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I'm told it's attributed to William Shakespeare and his play KING HENRY V, although I can't seem to find any such reference; which, in of itself, is not so surprising as I'm certain there are many of you here who have in all likelihood forgotten more Shakespeare than I ever probably knew.
Alas, that is not what this is all about; or rather this is:
I must apologize.
To everyone here.
The exigencies of time and place; to wit, a shifting paradigm within my home these past few weeks dictated that I have had neither the time, nor the energy, nor the focus, to fulfill upon promises made here in another thread, this notwithstanding my undertaking to do so.
Recent days have seen my having to make application for relief of surety on a bond taken on behalf of my ward, Ryan, a troubled 18-year old youth brought into my home some months ago, who now, however ill-advisedly, is on the run, with a warrant taken for his arrest.
These circumstances led to a collapse of new, and suitable, housing for a close friend and associate, Philip, who has been residing in my home for the past number of years, himself recovering from his own personal disaster and ill-health, and whom had intended the move for a two-fold purpose, namely his own independence and additionally, to make room for the return home of my eldest son, Alan.
This coupled, the last 10 days or so, with a renewed round of visits with sundry specialist doctors of mine, and their attendant EEGs, MRIs, Ultra Sounds, Stress and Lab tests, and their distressing news that all is not well in the land of "Warren"; I, therefore have not really been up to snuff lately.
That is not to say all is doom and gloom either. The problem with Ryan will eventually resolve itself. Philip will continue to reside in my home. A programme of moderate exercise (something I should have been doing all along, but never seemed to have time for), should (hopefully) take care of the need for further surgery to treat a failed dual herniae operation last spring (and should have been done some 40-years or more ago); and dietary changes quite possibly relieving concerns the "quacks" apparently have with regard to my potentially sustaining a second, and likely this time, fatal, myocardial infarction.
The second of the medical issues is not what troubles me as much as the first. I have no desire to go under the knife again. Or ever, for you see, I'm allergic to just about every known anaesthesia, which requires that I must undertake all but the most life threatening of surgeries, without the numbing benefits of an anaesthetic. This in of itself should not be a problem for me, as I have what is deemed to be an inordinately high pain threshold, and accounts for why I probably survived the first myocardial infarction, as I didn't go into shock which is usually what kills you, not the infarc. After the first "cut", I barely knew that they were tinkering around down there; throughout the entire procedure the doctors and I, and other operating room personnel, including a stand-by anaesthesiologist, enjoyed vigorous dialogue and heated debate on a wide variety of topics. It's just that, while the doctors tell me the repairs undertaken the first time to correct the herniae were in fact quite successful, with both unclosed channels through the abdominal wall into my scrotum sealed, and sundry other "fixes" undertaken, it would appear that my peritoneal lining, through which they made two incisions to effect the repairs, is very weak, with one of these incisions now having "stretched" giving rise to my current problems with the operation. The "fix" for this would be another operation, and the use of a "mesh" to re-enforce the peritoneum. It's not the operation I'm concerned with; but, rather the inevitable "curly-toes" moments that occur in it's aftermath, and during the period of recovery in the days following, each and every time I should have to cough. Alan, who saw me through the first operation a year ago April, tells me I looked as though I had just seen a ghost the first few times I coughed. He doesn't know the half of it. Trust me folks when I tell you, a myocardial infarction is a piece of cake in comparison.
I will persevere. I will get better, and so will my home environment, and with stability, my energy and my drive will again awaken.
Warren C. E. Austin
Toronto, Canada
[Updated on: Fri, 08 May 2009 01:25]
"... comme recherché qu'un délice callipygian"
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