The Shop

Let's get this over with. We all get old. The only way around this is to die young and most of us aren't willing to do that. I never really understood the brutality of age until it hit me with both feet in the middle of my chest like a WCW wrestler coming off the top rope. No, I didn't have a heart attack or anything like that. I was actually in pretty good health, or so I thought, mowing my yard on a bright July morning about 7 years ago. I was kind of in a hurry to get it done because I wanted to get back to my shop where I had some cabinets clamped up and drying for one of the biggest and most important kitchens I had ever built. My wife had finally given me the order to custom build our dream kitchen. Never mind I had been building custom kitchens for others for a long time! She's kind of choosy and took her time.

Anyways, I'm toodling along and all of a sudden, I noticed I was dragging my left leg a little. When I say dragging, I mean to say I wasn't really lifting it and taking a step. I was swinging it and every time I placed any weight on the leg, I felt a sharp pain. That went on for a couple of minutes before the leg locked up and I was stuck standing there behind a running lawnmower. Yes, believe it or not, my leg locked up and I knew if I let go of the mower, I was going to fall flat on my face. I released the kill switch on the mower handle and both my Mom and my wife's parents who were watching me mow (that's a Southern thing) from the front porch, looked up to check on me. Mom asked if I needed anything and before I could reply I fell. I was told I didn't really collapse. I fell more like a soldier does when he locks his knees while standing in formation. I fell straight over onto the yard and broke the fall with my face. I was out!

When I came to I was in the back of an ambulance being seen after and we were on our way to the local hospital. The diagnosis was I had worn all of the cartilage off both hip joints and damaged a couple of discs in my back. The treatment plan was bilateral hip replacements six weeks apart followed by back surgery six weeks after that. The surgeries went okay as for as surgeries like this can go and soon enough I was home recuperating and looking forward to a long and healthy life. I didn't like the fact I was taking so much pain medication, so the recommendation was made to reduce or eliminate the medication and rely on an electronic device that is implanted in your spine to disrupt any pain signals your brain receives. I was sold on the idea, but this is a lengthy process that requires a trial period where they install the leads into your spinal nerve but leave the device external to your body to make sure everything works before the major surgery to implant the device. The trial period was a success and I was scheduled for the implant. Man, if things got any better, I was going to live forever I thought.

The day of the implant surgery came and I'll admit I was nervous. I got up early and walked 4 miles before leaving for the hospital. The next thing I remember with clarity was waking up two months later in long-term patient care. There were issues with the surgery that resulted in all sorts of health issues that still haunt me today. The biggest issue was I lost all sensation from the chest down. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't digest, I couldn't sit, stand and I certainly couldn't walk of my own accord. In plain speak, one of the implant leads damaged my spinal nerve, and spinal nerves never heal. Once they are damaged, it's a done deal. With the help of a fantastic rehabilitation team, doctors, the best family an old man could ask for, I spent the next couple of years recuperating. I regained sensation in my upper extremities and eventually taught myself to walk again, albeit much slower and with deliberate thought and action.

As the saying goes, life goes on. I eventually made it home and found myself sitting at home alone during the day waiting for the family to return from work and school. Unbeknownst to me, depression had set in. It was a slow sneaky process that no one recognized until one morning, I awakened and didn't recognize the person in the mirror. I had lost all passion for everything. I hadn't ventured into my shop since the day I initially went to the hospital some 7 years earlier. I stopped using social media. I stopped visiting with lifelong friends. I gained weight. My days consisted of waking up, moving from the bed to a wheelchair to the kitchen and bath, and back to my bedroom. I even stopped taking my meals in the dining room and visiting with my own family in the family room. I had become the old man who stayed to himself in the back of the house. The worst of it was my personal hygiene. Growing up, my Mom was a stickler for being clean. The Marine Corps was a stickler for being clean. As a retired lawman and professional, I understood the importance of being clean. Yet, I went from showering once or twice a day to showering once or twice a week. Likewise with shaving.

To be clear, I wasn't addicted to opiates or pain medications and I don't drink alcoholic beverages. I was plain old depressed. I had lost my passion for living. Literally, there were days where I would wake up in the morning and curse aloud that I was still here. I wasn't suicidal and I never had a thought of killing myself. I don't believe I ever truly wanted to die. It was more a case of not caring. In a time span of a few short years, I had gone from being very happy, caring, loving, and productive to the person I saw in the mirror. And I didn't like what I saw looking back at me. And it scared me.

