I’ve read some personal experience stories by people who have similar back conditions, some of whom believe having surgery was the worst decision they ever made, and others calling surgery a life-saver. It comes down to individual differences, sometimes the abilities of the surgeon, too, but, from what I read, you kind of get out of it what you put into it. If you do the work prescribed by the surgeon and the physical therapists, and give the process enough time, you’ll have a better outcome than if you sit around in shock because all your pain didn’t miraculously vanish the moment you came out from anesthesia.

All business about surgery aside, living with a painful, but “invisible” condition is a drag. There’s no percentage in trying to put on a good show or keep up with the activity levels of everyone around you. You end up three times as exhausted as a normal person doing the same thing. And everyone expects you to maintain the pace indefinitely. Or they get annoyed that you’re dropping your end of the load, without realizing or caring just how long ago you may have needed to put that load down for good. I’ve concluded that it’s just better to let everyone down right from the start and grow a thick enough skin (or shell) to deal with the invective about not pulling your weight.

So much for not indulging in a whine festival.

Pain management becomes your most important daily activity or you just get overwhelmed. I walk. I had been doing some exercises to strengthen my leg and core muscles, and for a while, those helped. But I’d still get stiff after only short periods of sitting or standing. I started taking the Puppy to a local park with a one mile walking path so I could know for sure that I was walking at least that one mile. After a few trips, we’d walk almost all the way around, then turn around and go back, to make it nearly two miles. I did it that way to avoid walking past the car. I knew Ramses would want to get in the car – he wants to get in every car we pass – and that not getting in the car, but walking away from it again when I was getting tired would make me even more tired. So I fooled us both.

But now that it’s started to get warm (read scalding hot) here, and that park doesn’t open until 8:00 a.m., I’ve found another park with a nice walking path and plenty of shade where I can go much earlier in the mornings. I kind of have to guess about distance, but I think I’m still doing close to two miles. And I’ve started going every morning. I’ve had to shuffle my schedule a little bit, but have decided that this is a priority. For one thing, the Puppy is somewhat better behaved after he’s had some exercise and fresh air. I say “somewhat” because nothing can change the fact that he’s a Basenji, and consistently well behaved is just not what they do.

The difference in how I feel after I get back from that walk is noticeable. When I get out of the shower I take when I get home, I don’t feel any pain anywhere. I want to jump up and down – which would not be wise, but still. The pain-free window doesn’t last, of course, but I don’t stiffen up as quickly, even if I sit at the computer for a while. Sometimes I keep writing longer than I should, but considering how often I can’t finish a piece because I start feeling so broken that I can’t think of what I’m trying to say, I have to try to find some balance.

I’m not losing sleep, yet, over the outcome of this appointment with the neurosurgeon. I may not wait long to make a decision about whether to have surgery or not, but I do intend to wait until I know the outcome of my VA disability claim before I schedule anything. Once I have that in place, if I have surgery, I’ll have some income to carry me through my recovery if I end up missing several weeks of work. It’s the waiting that’s so annoying. I’ve been waiting since January for this neurosurgeon appointment, and I’ve been waiting since last June for my disability claim to be processed. I’m ready for everything to be resolved, questions answered, and some kind of path forward in front of me.

I’ve been mooning around worrying about my back, and possible surgery, and all things stressful, for the past few months. It was good to be able to just leave it all behind for a day. I didn’t even have to contend with Houston traffic when I got down there. The Livestock Show and Rodeo organizers had set up a number of satellite parking areas with transportation to and from Reliant Center. I didn’t even have to go inside Loop 610.

It was so un-stressful I might have dozed off on the bus on the way back to the parking area had it not been for the bouncy little girl in the seat in front of me. Her grandmother sat with her, and her mother sat next to me, so, of course, she kept jumping up on the seat and turning around, and had to be told to reverse the process multiple times. She would probably be wiped out for the rest of the day once she got home, but at the time, she was still wound up from the day’s excitement.

