Is 2020 over yet? (Part 2)

Unless you are homeless or have a price on your head it isn't likely you'd want to stay in hospital any longer than you had to, but man, I wasn't ready to go.

My knee replacement surgery was shortly after two on a Friday afternoon and 24 hours later I'm calling my son to pick me up, but like I said, I wasn't ready. It was all a bit disorientating for one thing, and there's also something about having a bell beside your bed in case you needed your pillow fluffed or something.

I never used it of course, but it was there, just in case.

We only practiced stairs once and it didn't go well, so I was nervous about my eight banister-free steps down to my basement apartment, but otherwise I didn't have any excuses about going home.

Rehab, I guess, but I was full of bravado on how that would be a breeze, a decree I called Mistake #1.

It was a mostly uneventful hospital stay unless you count a brief vomiting spell in the morning when my body decided to reject most of the drugs they had pumped into me, but there was one incident worth mentioning, though it involves a torture medical procedure that has struck terror in the hearts (and orifices) of men everywhere for millennia, and my rather graphic description of that procedure.

Staples. Lots of staples. Better this
image than one of a catheter

It was several hours after waking up in the room I shared with my knee surgery amigo Mike when our night shift nurse (I think her name was Charise) came in and asked if I had peed.

"No," I said. "Is that a problem?"

"If you don't pee," she replied, "we'll have to use a catheter."

"Whoa, whoa, watch your language," I nearly shouted, alarmed that this seemingly nice young woman would use such profanity. "That's a horrible swear word," I said. "We don't need to go there."

"Then go pee," was all she said before walking away.

So I tried to empty my bladder, with no success, and when Charise returned shortly after I pleaded for more time.

"You have half an hour," she said before fluffing Mike's pillow to show me what she thought of my stalling tactics.

So I tried again to pee and got nothing. The odd thing was my bladder didn't feel full at all but Charise insisted it was full to bursting and right on schedule she walked back into our room with a gadget not that much different than the one created by Ben Franklin in 1752 and just as painful (I imagined) as devices used by the ancient ones to extract information from the enemy.

When she inserted said device into what I always considered strictly an exit hole, I admit I screamed just a little, and when she pushed it in farther I gasped but held my tongue as bravely as I could. I dunno if Mike was horrified for my sake or quietly giggling at my misfortune but in about a minute it was all over.

I felt drained. Quite literally.

That afternoon I was kicked out of my semi-comfortable hospital bed and sent home to begin my recovery and after a first night that had me getting up to pee every two hours I settled into a routine over the next few weeks of going to physio twice a week to be abused by Saloni (who was sweet, professional and cruel, all in one package) and moaning about my sad state of affairs.

But if I was complaining, it was mostly about being bored and that situation changed in a hurry a little over a week after coming home.

That's when I was robbed. While I slept.

Yeah, I know. Fuck my life, huh?

A thief broke into my apartment and stole my laptop, my wallet - containing my ID and about $60 - and my meds, which I suspected was the goal all along.

I tried to not be obsessed with this, but the fact I was likely targeted because of my situation hurt, as was the evidence (or lack thereof) from the security cameras that suggested an inside job.

I got little sympathy from my landlady and probably less from our local police, who made it pretty clear I wasn't a high priority, even after I made a veiled threat about having a few friends with different ideas on how to handle the investigation.

They thanked me for my feedback and as I would never have followed through on my big talk I was able to put the incident in my rearview mirror and move on.

But it was the start of a rough two-week patch for me as I had other challenges to face, and the physio became my priority, especially as Saloni started getting concerned my recovery wasn't coming as fast as she (and I) wanted.

Specifically, the bend in my knee, which was not even close to the desired number, even after she reefed on my leg hard enough to cause me to (once again) scream, which, in turn, caused me to question my long-held belief that my pain tolerance level was pretty good.

I called that Mistake #2.

My ability to straighten my leg was also an issue, as the target number was -5 and three weeks after the operation I was getting no better than -12. If I didn't reach my goal I would likely have a permanent limp, I was warned.

The planned move to Caledon was also stressing me out, as Brian was having difficulty finalizing the deal ("damn lawyers," he would always say) and only updating me when he had news to share. Which wasn't often.

I had to get my information from my Dad, which was where I learned there was a second property - also in Caledon - in the mix. Neither deal was showing any sign of getting done, and a move that was supposed to happen in November was still stalled three months later.

"There's always King City," Pops pointed out.

Turned out there was a third option (first I heard of it), and this deal apparently had legs. But I had, of course, heard that before.

The Kingston trip was looking doubtful too, as I hadn't received any EI money and had to borrow to extend my stay at my apartment because of all the delays. It wouldn't be right to spend that money on beer, right?

