I'm alive, and writing after a several months' hiatus.

So what's the big deal about that? I've always been reluctant to discuss private matters publicly, but it has been long enough now that I'll make an exception. In July I was diagnosed with coronary heart disease, and had a pacemaker implanted. So far, so good. In October I went to Omaha for what was supposed to be relatively routine if chancy surgery to unblock a major artery. The last thing I heard before I went completely under was "He's crashing." When I woke up two days later with a bruise half the size of Brazil on my groin, and the medical team came to "remove the tube" ("What tube?" I asked.), I was told that there had been a "mishap" (quaint term that); an artery had been nicked, flooding the pericadium. Hence two days in ICU and the operation to drain it. Oh. I had slept through the whole thing.

So a planned overnight visit to Omaha turned into a week in the hospital, but thanks to a crack medical team, a regimen of pills, and a rehab program I'm well on my way to a nearly complete recovery. No more snow shoveling or running marathons (not that I ever did the latter), but other than that life has pretty much returned to normal. I guess that's good news.

To borrow a few lines from Clive James's poem "Season to Season" in the recent New Yorker (1/15/18),

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Things to see
. . . .Could happen yet, and life prove not quite spent
. . . .But still abundant, still the main event.
. . . . . .. .. . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . and after all,
. . . .Though nearly gone, life didn't end today . . .

About the writing: as part of my self-imposed regimen of rehab, I undertook the task of versifying another (longer and more complex) narrative sequence from the Arabian Nights, though not in double dactyls, and I think perhaps not as successful as those pieces in The Bard & Scheherazade Keep Company. Still, as Touchstone would have it, "an ill-favored thing, sir, but mine own."

As one of my Chinese students was fond of saying, Happy Everyday,
Jan

Happy Everyday indeed. Jan, it is good to hear that you got through such a horrifying accident and are recovered enough to be able to get back to writing. Other people can handle the snow shoveling and the marathon running, but only you can write your poetry. We're glad you're back.

Susan

Jan,

It is indeed GOOD NEWS that you are almost fully recovered after your ordeal, my friend. I enjoy your writing, so I'm glad you're getting back to that too.

(How about taking a therapeutic trip to London when the weather's better? :))

Jayne

I'm late arriving, but I just wanted to say to Jan that I'm very, very glad you pulled through. Thank heaven for crack medical teams!

Jan, that is definitely Good News for the Good News thread. None better. Enjoy many more years of writing and versifying.

John

Jan, you were so lucky! Good to hear you are recovering and even writing again during recovery...the best of continued luck to you!

Be well and may that be the last of all medical "mishaps" (wrong word, I'm sure) for you!

Thank you, Susan, Jayne, Maryann, John, and Terese for the kind words.

A further note: During this whole experience I kept a list of the ethnic backgrounds of the many doctors, nurses, technicians, and students [Nebraska Medicine Center is a top flight teaching hospital] involved in my care, which included persons from 28 countries: several from Europe (Norway :) through Greece); Mexico and Honduras; Togo, Nigeria, and South Sudan; Pakistan, Palestine, and Oman; Vietnam (the doctor who implanted my pacemaker), China, the Philippines, and India (my "angel of mercy"; a student doctor from Hyderabad, she took my hand as I was crashing and gasping for breath, and constantly stroked it, repeating "You're doing fine."). And there are those in this country who say that immigrants are destroying America?

Very glad to hear you pulled through, and one of the good points about your experience - beyond the basic fact that you survived - are your comments about the multitude of immigrants who helped you.

Very good news indeed, Jan. And like Michael I'm very touched by what you say about those who helped you from so very many different backgrounds.

Hi. This isn't good news, but there isn't a 'bad news' thread. My dad died today. It was sudden and unexpected. He was 78 but fighting fit when I saw him last. I've written a good few poems about him that I could never really share with him. He didn't even know I wrote poetry though he kind of loved it himself. The two Roberts mainly: Burns and Service. If you're having a little drink tonight, could you raise a glass to Joe please. Thanks.