On the other hand, I was a little worried that I might want to doze off on the drive home. Fortunately, that didn’t happen. I kept myself awake and occupied by re-playing in my mind the events I’d just witnessed.

The second group of classes I watched were the weight-pulling classes. There were four weight classes: light-weight, medium-weight, heavy-weight, and super heavy-weight. The light-weight pullers, as you can imagine, are mighty small mules – or small mighty mules, if you prefer. One team may have even been at or below the 36 inch height cut-off that would classify them as miniatures. Named Jake and John, they were matching dark bays wearing pink halters to match their woman driver’s teeshirt. Absolutely adorable.

Jake and John get set for their first pull.

Just as the jumping mules were awarded points based on how high they jumped compared to their own height, the weight pullers were scored on how much weight they pulled relative to their weight as a team. Jake and John were the smallest/lightest team, and pulled about 170% of their combined weight. Clyde and Sam were the biggest light-weight team, and finished off with a pull of about 190% of their weight.

Jake and John working with gusto!

And don’t you just love the names? Simple, honest names that sort of roll off the tongue in tandem. The team with the most original names were two blond molly (female) mules named Kate and Kate. Or maybe it was Kate and Cayt. Whatever. How simple can you get?

The entire approach to this class was different. Whereas in the jumping classes, especially the miniature donkeys, the handlers were dressed in Western show ring finery. They begged and pleaded their charges to go over the higher barriers. They hauled on lead ropes and showed signs of exasperation. By contrast, drivers and their helpers in the weight-pulling class were all dressed in work clothes. And it took a team of rather massive young men to move even the small teams of mules into position and hitch them to the weight sled. Their job was to keep the eager haulers from taking off in full pull mode before they were set. It was a little comical, but potentially extremely dangerous, especially with the larger teams.

Another light-weight team waits for the "go."

Clyde and Sam show how it's done.

My favorite team of the day (aside from Jake and John) was a super heavy-weight team of matched, dark bay molly mules named Bella and Grace. They were enormous creatures with great, Roman-nosed heads, feathered legs courtesy of their draft horse (probably a Shire or Clydesdale) mother, and the dainty – relatively speaking – feet of a donkey. During the warm up period, they gave their driver a ride around the ring. He stepped onto the “tree” that was used to hitch their harnesses to the sled, and off they went.

Bella and Grace give their driver a free ride.

I didn’t wait around to find out who the definitive winners were. There was math involved, and I had left my calculator at home. Who won wasn’t important to me that day. I just wanted to see mules, and take a few pictures, and come home with a few stories to tell. Mission accomplished.

Bella and Grace wait politely to start...sort of.

Bella and Grace make it look easy.

The Power of the Dog
by Rudyard Kipling

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie–
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find–it’s your own affair–
But…you’ve given your heart for a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!);
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone–wherever it goes–for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart for the dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ‘em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long–
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

This is for Ju-Dee and her Phoebe. “The falcon has flown to the sun.”

One mule, named White Lightning, was only 40 inches tall at the whithers (the point on the shoulder where the mane ends). Since he was over 36 inches, he was technically not a miniature mule, so he was competing against much taller individuals. And he was still in the running for first place. Four or five mules had already been eliminated and were standing around watching the battle/struggle/jump-off. I was glad I had arrived in time to see some of the action.

White Lightning sizing up his next jump

...and he makes it with room to spare.

Coon Jumping is one of those activities mules and donkeys, but not so much horses, are uniquely qualified to perform. A little like fox-hunting, raccoon hunting in some areas is a mounted sport. Hunters ride mules, and when they come to a fence, they dismount, climb the fence, and then the mule follows them over. Mules can jump from a flat-footed standstill, and are able to clear impressive heights – when they feel like it. The world record jump (by an equine)of over eight feet was set by a US Army mule. But a mule won’t jump a fence it feels is too high. Its sense of self-preservation will root it to the spot.

