’s there
And if you’re thinking otherwise
We really do not care.
How can you ask? You do not dare
To question any answers pat.
Just try it and with us you’ll share
The chaos which ensues from that.
We think we have a clue
We think we’re VIPs
We think we’ll be remembered
Or perhaps defeat disease.
We will live forever,
Take Outer Space by storm
If only we’ll all stay in line
And not upset the norm.
XperDunn - Sunday, May 18, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
My Dire Tribe
I heartily disapprove
Of us as people.
Our so-called civ’lization’s
A slapping knee-full.
All noble leaders always
Turn to creepers
And our great women told
‘Be kitchen sweepers’.
Elites keep all the fresh fruit
For themselves
And lose no sleep o’er
Others’ empty shelves.
Where are the mobs
Of loving-hearted people,
Composite beast of
Marching in the streets?
When will the city’s hate
Be swept asunder and
All our many ills
Be washed away?
XperDunn -May 8th,'08
Nursery Explanations ****(A ’Post New’-style Nursery Rhyme)****
Star cradles gleaming,
Tachyons beaming,
Particles streaming,
Photons a-screaming;
That's what Outer Space is made of.
DNA Twining,
Erosion designing,
Each on each dining,
Timberlands pining:
That's what Mother Nature's made of.
XperDunn - May 10, '08
Tachyons beaming,
Particles streaming,
Photons a-screaming;
That's what Outer Space is made of.
DNA Twining,
Erosion designing,
Each on each dining,
Timberlands pining:
That's what Mother Nature's made of.
XperDunn - May 10, '08
Monday, April 28, 2008
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Concerto No.1 in D Major, BWV 972
Concerto No.1 in D Major, BWV 972
Performed by XperDunn on March 30th, 2008.
(Transcribed for Keyboard by J.S.Bach from a violin concerto by Vivaldi, Op.3, No.9)
Performed by XperDunn on March 30th, 2008.
(Transcribed for Keyboard by J.S.Bach from a violin concerto by Vivaldi, Op.3, No.9)
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Being Oneself (Being Myself)
Failure rarely confronts us.
It is most often a ship long sailed,
Rarely, a Northwest Passage
We didn't know existed,
Usually, one we believed in
That didn't exist.
Failure is age and death and, thus,
We are all in time.
To succeed in life one may only play
With an intensity
That diverts our awareness
That the house has the odds.
To succeed in death one must
Keep an open mind.
Chris Dunn Dec. 2, 2006
It is most often a ship long sailed,
Rarely, a Northwest Passage
We didn't know existed,
Usually, one we believed in
That didn't exist.
Failure is age and death and, thus,
We are all in time.
To succeed in life one may only play
With an intensity
That diverts our awareness
That the house has the odds.
To succeed in death one must
Keep an open mind.
Chris Dunn Dec. 2, 2006
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Trinity
Humanity comes in threes.
Some are gifted, some are crippled,
And some are both.
Some are smart, some are dumb,
And some are both.
Some are gorgeous, some are ugly,
And some are both.
Some are big things, some are nothings,
And some are both.
Humanity comes in threes.
Some are gifted, some are crippled,
And some are both.
Some are smart, some are dumb,
And some are both.
Some are gorgeous, some are ugly,
And some are both.
Some are big things, some are nothings,
And some are both.
Humanity comes in threes.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
Atheism vs. The Good (condensed) Book
Atheism vs. The Good (condensed) Book
-or-
I Believe In Winnie-the-Pooh and Electricity
I'll give up being Atheist
When Atheists throw bombs,
Then Quaker 'til more Nixons
Get us in more Viet Nams.
Then I'll join the Jews, I guess
(Their backlog is the biggest) but
If no sect has non-violence,
I'll join the Reader's Digest.
XperDunn -Oct 19 2007 01:46 am
-or-
I Believe In Winnie-the-Pooh and Electricity
I'll give up being Atheist
When Atheists throw bombs,
Then Quaker 'til more Nixons
Get us in more Viet Nams.
Then I'll join the Jews, I guess
(Their backlog is the biggest) but
If no sect has non-violence,
I'll join the Reader's Digest.
XperDunn -Oct 19 2007 01:46 am
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
My Proposed Lyrics to Yonatan Algazi's Spanish Castle
yonatan algazi / Santanaesque \http://www.indabamusic.com/sessions/531769720/1188
Got a castle in my mind
She floats up in the ozone
Above the winds of Alcazine
The Spanish coast--my home
When my mind is oozin slow
And my life's a hassle
I don't got nowhere to go
Except my Spanish castle
The breeze is spiced
With cinnamon
And perfumes of the East.
The waves that break
Upon the beach
Sing madrigals and lullabies
To sooth my tortured beast.
Pennants flyin in the air,
Halls of ancient marble stone,
Spirits guard me everywhere
With scimitars and horns of bone.
When my mind is oozin slow
And my life's a hassle
I don't got nowhere to go
Except my Spanish castle
The breeze is spiced
With cinnamon
And perfumes from the East.
