Lucky 13

I can confidently say we know a little about operating rooms. After all, the Newmaforma has a combined total of 13 trips under the knife in 6 years. Lucky for me, I'm number 13. 'Cuz with A; these things go sideways.

In short, the screws were supposed to become a part of me. I didn't like one of them so I jammed it through the bone, into the joint and tore up some cartilage for a few weeks. The good doctor said we may want to reconsider the added bling as excess. Yesterday he took them out.

A friend asked, How many did they take out? b/c I won't concede that you no longer have any loose screws, just LESS than before!

Here's the thing, yeah the incision hurts and there is localized swelling, the anesthesia and initial pain meds kept me dozing most all day so I didn't go to bed till 5 a.m. this morning, but what I'll describe as tension in the joint is already gone. I wish it wasn't such a chore and so risky to pull the junkyard of hardware out of my hip. If all of that metal could come out I imagine I might feel good again.

Post-op sleep while healing has been a subject of discussion and I agree there is something to it. I haven't slept for more than 3 hours straight except maybe 1 night a week when I get 5 hours in, since before the Cadillac Attack 6 years ago. I've tried to justify other stresses as being contributing factors, but between the rehab improvements in the last year with the hip and the contrast of the newly broken elbow this year, I've decided its the injuries not the outside stresses causing the lack of sleep. In turn that's no help with the attempts at rehabilitation. I am curious to hear more from people with similar experiences and sleep issues.

G took his favorite Transformer to school earlier this week for Show And Tell. When I came home with the bag of screws that came out from inside me, he was pretty stoked. Next week he plans to take the screws for Show And Tell. Should make for an awkward segue for his teacher to transition to the next kid.

Wabbit or Coyote?

photo courtesy of teamJVA.com

I've heard numerous references to this article recently. The point taken is that we all rise a little with some healthy competition. Setting the bar too high can break one's spirit or even worse harm one's physical health. But reaching 2% seems to be the magic threshold. 3% I guess turns the Rabbit into a Road Runner and nobody wants to be Wile E Coyote.

In the movie, For Love Of The Game, Kevin Costner shuts out distractions by reminding himself to "Clear the mechanism". He then is able to focus solely on the task at hand as a (fictional) MLB starting pitcher.

The last 6-months I've worked through more PT with the hip to allow myself to get back on the bike for more than just easy pleasure rides. However, the motivation comes in irregular flurries.

Putting myself out there to "race" is humbling as I know what I need to do to compete and I also know what I am doing. The two are not intersecting.

A month ago the Newmaforma packed up and went to the first cyclocross race of the season. I rode around a tree with G instead of properly warming up. I had a mechanical and only rode 10-minutes of the 45-minute race due to previously working on my bike while playing with G in the garage and not focusing on tightening the parts correctly. The thing is, he didn't care. He got to ride the kiddie race, ride around a tree for an hour and eat a Nutella waffle.

The next chance to race rolls around and I'm off to it alone. All I need to do is finish to better my record of anonymity. I try to "clear the mechanism" and just ride the course consistently each lap. I want to improve on the technical hiccups and be smooth through the parts I am competent at. I'm alone off the back of the group quickly so focusing on the mechanics is really the only thing I can do. What I can't do is let my mind wander. If I do that I'll end up in the parking lot, quitting.

But competitive people like to have a gauge. Some want to compare themselves to others or to what could have been if this day was 5 years ago, 10 years ago or more. So by averaging my lap splits and that of other categories and being the math genius I am, I figure I would have finished:

@5th in the beginner mens race
@Last, 5-minutes behind the actual last placed rider in the Master A group
@72nd, but not last, in the Master B's
@35th in the Master C's.

What is more scary is that while I would have completely dominated the Junior Girls race, I would have been a mere 5th against the Junior boys.

Ten of the age 35+ women would have beat me. And even though I don't weigh 200 lbs but am still 25 lbs heavy, I would have managed 12th in the Clydesdale stampede. But worst of all, I would have been smoked by two old men in the 60+ race.

So all that just confirms to me that a 2% improvement is far less important than the half of the battle of simply showing up. Chasing anything at this point will only get me to ride myself off a cliff like Wile E. Coyote or as frustrated and empty handed as Elmer Fudd chasing Bugs Bunny.

Cyclocross

Cyclocross season is in full swing. For background, Cyclocross in Portland is more popular than any other type of bike racing. I've done a cross race here and there over the last 20-years, but not until I was rehabbing from the Cadillac Jack Attack did I commit to a full autumn of cyclocross. I find myself on the band-wagon like so many others for the fun factor as well as the ability to fit in training much easier with a family and work than say road or stage racing.