As is natural with any sport, a spin-off sport was soon born. Contests to see whose mule could clear the tallest fence rose from the bragging sessions following the coon hunts. Then somebody had to make up some rules. And formal events like the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo began to include Coon Jumping classes in their Mule and Donkey Show every year.

The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo is kind of a big deal in this part of Texas – and maybe all of Texas. It’s been a fixture as a late-winter event in Houston for the past eighty years. The only year it wasn’t held was 1937, after the facility it had been using was torn down and the new Sam Houston Coliseum was being built. Since 1966, the event has been held at its present location, first in the Astrodome, and later in a series of buildings funded by proceeds from ticket sales – the Astrohall, Astroarena, etc. Now the whole area is “Reliant Park.” Astrohall has been replaced by Reliant Center, and the Astroarena was re-named Reliant Arena. Whatever the name of the place, the livestock show/rodeo built the places to have enough room for their ever-expanding programs, and they’ve done a great job.

I was only there for part of the afternoon to see some of the mule and donkey classes – I didn’t go over to Reliant Center to see how much bigger and better it was from the old Astrohall I remember from ages ago – but I’m sure there will be other chances to go see events there.

To get back to the jumping class, I’ll just point out a few things in some of the photos I took. The boxed area behind the jump is all the room the mule is allowed to use to approach the barrier. Obviously, it’s not enough room to get a good running start. Most of the mules would stand with their chests nearly touching the bar before they would rock back onto their hind legs, fold their front legs under, and launch themselves over the fence. The rules say the mule can’t step outside the box, or it’s a “fault,” which, after two, eliminates the mule from the class. After the first fault, the mule gets a second try immediately. They also have a time limit. Over 90 seconds is a fault.

Those mules knew just exactly how long 90 seconds is, and some of them would draw out the drama and suspense by refusing to budge toward the jump until the last split second, and then would go over just as tidy as you could want. Drama queens. I kid you not. There was as much laughter, if not more, as applause and cheering from the audience. The mules were obviously playing to the crowd.

The miniature donkeys also had a coon jumping contest, which was equally hilarious.

Bob the mini donkey clears the jump for his mini handler

Obviously, mules get their jumping technique from the donkey parent. Horses run and jump and keep running, while donkeys and mules can approach the barrier at a more leisurely pace. Why is that, do you wonder? I’m glad you asked. One of my Facebook friends related something one of her professors told the class about equine evolution, and I found the same explanation in a book titled The Natural Superiority of Mules, by John Hauer.

Horses evolved on the North American continent, and eventually migrated across the Bering land bridge into Asia, and later Europe and North Africa, before becoming extinct in their home ranges. The equine family tree was a bushy one for a long time, before being pruned down to the modern horse and its evolutionary offspring — the zebra clan and the asses. Ah, ha! So, donkeys and asses are actually younger than the horse, more evolutionarily advanced in some ways. In other ways, they have been shaped by the environments they occupied.

Horses evolved on the plains and grasslands with a variety of predators. They evolved to run away. Where they developed, running was always the best option. Think about it. Horses don’t have built in weapons, like bison, cattle, antelope, and all those other critters with horns and antlers. They just have escape velocity. Knowing when to run doesn’t take a lot of intellectual prowess – or a whole lot of sense. See a lion. Run. Hear a lion. Run. See a paper bag blow across the road. Ohmygod! Run and run and run! You get the idea.

Asses, on the other hand, evolved in more rugged terrain. A wild ass has to assess a threatening situation and decide whether to run or stand its ground, based on which is the safer choice. They had to learn to think, and think quickly. And they pass this ability to their hybrid offspring, the mule. When a mule is acting stubborn and hard headed, it’s much more likely that it has decided going through with whatever action its human companion wants it to do would be potentially harmful to itself. Duh.