The waves that break
Upon the beach
Sing madrigals and lullabies
To sooth my tortured beast.
When my mind is oozin slow
And my life's a hassle
I don't got nowhere to go
Except my Spanish castle
My Spanish castle
My Spanish castle
Got a castle in my mind
She floats up in the ozone
Above the winds of Alcazine
The Spanish coast--my home
When my mind is oozin slow
And my life's a hassle
I don't got nowhere to go
Except my Spanish castle
The breeze is spiced
With cinnamon
And perfumes of the East.
The waves that break
Upon the beach
Sing madrigals and lullabies
To sooth my tortured beast.
Pennants flyin in the air,
Halls of ancient marble stone,
Spirits guard me everywhere
With scimitars and horns of bone.
When my mind is oozin slow
And my life's a hassle
I don't got nowhere to go
Except my Spanish castle
The breeze is spiced
With cinnamon
And perfumes from the East.
The waves that break
Upon the beach
Sing madrigals and lullabies
To sooth my tortured beast.
When my mind is oozin slow
And my life's a hassle
I don't got nowhere to go
Except my Spanish castle
My Spanish castle
My Spanish castle
Yonatan Algazi's Spanish Castle (my lyrics and vocal auditio
Yonatan Algazi's Spanish Castle (my lyrics and vocal audition)
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
You Tread On My Dreams
Mass media hands us our predigested dreams late at night as we seek diversion from the busy day. Our dreams infuse our ideals and modern ideals are thus flavored with mechanics and commerce.
The ancient storytellers of tribal campfires had human, intimate feedback from the groups before them. Their dreams involved nature, needs, and emotions—but always upon a backdrop of an assumed supernatural underpinning.
Mass media truncates our dreams’ humanity to consumerism and subsumes the supernatural into a mere genre. We cannot use our most powerful systems of communication for true discourse because a flood of commercial uses blocks these systems.
So we have a force that both perverts our dreams and blocks any rebuttal. Mass media has somehow taken control of humanity without any person or group of people in charge.
Paradoxically, this same situation allows a small group of businesspeople to gain control of nearly all access to mass media. Their potential to influence humanity is mitigated by the effect of mass media on themselves—and their family, friends and associates. They may warp the output, but they are no less in the thrall of the medium itself.
In this regard, the Internet is a lifesaver. Steps should be taken to prevent it from going the way of radio and TV. It will be difficult enough to shed our silver-screened stupor and begin to relate, as people, on the web without encroachment by commerce.
The ancient storytellers of tribal campfires had human, intimate feedback from the groups before them. Their dreams involved nature, needs, and emotions—but always upon a backdrop of an assumed supernatural underpinning.
Mass media truncates our dreams’ humanity to consumerism and subsumes the supernatural into a mere genre. We cannot use our most powerful systems of communication for true discourse because a flood of commercial uses blocks these systems.
So we have a force that both perverts our dreams and blocks any rebuttal. Mass media has somehow taken control of humanity without any person or group of people in charge.
Paradoxically, this same situation allows a small group of businesspeople to gain control of nearly all access to mass media. Their potential to influence humanity is mitigated by the effect of mass media on themselves—and their family, friends and associates. They may warp the output, but they are no less in the thrall of the medium itself.
In this regard, the Internet is a lifesaver. Steps should be taken to prevent it from going the way of radio and TV. It will be difficult enough to shed our silver-screened stupor and begin to relate, as people, on the web without encroachment by commerce.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Friday, September 08, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Monday, February 13, 2006
Monday, February 06, 2006
Saturday, January 28, 2006
The Lesson Of Age
Loss is the only
lesson of age
that can't
(and shouldn't)
be taught.
Up to a certain point
it's all gain.
We grow up, We learn,
We become and expand.
Once the additions subside
And the subtractions begin
We stop growing up
And start growing old.
We don't need to be told
What we couldn't be told
Before.
lesson of age
that can't
(and shouldn't)
be taught.
Up to a certain point
it's all gain.
We grow up, We learn,
We become and expand.
Once the additions subside
And the subtractions begin
We stop growing up
And start growing old.
We don't need to be told
What we couldn't be told
Before.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Three quotes from JFK
"Too often we... enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort
of thought."-John F. Kennedy
.-.
"Tolerance implies no lack of commitment to one's own beliefs. Rather
it condemns the oppression or persecution of others."-John F. Kennedy
.-.
"We are not afraid to entrust the American people with unpleasant
facts, foreign ideas, alien philosophies, and competitive values. For
a nation that is afraid to let its people judge the truth and
falsehood in an open market is a nation that is afraid of its people."-John F. Kennedy
of thought."-John F. Kennedy
.-.
"Tolerance implies no lack of commitment to one's own beliefs. Rather
it condemns the oppression or persecution of others."-John F. Kennedy
.-.
"We are not afraid to entrust the American people with unpleasant
facts, foreign ideas, alien philosophies, and competitive values. For
a nation that is afraid to let its people judge the truth and
falsehood in an open market is a nation that is afraid of its people."-John F. Kennedy
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Monday, October 10, 2005
Monday, October 03, 2005
What a Shock
There are many shocks in the process of learning about illness. In my particular case, the first shock was the letter from the blood drive saying ‘You have one of the many new types of Hepatitus-Don’t Come Back. P.S.-see your doctor’.
