Same Duck…Different Lyrics

NOTICE: Before this rant begins, a few important disclaimers. First, I am a “sinner”..and know it. Next, I know that I am far from ever being “perfect”.  Also, I know that it is not my place to “judge” others.  Lastly, even so, I know that I am a fallible “human being” and I will continue to make “observations” and “commentary” about people, institutions, etc. who profess a particular motus operandi and then deviate at will.

So, for today’s soapbox issue, I continue to observe a large majority of the Contemporary Christian Music (aka CCM) “business” just as pathetically arrogant (as in maybe a little snobbish), money motivated, and vanity ridden (otherwise tossed in with the boilerplate attitudes and song writing templates) as every other genre of today’s music industry.

Every CCM artist (and video) I watched on “YouTube” this morning was of the “Video-TV Friendly“ variety.  As in, not one Mick Jagger (Rolling Stones), Angus Young (AC/DC), Steve Tyler (Aerosmith), Lemmy (Motörhead), Kurt Cobain (Nirvana…Yeah Grunge), Freddie Mercury (Queen), or any other <span style=”color: #008080;”>“Pre-MTV Era-Styled” musician/artist sans Botox, perfect teeth, hair, jawlines, eyes, you name it…were to be found. One single word sums it up, “LOOKS”! Indeed it would appear, “Video Killed The CCM Radio Star” as he was going about stabbing all the other “Radio-Era” musicians in the back and changing the face (ha!…a pun!) of music forever. I’ll save that topic for a rainy day when I have nothing else to write about…yep.

If you’re still unsure what I’m talking about, before the “MTV, VH1, YouTube, Internet Video-Era” emerged, music sold to a large extent based on…well…the music itself. Many fans hadn’t a clue what the musicians looked like…nor did they care. They wanted “the music”.  And to be blunt, often times the artists behind the music were “NOT” of the “beautiful people” classification. They were, for the most part, common looking Joe’s like the majority of the human population. And of course, the “idiot tube” and “music videos” where quickly followed by an even worse abomination. Recording studios now had the tools, and skills to convert nearly any decent looking, breathing, human body into a “Superstar”. What?  You mean my favorite Top-40 artist is incapable of performing her new hit song “live”? They’re doing what? Lip-syncing? Blaspheme!

Ok Ok…, so as I dig myself out of this giant rabbit hole and get back on topic, I’d like to offer a few lines from a song released when I was about three years old (and yes, I know…out of context):

“Something touched me deep inside,
…the day the music died.”
— Don McLean’s “American Pie” (1971)

Now, over the course of a few of my previous lives, I had the opportunity to meet both secular and Christian production personalities.  These individuals, and I am referring to the Christian variety… pushing out “Music With A Message”oozed a pungent, arrogant demeanor…as if their particular occupation had somehow elevated them to an “elite level” within the Christian faith.  Basically, I am suggesting, because of their particular places of employment and activity in the music world…somehow made them…“Holier Than Thou.”  Of course, we’re all quite familiar with how these situations typically play out.  I can personally voice knowledge of at least one instance…pride did cometh before the fall.  I take no joy in this knowledge whatsoever.  In fact, as contradictory as I somewhat find myself, I prayed for them to find the strength and wisdom needed to piece their lives back together.

During my ownership of the “Red Rose Coffee House”, I made it a point to invite local CCM artists to perform at my establishment.  Yes, some who came to perform (local bands…often members from church praise & worship teams) exuded this same attitude.  I invited them into an established business I had acquired, a business with a reputation for catering to gay & lesbian clientele.  I put myself in the lion’s den, I established a Bible study, I had long conversations with my college-kid crowd(s), I built a stage and installed a PA system (“Hey Obama…guess what…I built that”).  I mention all these off-topic details, not to brag, but to establish my efforts and for a reason I feel people should know.  The pastor at a local Baptist church just over the rail-road tracks on Middle Tennessee Boulevard ordered his congregation to “stay away” from my business.  He had seen the calendar in a local college’s newspaper showing a lesbian sorority meeting up at my business.

So, I’m asking myself, how can someone sing, praise and profess such love of God, Jesus and His Eleventh Commandment…”to love one another”…and then display an attitude of, “I don’t have time to talk to some peon like you.” ? I know it has to be a tiring job touring and such…but that is the mission they chose. As such, shouldn’t they expect to be approached by their audience(s) and fan(s)? Wouldn’t you think these performers would rise to a higher standard if they’re going to preach (sing) to crowds of thousands of souls?