But just because you get scared at what you see doesn't mean you'll rush about and start changing things. For me, standing up and not falling over on my face is still a major accomplishment. The mechanics of showering is at least a two-hour ordeal counting recovery time. I still made a commitment. I decided to make small changes. Taking my meals with my family, watching a movie in the family room with everyone. Watching the grandkids play in the backyard that I had built and now someone else maintains. These are all small victories for me and I hope a way for me to reverse the damage I have done to my psyche. A close friend has started coming by to porch visit once or twice a week too. Small changes.

During one of these recent visits, he asked me if I had been out to my shop lately. I shook my head no and tried to change the subject, but he wasn't having it. You see my shop is something special that you don't see every day. It's rather large at 4000 square feet and it's a timber frame-styled shop. It meant a lot to me. I fell the trees and milled them into timbers with my own hands. Then I shaped the joinery and stood that shop up in the old-fashioned German way with pike poles and such. There's not a nail in the building. The entire thing is held together with wedges and treenails. I hand-carved messages on the trusses for future generations to find and I hid gold eagle dollars in hidden compartments in the King trusses on each end of the building. The upper windows in the trusses are all handmade stained glass that were made by my wife. It's a special place.

This place was a labor of love and took me two years to build. I sourced every tree from deadwood that was destined to be slashed and burned. I even used the slabs and offcuts to mill the hardwood floors. So when I became incapable of doing things I loved to do, a part of me died. I guess I shoved that passion into a dark compartment in my head because I never had the desire to go there again when I returned home from the hospital. Now, almost 8 years later, my friend is here sitting on my front porch encouraging me to go with him to the shop right now. When I finally decided he was not going to take no for my answer, I relented. But then I told him I had no idea where the keys were at. He smiled and said he already had them. He had retrieved them from my wife a couple of weeks earlier. I am blessed to have such loving and caring friends. I am also blessed to have had the foresight to plan for parent's needs. Years ago, I had made sure to put an easy access ramp on one side of our front porch that reaches all the way to the driveway. The driveway is a long drive that actually goes beside our home and in between a detached garage and mother-in-law's apartment and then further back to the shop. It's all paved and well-lighted. In other words, I had run out of excuses.

My friend wheeled me back to the shop and unlocked one of the bay doors and wheeled me inside. It was just as I had left it 8 years earlier. It was dustier and there was evidence that maybe a cat had found a way inside but everything was right where I had left it, down to my handwritten notes on my workbench. The cabinets were still clamped on one of the benches just like I had left them. It was all overwhelming. Then from out of nowhere, my two sons stepped into my view. Then my wife. And I lost it. All of the fears and tribulations, worries, and haunts that had troubled me so much over the past 8 years caught up with me and I started crying like a little boy. The feelings I had suppressed for so long came out and there was no stopping the tears for a while. I finally caught my breath and apologized. That's when my wife said you promised me a new kitchen and I'm tired of waiting on it. I looked at her with a lot of doubt and then I looked down at my legs and the wheelchair. Before I could respond, both of my boys chimed in with words of encouragement, "Dad, you tell us how and we will be your arms and legs." My friend had just retired and chimed in with his two cents too. He was tired of watching his friend waste away. It was time to get back to living.

The above story is all true. It happened to me and although the kitchen isn't complete yet, it's about 90% complete. My friend and sons are making sure that I get dirty enough every day that I must shower every day too. My friend makes a point to come over every morning for coffee and a little conversation before we get started in the shop too. Once we finish this kitchen, I plan to sell off the machinery and retire from major woodworking which was my plan all along. We will convert the shop into a family playroom and guest house. I still deal with depression daily. I'm medication adverse and I'm dependent on my close friend and family to help me through the dark times. I don't know if this is the correct long-term solution but for now, it's working for me. My message to anyone struggling with life changes and depression is to let people know. Don't isolate yourself as I did. It's not a sign of weakness to ask for help. And if it's your thing, develop personal relationships with others helps a lot too. Don't ever think you have to go it alone!