Earlier this fall Gavin and I made some trips to watch a couple of races. He really enjoys cheering on friends and of course the waffles. He can smell them from across the venue as soon as we park the car. His favorite points of interest are the food vendors, play structures and barriers in that order. If he could sit in a swing, or on the top of a slide, eating a waffle and watch racers go over barriers, he'd be fully satisfied.

During the latter part of the summer and through this fall, I have been checking and testing what my hip and arm can handle in terms of stresses that are included in Cyclocross racing. It's been touch and go and has included loads more recovery time than simply being out of shape.

So as October approached, I swayed back and forth on whether I should try a cross race or simply do some rides in Forest Park. Adrienne confronted me, asking what my plan was. I told her I might try a race and see how it goes. Then the day of the first Cross Crusade race at Alpenrose, 2 hours before the start, she persuaded me to give it a shot.

Navigating through huge season opener crowds at Alpenrose to buy a license and register to race, friends I saw all asked where G was. Between registration, peaking at the course, changing and warming up I found myself repeatedly explaining, "he's taking a nap, I'm here solo. Yes, this is my first time to try this since getting messed up."


Last week I felt recovered enough to give it another go for the 4th race of the series. A friend who hasn't raced much at all this year due to work, etc. wanted to give it a try as morale support. Saturday afternoon he dusted off his bike after about of year of neglect and brought it over to borrow and install some needed parts. He had last set it up as a fixed gear and it took us a half hour and a chain link fence post as a lever to get the cog off.


With my good for muddy conditions clincher tires on his bike, I was forced to ride my better for muddy conditions, only used once, tubulars that were last glued in 2007 and have since hung from the basement ceiling. I've never used tape adhesive on tubulars, and after inspecting them, the traditional glue job I did in '07 was still holding the tires just fine.

Ironically, since I've chosen to race the Single Speed division, Gavin misses watching me due to his nap schedule. Sunday also happened to see the first real storm of the season, leaving the course at PIR with an amazing batter of mud to navigate through.


Had he skipped his nap to play in the soup at PIR I don't think he would have cared what Dad was up to. He may have even foregone the waffles for a mud-pie.

On Track

I've been anxious to get this year over with. So anxious I'm writing about it a day-and-a-half early. This has been a good year, don't get me wrong. I've just wanted to get one positive year between myself and the year before.

Throughout this year we've had fewer MD visits, spanning further apart. Monthly check ups became quarterly, 3-month check ups became annual. Both A and I are healing. Life has slowly gotten back on track. Gavin's check-ups are a game of "how off the charts is he?" for weight/height.

Rehab exercises are more for recovery than harder than any lactate tolerance or VO2max test I've ever done. The other night I was flipping channels and caught a re-run that flashed me back to when I first saw the episode. It was after 2 a.m. the hospital bed was in the living room. Good and numb on vicodin, I pinned my arm in the frame of the bed-rails and lowered the bed flat to force my arm as straight as I could tolerate. Being the middle of the night, I muffled my screaming by biting the blankets under the glow of the TV light. I did that night after night as Dave-the-PT said I had to push through to get range of motion back if I ever wanted to throw a ball with my kid. He knew how to motivate me. That, I can now say, was more than a year ago.

We have summer of 2009, riding along the Spring Water with G asleep in the boat-bike to think back on, not counting Gavin's age by the same number of weeks his mom was still in the hospital. Tonight I was looking at pictures of G from last Christmas. How little he was, how much he's grown. How he still uses the same expressions, but now has a reason or an agenda with them. I can't believe he's a little dude now, not just a bottle sucking-pooping machine. He's a full head of steam going every which way. It's a job in and of itself just keeping him on the rails. We're gaining momentum and slowly turning a chug...chug...chug into a sustainable pace. Next stop...potty training town!

Thanksgiving

In the morning, one couldn’t decipher where the low clouds ended, the rain began or the difference from rain coming down and road spray shooting up. Water gathered through my wool hat to form a single drip from the center of the bill, falling onto the frozen tip of my nose then repeating with another drip onto the same spot for the length of the ride. 2 hours with some hills, some flats, some jokes and some retrospection. Just TK and I as others were out of town, watching kids or recently moved away. The weather stayed dark and wet all day.

