Six Weeks In: Patience, Pain, and the Promise of Healing

I wasn’t sure when — or if — I’d write another post-op update. But early Sunday morning, with a cup of coffee and my laptop in front of me, I found I had nothing else to write about. So here we are.

It’s hard to believe it’s been a little over six weeks since my back surgery and lumbar fusion. I wasn’t certain I’d share another update, but as this recovery journey continues — slowly but surely — I find myself needing frequent reminders to be patient, stay mindful, and not rush the process. Writing it all down helps reinforce that intention.

The pain that plagued me for over a year is, thankfully, mostly gone. But it’s been traded for new, unfamiliar aches. Some days, the new pain rivals the old; other days, I’m surprisingly (though relatively) pain-free. These ups and downs bring alternating moments of joy and frustration.

At the five-week-and-two-day mark (yes, I’m counting), I saw the surgeon and had x-rays taken. He walked in smiling and said everything looked great and that healing was progressing normally. When I mentioned the new leg and back pains, he explained that it was typical. They had to “manipulate” muscles and nerves to do what needed to be done. That, along with gradually increasing leg activity after months of minimal use, was likely the cause.

He reminded me that it could take at least three months before I notice significant and sustained improvement — and that full recovery could take six months or more. I knew that going in, but now that I’m in it, three months feels like a long time. So yes, patience continues to be the theme of the season.

I got to see the hardware now holding me together—screws, rods, and a spacer between the vertebrae. I was amazed at how deep the screws run into the bone, stopping just short of the other side. Considering the ratio of bone to titanium, it’s surprising the vertebrae don’t split like wood. Thankfully, my bones are healthy — even if they were out of place. Pointing to the x-ray, the surgeon noted signs of “early vertebral disc space fusion healing.” That was reassuring to hear, though I had no idea what I was actually looking at.

It’s frustrating to rely on my wife for so many simple tasks, though I’m immensely grateful she’s both able and willing to help. I never realized how often I drop things—until I couldn’t pick them up. And during the rare moments when pain is minimal, I have to remind myself not to break the rules by bending or lifting. Thankfully, Colleen is very alert and keeps a close eye on me to prevent any careless movements.

Normal, everyday activities like tending to my indoor light garden have become a team effort. Colleen hands me the plants I want to work with, helps with daily watering, and manages the tasks I can’t do myself. I often find myself staring out the living room windows, yearning to get back to yard work and the projects that will likely have to wait until next year.

As the weather warms, our daily walks have become a cornerstone of my recovery—both physically and mentally. Until I’m cleared for physical therapy, walking (including stairs) as much as I can tolerate is the best prescription the surgeon can offer. The distance increases a bit each day, though I remain purposefully cautious not to push too hard.

At this point, the pain is very cyclical — coming and going without a clear pattern. Trying to sleep often brings out the worst of it. That’s frustrating, as I’ve always believed that it’s during sleep that the body heals. Still, even that’s improving; sleep is becoming less sporadic. Some mornings, I even wake up and almost pop out of bed without a second thought—though that’s when I have to be the most careful. Morning stiffness and pain are still present, but the intensity is noticeably decreasing.

Lately, there are times, usually in the afternoon and evening, when I can almost forget the pain. Those relatively pain-free moments still feel surreal, and I relish them.

Being able to drive a little has helped. I can run errands, and we occasionally go out for a meal. Strangely enough, my car’s driver seat might be the most comfortable chair I use. I know I won’t be hitting the range anytime soon, but I’ve been enjoying the occasional cigar and drink — with a bit more moderation than usual, balancing the healing process with the joys of life.

Small things — like a trip to the store with my dear wife to carry the bags, or getting a haircut — add welcome variety to the monotony of healing. I even made a visit to the cigar lounge recently. And to my great joy, I’ve been able to attend Sunday Mass the past few weeks. I’m still limited in my ability to kneel, bow, or genuflect, but even with those restrictions, it’s been a meaningful and welcome return.

My next check-in with the surgeon is in five weeks. I’m looking forward to seeing more bone growth on the x-rays. I also hope to report a decrease in pain and discomfort — and, per the doctor’s orders, a significant increase in my daily walking distance. I’m very much looking forward to being cleared for physical therapy so I can start regaining lost strength.

I take it as a good sign that some of my biggest frustrations lately have been with the weather, not with pain. I am anxious for Spring to arrive, and stay. I'm tired of cold weather! We’re in the middle of having our deck and screen porch renovated, which means the protected porch is unavailable. Cool, rainy days hinder my ability to enjoy a cigar or simply be outside.

Despite the limitations, the aches of healing, and the occasional bout of boredom, I remain very optimistic about the future. Progress is being made. Even with the ups and downs, the overall trajectory is upward. A friend recently told me, “The day will come when you wonder when the pain stopped.” That resonated deeply, and I remind myself of it often.

My back will heal — eventually — and I’ll once again enjoy many of my favorite activities. And we’ll finally be able to get this retirement phase of life into full swing.

Patience.

Cheers!

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Post-Surgery Reflections: Pain, Progress, and Gratitude

It’s now been a week since my back surgery, so I figured it was time for another update — part catharsis, part progress report. The best news of all, by every measure, the surgery was a success. I’m still dealing with plenty of post-surgical pain, and my activities are very limited, but overall, things are heading in the right direction.

The surgeon gave an encouraging report after the extensive procedure. He removed a good amount of arthritic bone, along with disc and ligament material, and also took out a substantial cyst — big enough that he held up the tip of his thumb to show the size. After clearing out all those extras, he placed some hardware and fused the the L4 and L5 vertebrae.