To quote John Hauer: “People often ask me, ‘Why do you like mules?’ I say to them, ‘If you knew a man who would rarely start a fight, but was always capable of finishing one, who had very good judgment, high intelligence, a tremendous work ethic, but would never allow himself to be taken advantage of or overworked, what would your opinion of that person be?’” According to Hauer, that perfectly describes the character of a mule. Sounds like a good reason to like mules to me.

I, of course, think they are also cool looking, and like most other equines, make great subjects for drawing and painting. There will be mule portraits in the Crazybasenji gallery some day. In the meantime, look for the second part of this post, and a few more blurry photos from the show.

Source: The Natural Superiority of Mules Hauer, John 2005 Lyons Press, Guilford, CT

The Puppy is not pleased. I was actually hoping that over the long dry spell he would lose his terror of wet grass. Ha! His name might as well be Elphaba.

His looks are so eloquent when he sets foot on something wet. “OMG it BURRRNNNS!! Melting, melting, melting! NOOoooooooo!” And he never learns that the faster he takes care of his “business,” the sooner he’ll get to go back indoors. No. He would rather wait until I bow to his wishes and move to the Atacama. I’m sure he would be perfectly happy there, however, I don’t think he can “hold it” quite that long. I’m sorry I ever mentioned the place to him.

Last May (by way of explanation) I learned that I qualified for Veteran’s Administration (VA) health care, since I only have a piddly part time job and no health insurance. I figured it was time to see what shape my back was in – if it had deteriorated any or stayed much the same after the surgery I had 12 years ago to repair a couple of herniated discs and alleviate the pinched nerves that had been making me miserable for the previous four or five years.

First I had to get through the basic physical checks – finding that my cholesterol was over 300 was pretty alarming – and deal with those results. It wasn’t until January that I asked about having my lower back x-rayed. I didn’t get to see the x-rays. I hate that. People who take x-rays (radiology technicians) aren’t the same ones who interpret the results – x-rays often go someplace far away to be “read” by the MD radiologists – so the techs can’t legally look at the films with the patient. That would be “practicing medicine.” That is so dumb. Although I can sympathize with someone not wanting to get slapped with a law suit over it, it still aggravates the crap out of me. Because the radiologists in their splendid isolation will never see the patients at all. How tidy.

But I digress.

My doctor was concerned enough by the results of the x-ray to send me for MRI scans. I, too, had a copy of the radiologist’s report from the x-rays, and I had to look up an unfamiliar term – listhesis. Normally part of a larger term – spondylolisthesis – this jawbreaker describes a condition where a vertebra is out of line with the ones above and/or below it. It may be “level 1,” with an offset of up to ¼ inch, up to “level 5,” which indicates that it has fallen off the edge and is basically no longer part of the parade. The pictures of x-rays of those conditions on the Wikipedia page made me cringe. No wonder my back hurts. No wonder I can feel odd slippings and slidings in my low back, and things that go “clunk” when I move certain ways. No wonder it feels like something is protruding slightly when I put my hand on that part of my back. It literally is. And I have only the level 1 condition.

The last time I was in my doctor’s office, she was able to call up the MRI images on her computer, and I was finally able to see for myself. I almost wish I hadn’t looked. Aside from the lower-most vertebra looking like it’s been shoved backwards out of line with the ones above it, the last two inter-vertebral discs seem to have gone missing. I was expecting some deterioration in the past 12 years, but not that much. I have to wonder what it will look like in another 12 years. And what other activities I’ll have to put on the “can’t do anymore” list.

What really depresses me is the fact that all this happened without me having to “do” much of anything over the past 12 years to help it along. It’s true I didn’t always heed my mother’s command to “stand up straight” when I was a teenager. It’s true I had mild scoliosis, along with a slight leg length discrepancy, and didn’t know it until I was 30 years old. It’s also true that I had some highly physical jobs when I was younger. When I was in the Air Force, working on the flight line, I used to push and pull some massive equipment from one spot to another – there just wasn’t always time to wait for the “tug” to come move it for me. And at the Fort Worth Zoo, I was often called on to help collect all the barrels of animal waste from all the other mammal department stations and empty them into the back of a dump truck. If you imagine a 50 gallon trash barrel of rhino crap might be heavy, picture five or six. But that was all years before I needed surgery, although I strongly suspect it all contributed to my present dilemma. Especially all that marching in Basic Training and tech school.