My last Thanksgiving Day ride was 3-years ago sitting gingerly with a still healing pelvis. That day Markie stopped us where Cadillac Jack took me out. He burned some incense, said a prayer and danced in a circle in the middle of the street to expel the bad ju-ju. It was pouring rain that day too.

When I got home, Gavin and A were in the basement. I peeled the wet clothes off and put my shoes on top of the heater. G was pining for help from atop his slide. He’s mastered climbing up the steps but still is nervous about committing to going down the other side. Once he holds my hands he lunges fearlessly down laughing all the way. But never lets loose of his grip.

My mom called to tell me of my uncles passing. It was relatively quick and he was lucid near the end (able to be with his brother and sister, my dad and aunt). I never knew him well, but always felt a connection. He was simple and sincere. The last time I saw him he held Trike which was no easy feat, and Trike snuggled in under his chin as he did to no one other than A and I.

Two weeks ago a neighbor died from a blood clot while recovering from a previous stroke. This morning Adrienne had her Coumadin level checked, as she always will. It is a gift that despite the sheer number of clots that she had, we still have her.

The sun is shining today. Gavin just woke from his nap and we are off to hike up and down Mt. Tabor. My hip isn’t aching after yesterdays ride. This is a recent, new trend of progression. A is off to a traditional outing with her gal-pals tonight. G and I will practice going down his slide and throwing toys down the basement stairs. Giggling the whole time.

State of the Newman

Okay, so it's election night not the State of the Union night. Regardless, I figure you dear reader are due an update with more content than drivel such as, "I -heart- bike paths" or similar crapola.

 Friday I get a call from A that Gav had grown out of his recent constipation by taking a crap as big as one of his arms. The punchline? There was some blood involved so she called the MD who wanted to see our boys' butt hole asap. Turns out he just powered through and tore himself a new one. I'm kinda proud of him for that given my previous experience, but after what I saw on Thursday I moved on quickly without much fanfare. Besides, we had Halloween plans that night. Suffice it to say, Gavin is a true soldier of pain. A good skill to have in this house.

Tim has pics of G here. Friday he started out in his cowboy outfit -of which we purchased before he was born and he grew out of soon after he was born. He looked like a monkey in a too-small set of chaps and a mini Stetson. No pictures were taken as it was an embarrassment.

His second costume was the Bad to the Bone kit. This really fits into the Newmaform model as it will make for a good insulation layer come winter. The suit is fleece and the hat kinda makes him look like a Longshoreman.

A is healing. Chest X-rays show diminishing lung butter. The blood thinners are starting to settle down and give consistent blood level readings. Her usualness has returned (see my last post!)and in my opinion each day is better than the day before.

I had been feeling pretty confident with my hip and arm improvement until autumn really hit last week with chilly temps and rain. I think the first day of rain aged me about 40-years.

G, Trike and I went to the cyclocross race last Sunday for man-time. Trike hates crowds, prefers grass to walk on vs. gravel and detests being wet unless swimming in a lake in summer. The race had its usual crowd, was in a gravel pit with many mud puddles and we looked on under thunderous skies. He was not a happy dog.

On the other hand, it was good to talk folks and be reminded of everyones' concern for A and my recoveries, but mostly her. Some aspects of the local bike racing community I miss.

For the most part we hung around the waffle tent where Trike and I shared peanut butter waffles and talked about kids with Josh. For some reason I kept forgetting my umbrella there when we'd walk away. Every time we returned I figured I may as well get another waffle.

Lastly, I have beer in the garage fridge that supposedly will expire on Saturday. The goal is to rally all week...

Upping the Anti for the Reconstruction

Forest Park here in P-Town has a 30-mile-or-so long trail from the Zoo north to Germantown Rd as well as numerous other routes along the way. A and I strolled a section casually during our first date. Stu and I miss-calculated the distance from G-town Rd to the swank NW 23rd and achieved an epic day on many of the trails. N'bor Dave and I found a lost dog and got a case of beer as reward for re-uniting dog and owner on the Leaf Erikson. In the past, when I have had time enough to hike or trail run beyond a quick trip to Mt. Tabor; I've gone to Forest Park.

Today, E, Gav and I made a short trip of it on the Wildwood from the Zoo to Pittock Mansion and back. This was my first outing beyond the pavement of our neighborhood for rehab. E barely broke a sweat, I about bonked from my gimp condition and Gav sucked down a bottle of formula, took a crap and a nap before getting tired of smelling my stink.

