So now what?

I got a phone call a little while ago. A phone call I was not very pleased with.

Looking at my cell, the number was familiar only in that it was the base switchboard. I always hate answering these calls because they are almost always either my boss needing me to come back in or the clinic calling to tell me how many ways my body is rebelling against youth and good health.

It was the latter.

"Mr. Guhrilla? This is 'Nan' from the base Clinic calling you to tell you that you have a referral to Orthopedics."

"What? Why do I have that?" I asked, fighting that 'wonderful' feeling of my stomach clenching as I tried valiantly to keep it from crawling up my throat by way of my spine. My eyes actually began to tear up. A referral.

"They didn't tell you?" This, she asked with just as glib a voice as the one she used to announce to me that I had been "referred."

"No ma'am, they didn't."

"We got the results from your MRI and you have a bulging disc."

Now I ask you, who, in their right mind, calls an almost middle-aged man who has been suffering with extreme lower back pain for months (at this point) and tells him, over the phone no less, "Oh by the way, you're on the path to life-long pain, discomfort, eternal physical therapy and we might be able to throw in repeated surgeries, too! YAY!"

I could almost visualize Miss Super Happy jumping up and down and clapping as she dropped what, to me, felt like a virtual death sentence in my lap. I swear I heard her office-mates blowing on those obnoxious party whistles and the rustle of confetti in the background as she dumped an uncertain but constantly painful future square in my lap.

I realize a bulging disc isn't the end of the world, but you have to realize, I have always been the guy who, when no one else in the shop could pick it up, would simply walk over, lift the offending item and nonchalantly ask, "Where do you want it?"

Now I'm the guy who limps and hunches over a little because his back can't stand to stand straight and take long steps. I can't sit in one position for too long, I can't stand for too long - heck, I have to take a painkiller and a muscle relaxer just to be able to sleep fitfully and wake up miserable.

Always been strong as a horse - always. And now this. Is this the punishment I deserve for growing one more year older? Is this the curse I deserve for wanting to be that strong, virile man for ever and ever?

Well, damn it, I am NOT going to take this lying down. No. I am going to fight. I am going to win, too. It is MY body, damn it, and I refuse to let it tell me how to survive. I am going to find a way to fix this doggone disc, even if it means a rusty X-acto and a mallet! I refuse to let this break me!

Now, where's that box that needs to be put up on that shelf. I'll ...







go lie down and rest and then supervise my son as he puts it where it belongs.

Damn.