But not everyone who has physical jobs like that ends up like me, do they? I know other women who worked on the flight line when I did who don’t have train wrecks in their lower backs. And I’ve never been in a car accident, aside from a couple of minor fender-benders. I haven’t been jumping off buildings or falling off horses, or riding bulls. I must just have a crappy back to begin with.

That’s the kind of funk I’ve been in for the past couple of months. I’m waiting now for an appointment with a neurosurgeon to find out if I’m going to need another surgery and what kind of outcome I might expect from it.

I’m in kind of a things to see, places to go frame of mind.

From a road trip a very long time ago -- taken from the passenger seat!

While I’d love to go see the pyramids at the Giza plateau, and all the other fabulous wonders of ancient Egypt; and Chartres cathedral and the castles of the Loire valley in France; and the Greek and Roman sites from antiquity, there are still a lot of states I haven’t visited yet, and I’d like to see them first. When I start thinking about the ones I’ve already been to versus the ones I haven’t, the lists seem pretty equal, but let me see.

I’ve been to: Alabama, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Michigan, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, Nebraska, New Mexico, North Carolina, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Virginia, West Virginia, and Wisconsin. That leaves: Alaska, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Idaho, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Montana, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, North Dakota, Oregon, Rhode Island, Utah, Vermont, Washington (the state), Washington (DC), and Wyoming.

Now that I’ve got them all written down where I can count them I see the lists aren’t even after all. I’ve been in thirty of fifty states, and I mean, on the roads, driving. I’ve flown over some of the same ones, but I wouldn’t count that if that was all. To be honest, I’ve only driven through the southern part of New Mexico — several times — when I was in the Air Force and stationed in Arizona; and I only passed through South Carolina once when I was bringing the Old Guy home from North Carolina. For most of the others, I was there for part of a day, or, more often, for a weekend or longer because of a conference I was attending. I’ve spent the most time in Texas — I won’t say how many years — but I still haven’t seen all of it. I’ve been in Abilene, Midland, and points south and west, but not up into the panhandle.

Kentucky was my home for 14 years, and during the last four, when I worked for the state, I saw more of the state than I had during the previous ten. Kentucky has some great state resort parks with big lodges looking out over beautiful lakes. I recommend to anyone travelling to or through Kentucky to forget the hotels — stay at a park if you can, even if it’s a little out of the way.

While I was stationed in Arizona, I made several trips to California — to San Diego to see the zoo and Sea World, to the Los Angeles area (I went to that zoo, too, and Disneyland of course), and to the Central Valley, where I spent one summer leave with one of my AF buddies at her family home in Newman.  (The photo above is from that trip.) We took a day trip up to San Francisco while we were there, courtesy of her parents, and wandered through Fisherman’s Wharf, gazed out at Alcatraz, then crossed the Oakland Bay Bridge to have dinner in a restaurant overlooking the bay.

I love road trips. Even though there’s a destination waiting at the “end,” there are always surprises along the way, especially along roads I haven’t traveled before. It’s been a long time since I took a trip of the sort I used to, and I miss it. Considering the state of my car, not to mention my finances, it may not happen this year, again, or next, etc. But I can wish.

And for the equid enthusiasts out there...

Bet on the Bay

A do-over with different materials

I wasn’t altogether happy with my previous attempt to put this cat on paper, so I started over. So far, I’m liking it. Still a way to go. My source for the original photo, Brian Switek, has moved his primary blog, but the photo is still on the wall at the old place. I hope he likes this version.

I’ll be posting updates as I progress.

Tag

Precious