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Music not only touches the soul,
…it is of the soul.” 
— William Turner

And yes, they do indeed preach through their music…and I can imagine people who hear these words and desperately want to discuss the subjects with the artists. When one sings of forgiveness, salvation, and the freedom Jesus Christ offers us to massive crowds…we would all pray that someone’s heart be touched.  We would pray they seek out the musician(s) who just performed and want to know more about Jesus and Salvation?

I will concede, as with every other issue on this planet, my most trivial rant does not cover 100% of the CCM performers, producers, executives, or anything…period.  There are “always” exceptions to every rule.  I should be one to know…I’ve been living life as one of this world’s “exceptions” for quite sometime (and I thank God for making each day I do).  Even so, I must confess, it breaks my heart to see such vanity, greed, and elitism running just as rampantly (…if not more) within the CCM circles as it is with every other division of the music industry.

May God bless those who walk the line of truth…and my he open the eyes and hearts of those who may be walking amongst these disciples yet are deaf to the words they hear.

Psalms 100 (NIV)
1 Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.
2 Worship the Lord with gladness;
    come before him with joyful songs.
3 Know that the Lord is God.
        It is he who made us, and we are his;
                          we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.
4 Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise;
      give thanks to him and praise his name.
5 For the Lord is good and his love endures forever;
his faithfulness continues through all generations.

— Bill

The Way It Is…

You know, I really don’t like writing about all the negative aspects of my life…but the thoughts loom large over me daily.  I continue to learn and utilize skills to combat the thoughts…as I will as long as I’m here on Earth.  You’ve seen the pill dispensers stocked with my cocktail of daily medications (minus  the items that don’t fit in there).

The number of doctors telling me “you’re a mess” or “you’re an extremely complicated case” seems to increase on a daily basis.

When I began writing this post, I had finished the first session with my new therapist. Yes, I’m taking several medications to combat the “major depressive disorder”, “PTSD”, “anxiety” and the host of other psychological issues I endure…but these medications are only part of what I and many others require to combat the ugly monsters in our head. One-on-one conversations with a therapist who has no pre-conceived bias or connection to my family and/or friends is the goal.

Hopefully I’m wrong, but given all the data I have…all the research (…”always” peer-reviewed studies and such)…my physical condition…my mental state…all tell me I’ve entered a new stage. This new stage in life; I’ve prayed and hoped it would “never” become reality.

My goals now focus on “damage control”. Essentially…what can I, my physicians, and unimaginable chemical cocktails do to stop the current degradation…or at best…slow it down. Yes. I would gladly accept the “miracle” returning my body to the functional level I was blessed to have enjoyed for fifteen years of my life. Even with all the bumps in the road, I am forced to admit the abundant “time” I’ve enjoyed has been a truly magnificent blessing.  A bless that so many people never had the pleasure of experiencing.

Therefore, it behoves me to focus on the positive aspects of the life I still have and set aside the thoughts that strive to strip me of joy.

— Bill

Pay It Forward…

Well, while I was paid our electric bill today (online). Just before I hit the “Submit” button (…and let me tell…when certainly submitted) I noticed a box where you could contribute $1-$5 or a custom amount to those in need of assistance with their utility bill. I tossed in a fiver. Figured, why not…given the amount I was already handing over…what’s it gonna hurt to help another out?

I’m hoping that next month someone “Pays It Forward” for the next soul in need.

— Bill

Rain, Rain…Is Here Today.

The month of August brought us rain just about every day of the month.  I believe there were only about three or four days where we didn’t receive a nice thunderstorm.  Some days, we were greeted with multiple storms throughout the day.  For the last couple weeks however, it has been somewhat dry here in Venice, FL.  I’ve always loved the sound of a thunderstorm…as long as it wasn’t of the destructive nature.  The sound of thunder, the crashing of waves, the sound of rain against the roof.  Hmm, all of these have “water” at their core.  Life giving water.

The last few weeks have also opened my eyes to recognize the lessons I’ve known for years…that I must constantly keep at the forefront of all that I attempt.  Everything in the universe demands the payment of balance.  Sometimes it’s difficult for me to keep that truth in my mind and my actions.  Living life in the extremities will only bring you strife and disappointment.  Moderation.