Some good news, or at least a fresh perspective was needed and the breakthrough came in mid-February.

I was already driving (several weeks ahead of schedule), so I didn't have to lean on friends and family so much - shout-out to Candice, Paula, Cam, Kass, Marie, Brandon, Josh, Steve, Cal, Adam and Christian-Ann for their driving skills and/or support - and when my first EI cheque arrived things started to come together.

The King City property became reality soon after when the contract was signed (closing date: February 28), and that bit of good news inspired me to get off my ass and turn my half-packed apartment into something closer to move-ready.

Kingston

The beer trip was not a lot closer to reality but I did have a plan, so there was at least hope.

Most importantly, I started seeing improvements in my rehab, no doubt helped by me spending more time doing my exercises at home. My bend rate topped the magic '100' mark and when Saloni dumped two truck tires and an anvil on my knee and then jumped on it, we achieved success in straightening my leg as well, sailing all the way to -4.

(Shout-out to some of the other staffers, such as David, Amanda, Sarah and Will, and to my fellow old farts patients for their encouragement.)

The beer was even starting to taste pretty good. I might just get through this ordeal after all.

With the moving truck booked and a few pals enlisted to help, that only left Kingston. My friends would be there and a few big hitters in the beer world might also be attending so I very much wanted this to happen.

And I had a plan ...

Is 2020 over yet? (Part 1)

The images we were seeing from Australia were both horrifying and heart-breaking. Uncontrolled wildfires were raging across most of the country and firefighters - many volunteering from Canada and elsewhere around the globe - were desperately trying to stem the blood orange tide.

It was like a world on fire.

The devastation to the countryside was terrible but it was what was happening to Australia's unique creatures that was most impacting me. An estimated half a billion animals have been killed in the fires and the iconic Koala's place in Australia's natural order is in jeopardy, with some calling the nation's symbol 'functionally extinct.'

I've been to Australia. I have family living in Australia. I have held a Koala in my arms. These news flashes from the other side of the world were hurting my heart and commanding a lot of my attention as 2019 turned into 2020.

A world on fire.

Considering Trump was trying to start World War 3 and I was facing a series of major crisis in my personal life, commanding my attention was no mean feat, but there we were.

I was barely a week away from major surgery and a week away from leaving my job of the last dozen years, so naturally that, and everything that goes with those life changing events, were front and centre. But I was also contemplating a new adventure, as my big brother Brian was dangling an offer to live and work - rent-free - at a horse farm he and his partner were in negotiations to buy in the Caledon hills.

Australia

The surgery - a full (left) knee replacement - was mere days away, but it wasn't top of mind. No doubt I was burying that for my own mental health, but it was business as usual for me leading up to the date. My work pals sure wanted to talk about it - how they were going to survive without me will be one of life's mysteries I'm guessing - but I took on a 'whatever' attitude and worked right up to the morning of my surgery.

Meanwhile, I obsessed over the pictures of the estate that I was supposed to be working at, putting a serious dent in my data plan in the process. A hundred and sixty beautifully landscaped acres with an 11-bedroom mansion, trout pond, tennis courts and other amenities will do that to a guy, especially when the rent is free (that fact is worth repeating) and the job is 'managerial' in nature.

There was also an upcoming beer trip to Kingston on my mind, with the date falling exactly six weeks after the operation. This six-brewery invasion, complete with party bus and lunch and dinner provided, is being organized by Josh Hayter, Kingston's new favourite citizen, the president of Spearhead Brewing (and a super awesome dude) and I really, really did not want to miss it.

I probably will take a pass, though I expect cash flow will be the culprit, not my health. Never saying never, though, and I was going to see if I could make it work.

So, yeah, a lot on my mind as the new year began, and yet I was still brought back to Australia and those bush fires, especially with stories coming back from Down Under of residents in the potential path of these terrifyingly unpredictable fires who had to water their houses daily to prevent sparks - carried by winds from infernos many miles away -  turning their homes into ash before the flames even reached them. More stories about the animals too, with graphic and tragic images that I couldn't shake from my brain.

I needed a break. I needed a diversion.

Thankfully, I got one. Or three, actually.

I had been hibernating a bit since Christmas but when Jeff messaged me and said we were celebrating Sarah's 30th birthday tonight and to get my ass to Town Brewery I said hell yes, I'll be there.

Sarah being the former manager of both Buster Rhino's and Top Corner, the six-time Best Laugh in Craft Beer winner (unanimous each time), one of my mentors in this beer thing, a full-time nursing student and a personal hero to boot. So a no-brainer.

I figured it would be top-heavy with Top Corner people, but besides Jeff and myself there was just our pal Adam to represent our local. Most of the rest of the table came from Sarah's hockey team, which was made of up everyday heroes, with EMT folks, firefighters and other nursing students.