Hiking with baby lesson #1 is to never pack the butt-wipes with the ice pack that keeps the bottle of formula cold. Clearing crap from around his junk with a frozen block of wipes is totally ineffective.

A Totally Different Year

This time last year I was getting amped up to race cyclocross in an effort to gain some fitness for one last season of racing on the road and track prior to Gavin being born and an indefinate bike racing/coaching hiatus. For my swan song I even got a bunch of 40+ men to don spandex zebra suits under the guise that they looked cool! They thought they did...but they didn't.

Clearly my plan was derailed. The irony is that even the day before the hip was broken I struggled to motivate myself to go for a ride. Instead I built a workbench. I was gaining weight; not losing it, and certainly not putting in the necessary base miles for my expectations. The broken bones and rehab zeroed out my odometer of perspective. All of it was merely build up to handle the Hell month that followed Gavin's delivery.

But Hell month is over and we are all home. Cyclocross season is just about to start and it is safe to say there will be no old men in Zebra print this fall. Even the young one is excited about that.

I -heart- PDX bike paths

Home... Again

A is home again from the hospital. Unlike a kid hopping off a rollercoaster and running back through the turnstyle for a repeat lap, we nearly hurl at the thought of continuing this ride. There will be more monitoring, office visits and blood tests in the coming days and weeks to ward off the patented Newmaforma trip to the ER followed by being admitted 9 hours later. Maybe this time next month we'll have wrapped up the 16th Fall Beach Classic with Officer B Conti.

One Month

G is a month old today. A should be out of the big house in a few more days. Speaking of House, DL says her case should be story line for the show. One of her MD's looks sort of like the fictional Dr. House but is not a tool.

G, Trike and I have been walking. The neighbors all think it's cute that a dude walks a dog and a kid. I don't get it. Trike thinks it's akin to being security detail for a candidate, G just sleeps, and I am sly enough to know that the stroller is really a camouflaged walker. It's still all about the rehab.

Now I am getting suspicious

For all the poking, prodding, testing, admitting nurses asking me point blank what her birthday is, CT scans, organ removal, blood thinning, 18/28 days away from home and her new son, etc, etc, etc, I am beginning to wonder if in-fact this is all just a rouse to rondevue with a hot MD? I swear...I wrote one story about a hot nurse...

Man Time

Saturday night we got a little more help from some friends. All the crazy-ness settled down just long enough for the boys to get some Olympic man-time. I dozed after Phelps showed yet again that he can swim the 100m faster than I can check the knot on my locker key at the waist of my swim trunks.

Not Funny Anymore

The question was asked of me yesterday, "What are the odds of A being back in the hospital?"

I posed the more relevant question, "What are the odds we get our own frigging parking place at the hospital?"

It's definately gotten old.

Finally out of the hospital Friday

Today, exactly two weeks after going in, A is home from the hospital. Not a shabby photo for a phone either.

How Polar Fleece Changed My Life

Neighbor Dave passed the fleece on to me with the experienced advice that it was the greatest thing ever.

I agree. The fleece wrap or sash or boy-bag or whatever it is; is Awesome. Now I can make coffee, brush my teeth, do some work...

What isn't awesome is G waking up for a 4 a.m. feeding then not wanting to sleep till 6. The same time I need to get out of bed and try to get something accomplished for the day. That last 90-120 minutes are the nectar of quality sleep that I am robbed of.

I hope Karl is reading this. His time is about up. I've changed more dirty diapers in the last few days that haven't even been on Gav long enough to stick the tabs together than ones that have been on him for more than 30-seconds. It's like putting white bar tape on with greasy hands then being upset that it's smudged when the job is done.

The good news is that Gavin has pissed in his own face more than mine. Justice is sweet revenge.

slumber party

Thursday Gavin and I went home. It was a rough night so friends have been staying over each night. Nancy and Jessica got Gavins room and gear all organized, cleaned and inventoried so I know what I have, need and what stuff is for. Saturday was pretty well documented. Gavin and Hadley waited for their dads to pass out, then hooked up.

Counting the Days

I'm back to work two weeks now. I have a handicapped parking pass which helps, but mostly I try to find the route of least resistance through facilities to where I need to be.

The cane has been getting less and less use. First around the house, then leaving it at home when walking the dog, limping around the neighborhood. Finally, leaving it in the car when going to the grocery store or where ever. I think in another week I'll be fully free of elderly devices. In the garage I have a shower bench, a walker, a portable toilet, a four-footed cane, a pair of crutches already.