— Bill

Not Home Yet…

NOTE:  This post has a creation date of 2019-08-12.  I’m tired right now…but I tried my best to complete it (for now).  This post is to be the beginning of trying to share the overwhelming amount of loneliness I’m trying to conquer.

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Heather and I splurged a little today and went to Cracker Barrel for lunch (brunch). I believe we arrived just as most of the early “church diners” were heading out. It was nice spending some time with my wife…somewhere besides the interior of this condo.

As we finished our food and are sitting in the car, Heather asked if I was in a hurry to get home. Sat and thought about for a few seconds and told her, no.

“What do you have in mind?”, I asked.

She suggested a short drive down to Manasota Beach. There is a covered pavilion and usable restrooms.

Of course, we have nothing in our vehicle that resembles a beach bag and supplies. We had one beach chair and one of fabric folding chair. We made it work. Overcast skies and a steady breeze made our time at the beach much more enjoyable. Yeah, the humidity is a little rough…feels like there is glue in the wind…but even “I” found it tolerable.

We are convinced that today was rednecks, white socks, and blue ribbon beer day at the beach. Maybe it’s my scruffy beard (growing it out due to a medication side-effect) that attracts the chain smokers, trash mouths, and cheap beer drinking white trash beachcombers. I’m serious here…with the beer belly, salt & pepper hair, and old Labrador Retriever ghost white beard that says, “…that fella reminds me of my cousin Bubba up in Plant City. He’s safe to plant @$$ next to…pop the top on a cold one, and light up a smoke.”

AHHHHH!!!!!!! Wrong.

Carcinogens set aside, we really had a good time listening to the waves and the tranquility they always offer.

On our way back home, we decided to spend just a “little” more money for our “Date Day” (…usually Date Night…but shoving as much money in to savings has kinda left us getting creative on a very tight budget…) and find a locally owned pizza shop. Amore’s on US-41 was the choice. The owner, Ray, was tonight’s waiter (...he gave his waitress the night off so she could get her three children ready for first day of school tomorrow). As I’ve discovered…very few people in this area (Venice, FL) are actually native Floridians. Ray for example moved here from Detroit. He’s been operating his pizza business for eighteen years he told us.

I’ve known for a long time, I am “in this world, but I’m not of it”.

Let’s step back to the beach for a minute. As I closed my eyes, and just listened…a sense of being “out of place” came over me. I can’t say it was a negative or positive experience. I just felt a strange feeling where the waves, the voices, and my senses were telling me…”you’re not home yet”.

Yes, there’s always the distance from where I was uprooted that can provoke similar emotions…but this was a little different.  Sometimes I’m not sure where I am.  I wake up and it takes me a while to figure out where I am.  Given how long we’ve been down here…you would think I would have acclimated myself to our new home and all the great things around us to take advantage off at any time.  Being here has taken a case of separation induced stress with the subsequent loneliness that transpires and amplified it about 100 times.  Loneliness is real…and it hurts in so many ways.

— Bill

Puff Puff…Toot Toot

I didn’t stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night. I’m not a doctor, or a chemist, or hold a degree in any of the sciences. In fact, nothing about my education would qualify me as an “expert” in any field of study in regards to my essay presented heretofore. I write this piece from the position of a man who has spent an inordinate number of years with lung issues. From this point view, I believe that I’m expertly qualified to offer testimony as to the limitations and disruption disease of the lungs places upon such souls.

Recent headlines have been highlighting the heartbreaking effects from a product, introduced and grossly successfully, marketed as a “safe alternative to smoking cigarettes.”

Vape, Vaping, Vaporizer…Electronic Cigarette.

No matter the label, the device serves the same purpose. Combine a few “natural flavors” with a “commonly used sweetener” as our base liquid. Then we “optionally” throw in some nicotine, or CBD oil, maybe THC oil, or any number of substances waiting in line for its fifteen minutes of fame.

No matter your excuse…your use of these products places you amongst some of the most gullible creatures alive and a marketing agency’s dream come true.

