The LongBow Papers

Liberal-oriented columns, commentary and archived articles on national and international news, politics, and the communication arts--with emphasis on China--by Joseph Bosco, author, journalist, director and actor; Professor of Drama and Communications at Beijing Foreign Studies University.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Joseph Allen Bosco, Happy Birthday Number One!

8:17 PM

Okay, big deal, so I'm six days late, shoot me, please: On April 14, Joseph Allen Bosco, my first and only granchild, celebrated his FIRST BIRTHDAY! I am certain he was surrounded by at last two very special, loving families--along with a few of my old ballplayers and second sons--in New Orleans.

But, dadgum, I can't give you the picture proof because for some silly reason the Baby Joseph Allen Bosco website won't load here in China, at least not in the last few days. Surely it can't be the Great FireWall of China; that young'n and his mom and pop are not into politics of any kind, not even local.

8:17 PM / Editor / permalink 0 comments

I'm Hurting and Soon They'll Be Cutting...

6:34 PM

It's been close to three months since I've posted to these pages. The reasons are not ideological, external (or internal) banishment, nor can I say that I was too busy. The reason is quite simple. Doctors ordered me not to. No, I don't mean that doctors specifically ordered me not to post to The LongBow Papers; the doctors ordered me not to come even close to my desk, which is where my computer is. The doctors ordered me to stay flat on my back in bed. Period. And I don't own a laptop; consequently, no posting. Those orders have not changed. I am finally defying doctors' orders because a lot of people think I vanished from the face of this earth, a goodly number of them do so with much pleasure; so here's to 'em! And then there are the many wonderful people who are wondering why I haven't answered e-mail since god was a pup.

The reason doctors rendered such an order is also simple; albeit the full story behind it is 26 years old and quite complex. But I won't punish you with the full ancient history here; folks that know me well know that story all too well. The present situation alone takes a bit of telling.

In late January, I began to lose control of my legs, quickly. Within days I went from more than my usual slight limp to lurching and hobbling, with pain over-the-top; soon my legs were crumpling without warning and I was falling down in public and crawling. I couldn't make my legs do what I wanted them to do. The humiliation was and still is unspeakable. Thank goodness most people around the university were gone for the winter break and Spring Festival. Unfortunately, that also left me alone--without the ability to walk.

I managed to lurch, hobble and crawl enough to stock the apartment with a lot of instant Chinese fast-food. I then spent the next 3 weeks hobbling and crawling thankfully out-of-sight at home. And the pain grew--exponentially.

When people returned and found me in such a state, I was able to get to a hospital. I was not the least bit surprised to learn that I had severely injured my lower spinal chord and needed major surgery. Not surprised, but angry as hell at myself and the cosmos.

26 years ago, I fell off of a stage and fractured L-5 vertebrae. I then had three lumbar fusions during the late '80s, all unsuccessful. The doctors wanted to continue their annual cutting, right through the largest muscle and cartilage mass in the human body (the reason we can walk upright and dogs can't); with each one meaning a month in a hospital and a year in a torturous body brace hoping one's own bone wouldn't pull a Benedict Arnold and reject its own.

But I said that's it, no more surgeries on my back. I said it emphatically and somewhat cutely: "When you guys come up with a zipper to put back there, maybe then I'll let you try again!" I'll never forget my surgeon's words (he was and still is a dear friend, just very far away now, and retired): "All right, Joe. But some day you're gonna come back in a wheelchair crying for it." I said, "No, doc, I won't. You really don't know me."

For the next 21 years I tried my best to live a normal life; in pain constantly, but it was manageable. I didn't take pain-killers because I couldn't write or think clearly with them. Scotch helped a lot; so did a bunch of aspirin and really good "smoke." I mean, I beat that sucker for 21 years, and I was damn proud of it.

I'm not a Christian, but in the Bible it says that "Pride goeth before a fall." And so it did. It laid me low. But so much worse than before; the damn spinal chord now is almost clipped shut!

I have been confined to bed for 8 weeks now, waiting for the bureaucracy to twiddle and piddle its way through so I can have my back operated on--that which I swore I would never let happen again. But there is little choice. It's either surgery, or I'll never walk again--nor do any of the other things the lower half of one's body is blessedly useful for.

But no bone fusion this time. They have high-tech procedures now. A thin titanium plate with tiny screws will lock it up right and tight--after and if they can get all of that bad bone out of the way. You see, it is also now high-risk surgery because of all that useless bone that was taken from my thigh and packed along side L-5 and L-4 vertebrae with a wing and a prayer that it would all fuse together into a stable lower mid-spine.

I can't have an MRI due to some steel buckshot still in my head from my crazy youthful days; one is buried in the optical nerve behind my left eye and would be pulled in a yankee instant ripping and tearing through the eyeball by the magnetic field created by the fandangle machine. So the surgeons won't truly know the condition of the bone where the screws must go until they get inside.

As a fine Chinese doctor said to a close confidante upon a visit to refill my prescription of anti-inflammatory medication (he won't even let me out of bed to get my medicine): "If we make a tiny mistake and hit the nerve...?" and let his words trail off ominously. That was the English translation of what he had said in Chinese, but the meaning when translated and mimed later was all too telling.

And that brings up a question I am too often asked: Why am I not going back to the States for the surgery? And this question comes from Chinese friends mostly, because virtually all of my friends and associates are Chinese.

Therefore, in no particular order: Reason number one, I can't afford it. Reason number two, China is my home now. Reason number three, almost all of the people I care about the most are in China. Reason number four, I no longer have a home anywhere in America. Reason Number five, the only family in America I love and trust enough to be with me in a hospital room and not pull a plug and murder me, is my son Joseph, his wife Michelle, and Baby Joseph Allen Bosco--and with his blessed addition to their life and home, they have no room for me to stay before and after surgery. It would also put my son Joseph in the terrible position of having to stand against a couple of family members who would be most likely to pull the plug, people whom he loves very much.

And reason number six: The surgeons in China are as good as any in the world.

In closing this overlong tale of woe, I want to say how wonderful Beijing Foreign Studies University, my employer, has treated me throughout this ordeal--and continues to. Since I have not been able to teach at all this semester, by contract they could have sent me packing, bag and baggage many weeks ago, evicting me from my home of the past four years. But they have not. They are doing everything possible to secure my complete recovery and continue my stay here at Beiwai well into the future. I am so very grateful; truly beyond measure.

6:34 PM / Editor / permalink 0 comments