SEXY FLOWERS SILLY MAN

Nature Always Knows

Apr 11, 2025

The flowers pulled me out of what passes for depression these days. (I’m so good at that in both directions now: oh no fuck it all is lost but why do I still feel like I’m nine or 25?) Past their prime but beautiful in decay. Feel the tension with the pistils slobbering for union and the stamens simply standing there.

I STARED AT THE SCREEN AND COULDN’T WRITE. Waiting weeks had made no difference. The keyboard I used for everyday bullshit was dirty and stiff. Maybe it was time to get a new one like I figured I could use a set of knees. Holding the “Magic Keyboard” by its edges on the ends, I turned it upside down and rapped the skinny part against the desk to knock the crumbs and salt out. Salt especially can’t be good now can it? Instead of staying up until the sky began to lighten I’d gone to bed a little after midnight but woken up at 5:00 a.m. and lain awake till 7:00. Hardly healthy for a kid, never mind my own damn self. Nodding off for nothing didn’t cut it either so I shed the bathrobe for real clothes and tried the sofa for a nap. Somehow getting dressed gave me permission and I liked that but I couldn’t go to sleep. Not when the idiot was attacking his own country and grabbing people off the streets.

Then I remembered the trick of focusing on my breath where it entered and left my nose. All at once my thoughts were like a teevee left on in another room. It always works and comforts me for there I am and yet I’m not. An hour later I opened my eyes after dreaming someone texted me and asked if I was up. They hadn’t but that did it. Came back after peeing with another cup of coffee to write these words.

The day this all went down I’d already had an ugly morning and was ready to blow off love, ambition, and America after selling my guitars and truck—oh sure—but then I thought of shooting close-ups of some fading lilies with my Canon EOS R6 Mark II and the 24-240mm lens. After that the next few hours rushed by like a mountain stream in snowmelt. (Click-click, hey that’s good...) I took so many photos, changing aperture and framing. Once I had the images on the iMac, I didn’t leave my chair until well after dark playing with the infinite edits, crops, and nuances available. Every decent photograph has zillions in it. Every day does too. Every person. Every second.

Last year at the end of March I had a CT scan, the first and only one I’ve ever had, ostensibly to look for kidney stones. Maybe my doctor only wanted to shut me up. After all, I’d been complaining about lower back pain off and on since practically forever. This time it was probably due to improper dumbbell exercises involving weights that were too heavy so I wouldn’t have to do as many repetitions, haha, lied my lazy brain. I figured the radiologist would look for kidney stones and that was that. When they have your insides on a screen in all its glory though, they tend to look around. Like when my favorite garage changes the oil in my 2007 Vibe and tells me I need struts, brakes, filters, bushings, and a new AC compressor wouldn’t hurt.

The report showed every kind of thing: no kidney stones, of course. Some calcified granulomas in my liver and spleen, no hydroureteronephrosis in my kidneys (both of which I had to google), “unremarkable” adrenal glands and pancreas (disappointed me some), overall, “no acute intra-abdominal or pelvic abnormality,” which sounded reassuring, but under vasculature he noted: “3 cm abdominal aortic aneurysm.” I knew what aneurysms were and didn’t want one so I did more research. Turns out the abdominal aorta is what sends blood to the lower half of your body. An aneurysm there can grow and go ka-boom and then you die, the usual way your family learns you even had one. Good Lord.

The trouble with the internet is that there’s too much information. I found all kinds of contradictory but mostly awful prognoses with varying life expectancies and ended up in a patient forum where someone helpfully said his abdominal aortic aneurysm (AAA) hadn’t grown in years. My doctor wasn’t that excited—it’s what they do—and suggested I have an ultrasound scan in ‘25 or ‘26. That made sense to me because three centimeters was when they called a mildly bulging artery an aneurysm in the first place, and then you had however long to clean out the storage unit and brush your teeth before your belly blew up and you went to sleep forever. He brightened, too, remembering that “they go in through the groin now” to pretend to fix them instead of cutting you open like a fish. This satisfied me until my most recent appointment when I mentioned the aneurysm again and he said, “If you have the ultrasound and it hasn’t grown, we don’t need to check it any more...”

“Sign me up,” I told him, and I had the ultrasound on April 9th.

It’s still so hard to focus and the whole thing hasn’t really hit me yet, maybe because I spent the last year gumming up whatever gears grind out the truth. But all this time I’ve also hoped that I could face or psych out anything. After reading that vitamin C “attenuates experimental abdominal aortic aneurysm development” in rats, I started taking 2,000 mg a day alongside every supplement, potion, or practice thought to improve circulation and general blood health. Tons of baby spinach leaves, for instance. Herbal crap with funny names. Lots and lots of water. None of these things were bad, at least. The night before the ultrasound scan, I thought about the measurement. Three centimeters, eh? If it hasn’t grown, “we don’t need to check it any more.” As I lay there in the dark, the figure two point five (2.5 cm) came into view, glowing neon green behind my eyes. That felt a little shaky so I let it rise to 2.75 and expand the happy ending zone. Didn’t want the aorta to be the same of course, I wanted it to shrink.

Sitting in the waiting room at the Radiology Department, I was grinning like a fool behind my N95 mask, smooshing the aorta nice and slim in my imagination. Believe me or not, it doesn’t matter. The exercise did wonders for my state of mind. The dim examining room experience was surreal at best and I tried hard not to concentrate on anything but how I felt. The sonographer tapped and thumped against my belly between my navel and the bottom of my rib cage. I heard the amplified “Ka-WOMP” of my own heartbeat. Above me, however, I imagined, saw, or felt the presence of a giant angel-thing with wings that covered me on both sides. In that same subliminal dome of intercession was the briefest image, thought, or dream of my late wife and one of our oldest friends from Maryland, one Katy Schroeder, who died at home of pancreatic cancer, I think, some time after we moved to New Mexico in ‘99. “Schroedy,” as friends called her, told me that I had this “in the bag” and not to worry. Kathy said she loved me and it wasn’t time because I had a lot of work to do. Like ladies having wine out in the garden, truly. Everyone was happy!

I’ve probably never had a better time in any hospital. If that were all that happened, I would still be grateful. A few hours later though, the radiologist’s report appeared on my private patient website:

FINDINGS:
The abdominal aorta measures 2.2 x 2.3 cm proximally, 2.8 x 2.3 cm at its midportion and 2.6 x 2.5 cm distally. The right common iliac artery measures 1.9 x 1.4 cm and the left common iliac artery measures 1.7 x 1.6 cm.
IMPRESSION:
No abdominal aortic aneurysm identified. Ectasia of the mid abdominal aorta.

Ectasia means mild enlargement—something to keep an eye on—but 2.8 cm is less than three, by God. Either this one or the earlier CT scan measurement is less than accurate or I shrank the motherfucker, so to speak. The radiologist noted possible concern about the iliac arteries which may warrant further scanning, but I’m almost 80 after all and the Big One is a dud.

I don’t know what you would do but I went for a hike at Taos Valley Overlook (above). Last night I made two apple pancakes for a private party all my own, drowned them both in syrup with brown sugar and strawberry preserves, and gobbled it all down guilt-free. Looks like I’ll be here as long as I am having fun. Maybe decades.

Reorientation is in the air.