The operation of these devices is pretty straightforward. You take our chemical cocktail from above…shove it in the e-cigs tank (some have material to hold the mixture like a sponge does…some apparently don’t…irrelevant)…and then we hit the power switch. Almost instantly, our sweet little cocktail is “vaporized” and inhaled by millions of loyal customers.

Let us leave all of word-jargon, crafty marketing, and chemistry behind for a minute and speak of a world I know a little about. Let’s discuss that humongous white cloud whose proportions are simply phenomenal and bares a seemingly “sub-e-cig culture” competition. I’ve heard of other such size competitions involving the male genitalia. Maybe we’ll discuss that one in a later post.

As it happens, our loyal customers take the word of their “guy” down at the local vape shop as the gospel. Words like peer-reviewed scientific studies, exothermic reactions, and the like have no place in our customer’s vocabulary. Well, that’s not entirely true. You see, some of our white cloud generators have “edumakated” themselves and are now glorified chemists capable of tossing around fancy words that would make a master meth cook cower in shame.

The perfect set of human lungs can hold appropriately 4 liters of air. Mine currently provide a capacity around 1.4 liters. The average citizen could be expected to be walking around with a capacity anywhere from ~2.5 – 4.0 liters.

Our “Vapr” hits the power switch and holds on as this ride begins…driving our e-cig device closer and closer to critical mass meltdown (also know as device exploding in Vapr’s face)…on the edge of converting the heater coil to crumbling pieces of waste metal…or worse…blowing up an innocent lithium battery. All the while, Vap’r has been holding onto the imminent gargantuan storm cloud of sweetness in their lungs. The switch is off. Vap’r opens up the trap previously used as a containment system creating a cloud floating below NOAA’s weather radar systems. Smooth like…

Now let’s think about all of that vaporized goop Vapr was storing before the storm cloud. Did Vapr expel every molecule of the cloud? Did Vapr just let the cloud roll out like Cool Daddy Gag & Wheeze or did Vapr blow it out forcefully…a deep forceful breath out. Yeah, you already know the answer.

What happens to those vapor molecules sitting way down inside Vapr’s lungs? If the cocktail had been heated a little more…turning it into a gas…it would pass on through the alveoli and into the bloodstream pretty much instantly. As it wasn’t in a gaseous state, we have a heavier molecule sitting in those sacs. Another question to ponder, gas or vapor, as the vaporized product still lingering in the lungs begins to cool down, does it return to a liquid state? Additionally, when our liquid cocktail was nuked into a vapor…what exactly did Vapr’ inhale? What does the vaporized cocktail’s molecular structure look like after succumbing to the heat of the e-cig device’s nuclear core? Folks, I’ve seen some scary $h/7 from “controlled” chemistry experiments gone wrong. I’ve seen a purple cloud (…haze…) that would make Jimi Hendrix drool with envy. What I’m saying, your guy down at the vape shop has no idea what the hell he is selling and simply put…there are no “safer products” with the exception of one.

Our lungs are designed to perform one simple job…breathe air in…then exhale the waste. Kinda like plants and trees…just in reverse. (Yes…I’m taking jabs at the dirt people.)

I You’ve read this far, still curious how I might be an expert in the field of lung disease and the relationship with vaping? The lung condition currently reducing my days here on Earth is one of the same vaping creates: Bronchiolitis Obliterans Syndrome (BOS). If you’d like to learn more…Google search the term “popcorn lung”. I think you’ll find it quite enlightening.

I’d like to close by sharing some details of a real peer-reviewed scientific study I recently read. A group of participants who had never smoked or used any e-cig product were recruited as subjects for the study. Each subject was instructed to inhale a consecutive number of hits (one after the other) from their assigned & identical vaping device loaded only with ONLY the “liquid sugar” base. Upon completion of this inhalation exercise, participants began exhibiting various degrees of COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease) symptoms. The effects did reverse as the inhaled product left their systems. Are you curious about what would happen if they used a “street mixture”?

There’s a headline floating about concerning a young man experiencing traumatic effects upon first use. Am I the only one seeing correlations here?

— Bill

If I Only Had A Brain…

Between old age and the exotic chemical cocktail I consume multiple times a day…it wouldn’t be improper to expect some strange side-effects. For example, No Michael Jackson references required…you hear that Frizzo?

