Lewis's Finger

About two months after his near-fatal heart surgery, Lewis Grizzard was busy banging out a book on his ancient manual typewriter. He was on a mission to complete his book about his heart surgery as quickly as possible, hopefully before his finger fell off. You see, while Lewis was out of it, a small blood clot broke lose and lodged in his right index finger, actually his favorite finger. This finger was completely black and doctors told Lewis it should be amputated soon. If left alone, Doctors warned, the finger would become very painful, and fall off anyway. Lewis gave the Doctors a response I don't want to print in a family blog.

Knowing that without his favorite finger, completing his book would be nearly impossible, Lewis wrote furiously. In spite of his terrible condition, abandoning the book was not an option since Lewis had already spent his advance check. So he typed furiously and completed the book before losing his finger. As we know the finger proved to be a minor consideration since Lewis would be dead in less than a year. Incidentally, that typewriter is now on exhibit at the Lewis Grizzard museum in his hometown of Moreland, Georgia.

I have a sore left pinky for reasons I can't explain, but it looks normal and I'm pretty sure it won't fall off. Thankfully, no clots damaged any of my appendages. But without the deadline of a book to publish or a finger in imminent danger I'm not banging out the words at anywhere near Lewis's pace.

I have kicked the narcotic pain killers. Thank God for those little pills. Surgeons split my chest wide open, fiddled around up to their elbow for seven hours, then two days later slit my chest open again to slip in a device the size of a pocket watch. This left me sore as hell. I bet even John Wayne would have been ornery. Being hit by a train may have been less painful. But those magic little pills kept the pain at bay. They also called my name from the other room. I could hear the bottle saying “Ken – time for another dose.” My little pills kept me sleeping without too much discomfort, but my brain function was bordering on stupid. I can see how people get addicted to these things – not to mention any names, but a prominent radio talk show host comes to mind.

Lewis was proud of his crossword puzzle skills. His surgery disaster deprived his brain of oxygenated blood for an extended time. He emerged with his writing ability in tact, but he could no longer solve a crossword puzzle. I was never very good at crossword puzzles, but I can do a Sudoku pretty fast. To test my intellectual skills I've done several and I'm glad to report that at least that part of my intellectual ability still works. I also spent a few minutes on my 2008 tax return today – only to find out I am way too stupid to understand our tax forms. But I'm pretty sure that was the case before the surgery. You would think they would throw in an accountant to do your taxes for you when you have open-heart surgery. That should be part of the deal.

The incision on my chest no longer aches, but is sensitive as hell to touch. I'm able to walk and ride the stationary bike at a slow pace. The idea or running is still off in the future. While on my walks around the block I hope no one needs to be rescued from a burning house since I'm not physically up to it. I was physically up to a trip to Olive Garden today where I gorged on pasta, alas I didn't help me gain any weight. More on that later.