2024 kicked like a mule in a house of mirrors, but 2025 kind of fucked me up but good for a minute there. Okay, more than a minute. No matter. I'm here. You're here. What more could we want?
Long story short, I had a bunch of my esophagus yanked out due to some cancerous nonsense going on in there. I can own up to it, though I'm not sure it's necessarily my fault. Then again, could have been the years and years of whiskey, cigarettes, extremely spicy foods (I'm looking at you, Italian long hots and Han Dynasty…which reminds me, if you're ever in Olde City, go to Han Dynasty) and a myriad other poor choices. The cosmic odds.
It was a lot to take in, but in true Me fashion, I pushed through it all, managing not to miss many days at my regular warehouse job and not missing a single gig. I was able to schedule the follow up procedures (which involves having a balloon shoved into your esophagus and then expanding it…big fun on the bayou for sure) around the various gigs I had booked, and thankfully the esophagus and larynx aren't really that close together. The pain was a bit much at times, but I could sing with my usual Pavarotti-esque prowess, so the distraction was a welcome thing in the wake of the esopha-stretching.
The thing that I still remember, clearly as can be, is my wife and I driving back from SF in the November darkness, driving over the Golden Gate and looking out into the blue night and wondering what the fuck just happened, and worrying about what was coming next.
The recovery time was an emotional time for the wife and myself, as we awaited various results from this test or that. Then there was the food stuffs. Soft foods. Pureed. Broths. Smoothies. Mashed potatoes. I became a goddamned gravy master, whipping up a mean beef gravy using beef consomme, Worcestershire, onion powder plus whatever else seemed appropriate at the time. Plus, life was throwing all types of holiday fun our way as it was already. Life is gonna life.
Naturally, the first gig - coming just a couple of days after that initial 4 hour long procedure - was a dinner time set at Hopmonk Sebastopol. Warming up the folks who came to see a Fleetwood Mac tribute act. I was on some pain meds and some THC drink for the pain, but I remember the show went well enough. Pain be damned. I remember the guy who booked me, Bill, posting up to watch me play a few songs. I could tell he could tell something was up with me, and I'm sure he imagined the worst as I was feeling pretty awful. Thankfully, I had been through the worst part already earlier in the week so all I had to do was focus on the music. Same as always.
Then I got to repeat this about 7-8 more times. The esopha-stretching. I used to not like being put out by the anesthesia but after the 5th time what can you do? I got to know a lot of hospital folk, that's for sure. Luckily, I had some healthcare folks that were very helpful, and just as important…they were funny as hell. I imagine you have to be in that environment.
It got to the point where I would play a gig the day after a procedure. What's pain but a mere distraction anyway, right? You just push through. Music is a salve, so I'm sure that had to have helped. Between the discomfort in my chest and my wack-ass thyroid giving me brain fog like a mofo, I can only imagine this has all made me a stronger performer. Or maybe just more weathered. If I were any more weathered at this point, I'd be a damn vane.
So all in all, I'll be around a while longer yet. No more procedures for quite some time. The fog lifts. I have a run of shows coming up that are gonna be more than Sonoma will know what to do with. Sure, the world is exploding and society is imploding, but screw it…let's keep surviving together and let us share a laugh or a meal or a joint somewhere out there, down the line….
Looking forward to seeing you out there.
Juke