I’ve asked several other people about their experience with this phenomenon. The responses seem to adhere to what I would describe as common themed with a majority agreement. The typical responses have been, “Yeah, that’s happened to me before.” or, “It’s perfectly normal; just part of growing older.”

Maybe it is normal. Maybe it’s not. There could be other explainations I have to consider. The one conclusion I can make and share…this experience is damn disturbing and I show it no love.

Have you faced a scenario similar to this one? Any idea what as to the underlying reasons that lead me (and others) to experience this feeling?

— Bill

Survey Says…Never Quit!

Ok…the results from last Friday’s visit Tampa General Hospital (TGH) have finally trickled into their Patient Portal. I was putting together this monstrosity of a posting with tons of test data and other useless information. Sure, I’ll throw some of that stuff out for those that would like to see. However, my goal as it has always been, is to show that even in the face of a horrible prognosis that my faith is intact.

“Honesty.” It’s a concept of communication that is often difficult to put in writing for the world to see. Exposing the emotions you have locked away deep inside your mind…locked up so no on can see. How can you testify without complete honest discussion? You can’t. If you are to know me and my relationship with God, my unwavering faith, the thoughts of a man as he offers thanks for blessings, and the mesmerizingly anger..frustration..confusion…that he harbors…then honesty is absolutely necessary no matter how I will perceived once it is shared.

“Sixteen years. You’ve had sixteen years.” A stoic quote from one of the Nurse Coordinators. Delivered as a statement of fact and as a statistical anomaly. The average mortality rate for lung transplant recipients hovers around 50% at the five year mark. I can’t remember the rates for transplant recipients beyond a ten year, fifteen year…or sixteen year timeframe…if they even exist. Sixteen years is an incredible blessing. A miracle nonetheless.

The amount of physical and mental anguish I face everyday is mind boggling. At one point, I hit rock bottom. I tried to commit suicide. I feel God said, “Not yet” and pulled me back (but leaving four days of my life a complete mystery). Each day I awake…I give thanks. I consume a chemical cocktail I abhor. The entire box would be in the garbage can if not for my will to fight for every bit of life I can. I love too many people to give up (again). I’m scared to give up.

I hurt in so many ways…physically and mentally. From re-broken bones in my back, overwhelming depression, anger for all of the shit I’ve been dealt my entire life, loneliness on a daily basis, angry and scared about the path I’ve been placed on…sometimes it’s just more than I can keep hidden. Sometimes it spills over and I have only God to ask for strength to hold on to the lifeline. I’m supposed to lay my burden at the feet of Jesus. I will admit, I don’t know how to do that. God may forgive me for my sins, but I find it impossible to forgive myself for the damage I have inflicted on the ones I love. I find it impossible to shed the mess inside my mind and hand it over to my Maker.

Today, I am diagnosed with two forms of rejection of my lung transplant. The first is called Antibody Mediated Rejection (AMR). The procedure I endured in September 2018, called plasmapheresis, was supposed to rid my body of the antibodies attacking my lungs. After those five days/five cycles of plasma exchange…however possible…my test results remain the same. I left the hospital no better for the hellish experience.

“Red Herring.” Your average dictionary would describe this term as something that is intended to be distracting or misleading. That’s what I believe the AMR presents with its existence. No baseline reference exists from before or after the date of my transplant. It would be twelve years before someone would run the test to evaluate these antibody levels. Every treatment I have endured to “treat” or “remove” the antibody issue has been an act of painful futility.

“Bronchiolitis Obliterans Syndrome (BOS).” This condition describes the process of destruction of the tissue deep inside my lungs. The destruction has been active since the day I received my transplanted lungs (March 20, 2003).

“If the patient doesn’t have GERD before a lung transplant…they most likely will afterwards.” This was quoted by one of the authors of a study presenting GERD as a process responsible for bronchiolitis obliterans syndrome. In effect, for sixteen years, as I’ve slept every night…stomach acid and any other stomach contents have found there way back up my esophagus and into my lungs (also know as aspiration).

For fifteen of my sixteen years with my transplanted lungs, I issued complaint after complaint to the transplant team at Vanderbilt. I explained my slow emptying stomach, my slow emptying intestines, constant naseua and vomiting. For fifteen years not a damn thing was done to address the issue. There was no lack of peer-reviewed data to draw information and reparative plans. The quote I offered comes from a 2002 study. “Not our department.” I think that would sum up the experience.