So while Sarah's friends regaled us with stories of heroism post-game misadventures, I nursed a Fruit Dart (a Sour with lemon & vanilla - tasty!) and a Chase the Stars APA and relaxed for the first time in weeks.

And when the birthday party moved on to the next phase of the evening - roller skating or sky diving or line dancing; I can't remember - I said my goodbyes and headed home with my heart just a little bit happier.

The next day I got a call after work from Candice, telling me she and Marie were hosting a beer share/dinner party and Paul (The Big Peezy) was going to be there. Will I be attending?

Yes, Candice, I will be there.

I managed to find a few beauties in the fridge so as not to go empty-handed, and armed with the knowledge that Paul (who buys beer far faster than any human can drink them) would be bringing a bunch of top shelf brews, took the short drive down Ritson Road to the soiree.

Spending time with good friends is priceless, especially if they provide an awesome charcuterie spread, heavy on the cheeses. Was that smoked gouda? I think it was.

The beer was flowing too, though I was driving home this night - one more day of work before my last weekend pre-surgery - so I skipped a couple of samples and cut back a few others from five ounces to two.

Still, lots of love for my friends and for the beer, which included Kokomo from Fairweather - a Sour IPA with coconut and lime that earned the unanimous descriptive of "fucking delicious" - as well as two from Bellwoods (White Picket Fence and Barn Owl #17), a pair from Sawdust City (Super Juicin' and Blackberry Juicin') and brews from Barncat (Saison Blush) and Burdock (Bu Woo).

The final sample of my night was my first ever from Small Pony of Ottawa, a tasty treasure I found at the LCBO called Mares in a Jam, a Dark Sour aged in oak barrels with raspberries.

Good beer, great company and even better cheese. You couldn't ask for more.

Shannon, Jen, Mary, Matt and Oliver

The next night was Saturday and I had already committed to attending Matt Allot's birthday bash at Manantler - such a social butterfly I am - and I was extra thrilled to be going to this event as a couple of friends I hadn't seen in a while would be there.

Jen, who I hadn't seen since her Jack 'n Jill many months before, and her BFF and my birthday twin Shannon, who hadn't been spotted since she packed up and moved to Ottawa.

(I actually made two stops at Beyond the Pale Brewery - where she is already a star - during last year's 613 Brewery Invasion but couldn't make the connection. No worries - she's here now.)

Jen and Shannon brought their friend Mary, who works in sales at Flying Monkeys in Barrie, so after getting a pint in at the bar we eventually gravitated to the barrel room, where there was beer on a table just asking to be sampled, as well as barrels with 'Do Not Touch' written on them just waiting to be ... not touched.

Which became a source of amusement for my friends, especially after Oliver, who had just left 5 Paddles Brewing in search of new adventure the day before, came in with Megan and was horrified to see the ladies posing for pics in front of the barrels and those forbidding signs.

Oliver was promised no barrels were touched during the making of the instagram posts, we all had a good laugh and another beer and then Matt, the Global Ambassador for Super Cool Brewery Owners, walked in and hired Oliver on the spot.

Just kidding. Oliver's got a new gig uptown. He's doing all right.

A little later in the evening I found myself outside in a circle of about 20 of Bowmanville's coolest cats and their friends ... discussing world politics or some-such, and that was pretty cool too, as was Matt gifting me a bottle from his first barrel-aged series, a Russian Imperial Stout that had been aged in Buffalo Trace bourbon barrels for 15 months and then bottle conditioned for a few more.

Such a prince, our Matt.

And such a great vibe all night long.

The Champ

The news from Australia was getting more positive as well. There were still fires burning but the rains had begun to fall and firefighters were finally gaining control. From pictures of kangaroos dancing in the rain (they were probably fighting but I don't want to ruin a good narrative) to stories of heroic wombats sharing their burrows with other animals, the new images from Down Under were of the hopeful variety and I couldn't be happier.

And then I found myself lying on an operating bed with an anesthesiologist sticking a big needle into the small of my back while I counted at least five nurses and one guy hiding in the corner trying his best not to be seen.

It was just before the drugs kicked in when Dr. Osinga, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Family Guy's Peter Griffin, came striding into the room whilst rapping out a routine at full volume from The Champ, the Jake Edwards punch-drunk boxer bit from Q107's history vault:

"I said Pardon?

Wait, what?

I head-fake him with a copy of Moby Dick and the idiot goes for it.
A flipper to the jaw, a hook to the mouth and he's gasping for air like a fish out of water.
I said, 'how's that pal? Is that enough, 'I'd like to see ..."

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

I may or may not have heard his last line before I entered dreamland...

"Ever since then I've been The Champ."