Going back to work has made the days pass much more quickly. Of course when I get home I barely stay awake through the Tour De France coverage. Having the Tour to watch is a God-send too as it keeps my mind elsewhere while A and I wait for the kid to get a burr up his butt and come out to join us. Any day now.

The little man has been estimated to already weigh 9 lbs. One has to turn the page back in both our genealogies to find that kind of bulk. A has uncles, cousins and a grandfather who'd make better kilo riders than climbers. I know my cousin Kevin was a chubby kid. When we were 19 or 20 he wasn't too much taller than me and much leaner than when we were 10, but as kids he could sit on me and it meant game over for me in whatever disagreement we had.

At any rate, I have work and Le Tour to fill my nervous energy while we wait. It would sure be nice to go for a bike ride though. Even just along the Spring water, either to the end of town or to the waterfront. Just to turn the legs. To feel the wind and hear it pass while the chain makes it's subtle rhythm. I'll Probably not experience that until next spring with the kid in the Dutch cargo bike I'll have by then. But first I need to stop walking like a pirate.

A Week

It's been a big week. Last Saturday, Markie took me to a crit in No-Po. Tuesday, Kent and I went and saw the new Indiana Jones movie. Save your money. Better was getting to see some Architecture projects he's eye-ball deep into while sipping a tall boy of the champagne of beers. A and I completed our birthing class on Wednesday. Saturday was another class called "Newborn care." We (mostly A) got the nod to have a baby.

Sunday A had a baby shower and John, Eli and I hung out. Eli showed me his mad 1 year old skills.





21 months ago, when Cadillac Jack broke my pelvis I was gifted the complete Chuck Norris movie catalog. When A had her surgery last summer, she was gifted the first season of Walker Texas Ranger. Dave the P/T has me working out on a Total Gym as well. Yesterday, the Newmanugget was given this t-shirt. The thing is, we really aren't that big of Chuck Norris fans. But the T is awesome all the same.



Okay, I may have, in the past, submitted my very own haiku to www.chucknorrisfacts.com but really, I'm not that into him.

How much does thou suck? Let me count the waves!

Last month the MD got on my case about needing to really move the arm all the time because range of motion won’t come back on its own. I took this as an insult as I have been extending the elbow every day and even in the middle of the night while wide awake. Dave the P/T reefs on it 2x a week, taking me to the edge of puking as I lay on the table, arching my back and gritting teeth while he straightens the arm as far as it can go. We do this routine for about an hour after some pool work. Jim or Peggy who each take turns driving me to therapy are at the same time napping in the lobby.

So last week I went back to the MD, got fresh x-rays and had some face time. He was impressed with the extension to 10-degrees and said, “I didn’t think it would ever get that good. You might get close to 100% out of it.”

My range of motion answered his next question as to why I go through the Vicodin like Pez. That being said, I’ve started to cut back on the pain pills. I hurt more but also am more mobile and need the reminder of when to say when.

The good news continued on with the hip improving as well. The MD let me out of the wheelchair and onto crutches. This means I can get down to the basement and kill some of the day by doing laundry. I’m that bored. My first day on the crutches was the day A and I go to birthing class. The class is in the basement of the hospital and of course, as the session wraps up the fire alarm goes off and I have to crutch-it up two floors of stairs to get to the parking garage.

No wheelchair means a step up in rehab. Dave the P/T gave me enough work to do on my own to give some structure to my days beyond watching re-runs of Living Lohan. At the moment I do leg extensions and curls for the quad and hamstring at a whopping 7 lbs. I do arm curls and extensions with a 3 lb dumbbell that looks like a paper weight. And it hurts. My guns look like water pistols.

Today I started swimming laps at the community center pool. I did ¼ mile, 18 lengths, in 25 minutes. No lie. I think a dead body can float in the current faster than that. I am to swimming what tube socks, cut off jeans and a Schwinn Varsity are to cycling. If there was a 7-Eleven at either end of the pool I would have gotten out and bought some Little Debbie snacks or Fig Neutons to fight the bonk and get me back to the other end of the pool. Instead I soldiered on, doing my own free-style stroke which looked remarkably similar to a hurricane.

The real swimmers may have wondered if I was having a seizure. When I got out of the pool I cleared things up with my man-boobs and pasty belly hanging over the locker key tied to the waist of my swim trunks. In my mind, getting out of the pool and reaching for my 4-footed cane was a man-candy version of Phoebe Cates in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Fortunately there are enough mirrors in the locker room to keep me grounded in reality.