Am I irritated? Most assuredly. More than once time (twice and possibly more) my own research surpassed that of my doctors’. Yet, because I have no MD behind my last name, I receive “patient has been on the internet and believes he has aseptic meningitis due to treatment with IVIg.” Who knows what’s going on inside your body? Maybe the one occupying it? If I have presented that event before…let me know…my memory isn’t what it used to be. Age and toxic medications are inducing memory loss.

So, let me “try” to summarize all this. A while back, my thyroid gland developed issues (hypothyroidism) and my weight went from 198 lbs. to 230 lbs. in about thirty days. I’ve had a study where a probe with a pH sensor was placed in my esophagus to measure the pH level as I slept. The resultant value was a 3.9pH (hydrochloric acid…aka stomach acid). Thus proving my stomach contents are leeching backwards as I sleep. The diagnosis of BOS was added to the already lengthy list.

On a positive note, current studies across several transplant centers have shown treatment with Advair, Singulair, and Azithromycin can help stagnate and possibly improve BOS damage. It’s necessary to let you know that by traditional definition, BOS damage is permanent. I’m on this triple drug regimen…and I’m praying for improvement (as in my lung capacity begins to increase or at least stops decreasing). However, for this treatment to have a chance to work, the acid reflux problem has to be resolved..

I’m packing around a 30 lb. spare tire. This extra weight is affecting me in two specific ways. One, I could expect less pain in my back if I can shed this extra weight. Second, losing the weight creates a better surgical environment and shorter recovery period. The standard treatment to stop the acid reflux is a procedure called a Nissen fundoplication. My wife had this surgery for the very same reason…stop the continued backwards flow of stomach acid. The surgery is typically done laparoscopically. Part of the stomach is wrapped around the lower esophageal sphincter creating a one way path. With my large abdomen in the way…that makes for a difficult procedure…and possibly require opening my abdomen (infection risk and recovery period both escalate).

I’m doing everything I can “on my own” to get this weight down. Hypothyroidism hinders your efforts tremendously. I’m seeking the help of a thyroid/endocrinology group for any “catalyst” they can provide to dump this extra girth.

“Sixteen years”. The longer it takes to get all the ducks in a row…the more likely I’ll see a snowballing effect where things get really ugly…really fast.

“Honesty.” I’m scared. I’m mad. No…I’m pissed. I go fifteen years with minor issues and then fall off the cliff. How and why?

“Confession.” If my ducks decide to fly on further South to winter…keep the following in mind. This journey began on a beach up the coast near Perdido Key, FL in July 1996. This journey will eventually end and it will be here on the beach in Venice, FL. I’ve always loved the tranquility and permanence of the oceans. At any time, you can sit…close your eyes…and be taken away to a place where all the worries of the world cease to exist. Until then, I continue to ask for your prayers for mental strength and physical healing.

— Bill

Take a little trip…Take a little trip…Take a little trip with me.

So, last couple days I’ve found myself with a heartbeat over 140 bpm with SpO2 dipping as low as 88% while trying to make the bed. Called the Lung Transplant Coordinator at TGH yesterday with my report. She asked for me to come up to Tampa General so they could get a chest X-Ray, blood work, and gargle test that allows a quick screening for the presence of any bacteria and/or viruses. Also gave them some of my “Super Sticky Green Lung Glue” (aka sputum sample). Every test has come negative so far…that I am truly happy to hear. Good news. Always appreciated.

The green lung glue will take a couple days to determine if it loads their Petri dishes with anything of consequence.

My quarterly visit to Tampa was already on the calendar for next Thursday. For now however, sticking to the current plans. The primary issues of concern being establishing with a thyroid/endocrinology group in Sarasota (to help me lose about 25-30 pounds I gained when my thyroid gland left the building. The next move after getting rid of this extra weight is having one of two possible surgical procedures to halt the acid reflux (GERD) problem that continues to destroy my lungs.

Simple enough…right? I think so. It’s especially cool when the nurse asks if you’ve been exercising and you answer, “Yes…I was doing aquatic exercising when I lost my footing and re-broke one of my vertebrae (L2 is squishing the disc between it and L3).” I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever been able to get a medical professional off my butt about exercising. You have to love the look on the face as well.

Trying to keep this one short and sweet. — Bill