Shock two, back then my doctor had no definitive test and no recognized treatment (Interferon was still new enough not to be covered by insurance).
Shock three, when I finally got on treatment, I learned that Interferon (plus assorted anti-virals) probably won’t cure me and, even if it did, the liver damage is permanent.
Shock four, when I developed liver cancer I learned that, in an effort to discern its exact type and location, they put suspected cancer victims through a torturous stress test that would kill a healthy person. The blood tests alone, had they been healthy blood, would have stocked a good-sized hospital.
Shock five, when you go on the organ-donor wait list, there are actually two lists called ‘really picky’ and ‘not so picky’. I picked ‘not so picky’ and got a liver more quickly.
The biggest shock, after months of waiting and hoping to get a new liver, was the cold sliver of fear that went down my back when the doctor phoned to summon me for the operation. No advance warning, just someone, somewhere dies and you’re up. Ten PM Saturday night, you’re about to turn off the TV and sleep; the phone rings and you have an hour to get to the Med Center for the most massively intrusive operation ever devised.
I was also shocked to learn that the gall bladder is a little thing all wrapped up practically inside the liver so, at least in my case, they left it out. This is not conducive to regularity and a large part of my post-op life has been spent in the bathroom.
Don’t get me wrong. The cancer is gone. My brain works again. My muscles support me again. My new liver has gone back to filtering toxins out of my blood, just like healthy folks. But I will never be what I was. Never as smart or strong or quick. My new goal in life is to get off of disability, i.e. to be able to do a day’s work, or at least attend school. College isn’t easy for fifty-year-olds, but I would love to get strong enough to try it.
After the transplant, I had a huge three-way incision in my abdomen held together by about two score of staples. It takes months for the healing to advance to the point of removing the staples and about a year for overall recuperation. I’ve been about a year and change now and the thing that scares me the most is the idea of something going wrong, putting me back on the list. The first time, I was afraid I wouldn’t get a new organ. For the rest of my life, I’ll be afraid that I would.
That’s the final shock: if your doctors are rigorous enough, you will learn to fear them more than dying.
Shock two, back then my doctor had no definitive test and no recognized treatment (Interferon was still new enough not to be covered by insurance).
Shock three, when I finally got on treatment, I learned that Interferon (plus assorted anti-virals) probably won’t cure me and, even if it did, the liver damage is permanent.
Shock four, when I developed liver cancer I learned that, in an effort to discern its exact type and location, they put suspected cancer victims through a torturous stress test that would kill a healthy person. The blood tests alone, had they been healthy blood, would have stocked a good-sized hospital.
Shock five, when you go on the organ-donor wait list, there are actually two lists called ‘really picky’ and ‘not so picky’. I picked ‘not so picky’ and got a liver more quickly.The biggest shock, after months of waiting and hoping to get a new liver, was the cold sliver of fear that went down my back when the doctor phoned to summon me for the operation. No advance warning, just someone, somewhere dies and you’re up. Ten PM Saturday night, you’re about to turn off the TV and sleep; the phone rings and you have an hour to get to the Med Center for the most massively intrusive operation ever devised.
I was also shocked to learn that the gall bladder is a little thing all wrapped up practically inside the liver so, at least in my case, they left it out. This is not conducive to regularity and a large part of my post-op life has been spent in the bathroom.
Don’t get me wrong. The cancer is gone. My brain works again. My muscles support me again. My new liver has gone back to filtering toxins out of my blood, just like healthy folks. But I will never be what I was. Never as smart or strong or quick. My new goal in life is to get off of disability, i.e. to be able to do a day’s work, or at least attend school. College isn’t easy for fifty-year-olds, but I would love to get strong enough to try it.
After the transplant, I had a huge three-way incision in my abdomen held together by about two score of staples. It takes months for the healing to advance to the point of removing the staples and about a year for overall recuperation. I’ve been about a year and change now and the thing that scares me the most is the idea of something going wrong, putting me back on the list. The first time, I was afraid I wouldn’t get a new organ. For the rest of my life, I’ll be afraid that I would.
That’s the final shock: if your doctors are rigorous enough, you will learn to fear them more than dying.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Song
From the billions and billions of stars
In the wide, wide sky
To the unimaginably infinitesimal dance
Of sub-atomic particles,
From the magic and the myths
And the gods and devils
To the time-traveling, fortune-telling
Ghosts of the world supernatural,
The world is full of wonder.
(Rainbow skies that we live under)
The world is full of wonder.
April buds and winter thunder.
In the wide, wide sky
To the unimaginably infinitesimal dance
Of sub-atomic particles,
From the magic and the myths
And the gods and devils
To the time-traveling, fortune-telling
Ghosts of the world supernatural,
The world is full of wonder.
(Rainbow skies that we live under)
The world is full of wonder.
April buds and winter thunder.
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