That fusion is why this recovery will be a marathon — the bone graft needs time to fully heal. Fortunately, the surgeon noted that my bone quality is excellent, so he expects the healing process to go smoothly, even if it takes time.

My hospital stay was brief — just one night. Since my vitals were stable and I could (very carefully) move around, they discharged me about 24 hours after surgery. I knew the goal was to get me up and walking quickly, but I didn’t expect my first walk to happen at 1:30 in the morning! Apparently, healing doesn’t follow regular hours.

The most encouraging part of all this? From the moment I woke up, the pain I’d lived with for over a year — in my back, legs, and feet — was completely gone. It’s surreal. The surgical pain is still intense, but that’s a very different kind of pain — and one I can handle, knowing the old pain is finally behind me.

Of course, I’m not getting through this alone. I’m deeply grateful for the support of my friends, the surgical team, and, most importantly, my wife — my primary caregiver in the weeks and months ahead. Her patience, care, and steady presence make this recovery possible. I’m also incredibly thankful for the outpouring of prayers, encouragement, and love from so many people. My faith — and the faith of those walking this road with me — has been a profound source of comfort and strength.

For now, my focus is on slowly regaining strength and expanding my mobility. I’m already drifting into the “bored” phase, which is its own challenge. I’ve got some interesting books lined up, but staying comfortable enough to focus has been tricky. The highlight of each day has been my short walks — and with the weather warming up and the first hints of spring in the air, even a few minutes outside feels like a gift. Those outdoor walks are far more enjoyable (and probably more healing) than endlessly circling the living room.

I can feel progress, and that’s what matters most. There’s a long road ahead, but I’m encouraged by every small step.

Cheers!

The Road to Relief: A Journey Through Pain, Surgery, and Recovery

The past year — more precisely, the last 14 months — has been a relentless rollercoaster of pain and the ongoing search for relief. The chronic pain in my back and lower extremities has been constant, sometimes debilitating. Throughout this ordeal, I have explored numerous treatment options — chiropractic care, acupuncture, various drugs, countless lumbar injections, and physical therapy — all with limited success. Each treatment offered a glimmer of hope, only for its effects to be short-lived.

My spinal issues have been summed up in the doctors's shorthand as: “L4-5 degenerative unstable spondylolisthesis, spinal stenosis, synovial facet cyst with facet effusions.” Sounds painful, and it is. The resulting discomfort and sleeplessness have severely restricted my activity, making my transition to retirement in mid-2024 far less enjoyable than anticipated. One noticeable impact has been my absence from the range — I haven’t been shooting since December 2023. In recent months, the pain has kept me from standing or walking for more than a few minutes at a time. Thankfully, my enjoyment of beer, whiskey, and fine cigars remains intact, as those are best appreciated while seated. As long as I maintain good posture and avoid staying in one position too long, I can enjoy those small pleasures with some level of comfort.

Now, after exhausting all other options, it’s time for the final and most extreme solution: surgery. This coming week, I’ll undergo a procedure to remove the problematic tissue and bone, followed by an L4/L5 spinal fusion. Or, as one nurse put it, “cleaning up the mess and putting in some hardware.”

This won’t be my first time under the knife for my spine — I had surgery in the same area about 40 years ago. My surgeon expects the new incision to be fairly long, which has me wondering if I’ll end up with cool parallel scars.

Of course, there’s some anxiety. Some may recall that just over six years ago, I experienced a cardiac arrest. Naturally, that adds an extra layer of concern about undergoing surgery and general anesthesia. However, I’ve had regular checkups since then, including a full review by my cardiologist before scheduling this procedure. As confident as one can be in these situations, I feel reassured that my heart and general health is up for the challenge.

In fact, as the surgery date approaches, my anxiety is giving way to something unexpected — excitement. I know the road to recovery will be long and that post-op pain is inevitable, but the thought of standing without the searing pain I’ve endured is an encouraging one. Incredibly, they tell me I’ll be up and walking just hours after surgery.

As expected in today’s litigious world, I’ve signed multiple pages of disclaimers outlining possible complications and failures. The risk percentages are low, but they do make for unsettling reading. Fortunately, I’ve had several conversations with others who have undergone similar procedures—interestingly, all of these discussions have taken place in cigar lounges. (Then again, that’s about the only place I’ve been going lately.) These conversations weren’t just about sharing painful stories; they were uplifting and added to my growing optimism.

Beyond knowing that a full return to “normal” could take at least six months, the healing process remains an unknown. I hope my need for post-surgery medications will be short-lived — so bourbon tastings can resume sooner rather than later. I’ll be taking a short break from cigars to aid the healing process, but thankfully, no long-term restrictions have been imposed. I don’t expect to be competing in any IDPA matches anytime soon, but perhaps by spring, I’ll at least make it back to the range for some target practice.

This post isn’t a plea for sympathy. Like most of my Musings, it’s a cathartic exercise. That said, if you’re so inclined, I’d appreciate prayers — for a successful surgery, for my medical team, and, most importantly, for my dear wife, Colleen, who, as always, will be my rock during recovery.

Throughout this journey, I’ve often thought of a quote that appears in the sidebar. It’s from Cigar Lounge Wisdom: Ruminations Inspired in a Cigar Bar by Frank Borelli — a book I coincidentally happened to be reading in the hospital after my heart attack.

“Remember, when you’re having what seems like the worst day of your life, your survival rate for bad days so far is 100%.”

More updates soon…

Cheers!