So, I'm home recovering from the first major surgery of my life. I am now an ostomate, a person who has undergone surgery to create a new body orifice for the discharge of wastes. In other words, I now shit through my stomach.
If I were still thirty years old, I guess this would be a horrific experience for me. At age 59, with a mostly sedentary lifestyle, it's not that big a deal. Cleanup is gag-inducing, but perhaps I'll get used to it with time.
The most remarkable thing about this experience is the outpouring of support I've received. My coffee shop family has kept me fed, run errands for me, spent evenings with me to keep from being depressed and lonely, and generally gone far above and beyond the call of duty.
In addition, my friend and former boss at the city, Karen, has gotten me to the hospital, helped me keep track of paperwork. Her husband has run errands to the pharmacy for me.
Old TV colleagues, many of whom I had not seen in decades, have come to visit.
I should also say something here about Facebook. Love it or hate it, Facebook was the key medium in getting word out to others about my situation.