Happy Thanksgiving!

SO Much to be Grateful For

To be clear, I’m writing this for myself, first and foremost. It’s how I process things, and I have a lot to process.

I’ve been overwhelmed at the number of people who’ve reached out with support (truly … more on that later). I know there are questions, and rather than repeat myself ad nauseam, I figured I’d make this little writing exercise/record public. Ignore it, or read it, or something in between. That you’ve cared enough to read even this far has already made my day. I’ll update it from time to time.

Two versions: TL;DR: WTAF! summary of the events of the last week, followed by OMG! TMI! gory details/trigger warning, etc. No blood, but there is poop.

TL;DR: WTAF!

• On Tuesday, 11/25/2025, I was carrying a box down a set of uneven stairs outside at a friend’s, without sight of the steps, when I lost my footing, fell about four steps, and tumbled to a hard stop against an adjacent building.
• I did not lose consciousness, but I could not move. Eventually, I was able to wiggle toes and fingers, and even reposition an arm. (Whew)
• Me being me, I guess, I started directing traffic (I could breathe and talk, more “whew”). Confirmed this was a 911 situation and told someone to call. I had another person take a photo, thinking it could help others down the road better understand what they might be dealing with. (Haven’t brought myself to look at that one yet.)
• I was transported to Overlake ER in Bellevue. CAT scan, MRI (30 minutes in a loud tube!). Diagnosed with central cord syndrome, and had surgery for it late Wednesday afternoon. I now have three fused vertebrae in my neck.
• Apparently, post-surgery, I was asking, “What’s this AI crap?” and whether I could use my brain again. I have no memory of that or post-surgical pain. My first memory is waking up sometime after midnight and texting Kathy to let her know I was OK/alert.
• I was released from the ICU on Saturday, and I’m writing the initial draft of this while sitting(!) at a desk(!) in my orthopedic room on Sunday.
• Update 2025-12-02: I’m home. We’ll be focusing on lots of in-home rehab.

Perhaps most importantly:

• I’M WALKING.
• I’M TYPING.
• I’M FUNCTIONAL.
• All of which are slightly slower than before, but I’M IMPROVING DAILY.
• I’M SO INCREDIBLY GRATEFUL for the outpouring of support from SO MANY corners. I’m truly overwhelmed.

OMG! TMI! Gory Details!

I have feelings about trigger warnings, but for those whom it might help, the following topics may be mentioned and discussed explicitly: quadriplegia/paralysis, poop, death. There may be will be is profanity.

Honestly, there’s only one trigger warning here: life.

Well, that didn’t go as planned

It is an odd thing to suddenly realize you’re face-down-ish on the gravel, with the one arm you can see positioned oddly off to one side, unable to move your feet or hands, including that silly-looking arm.

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Joo, our daughter-by-choice, and I drove to pick up Kathleen, my sister-by-choice, who lives in North Bend, to spend the holiday with us. Currently, without a washing machine, the plan was to bring laundry along to use ours.

I was carrying the large box of laundry in front of me as I walked down the uneven steps leading from the mobile home to the ground. Without being able to see the steps, I misplaced one foot and lost it completely. Full-on ass-over-teakettle moment. (Look it up, kids.)

I remember the fall — no “LOC”, or loss of consciousness as they like to say — though the details happened too fast for a chronology. I landed as described above.

Well, fuck.

Controlling(?) chaos

Kathleen and Joo both came running, having heard what I’m certain was a pretty good thunk as I bounced against the next-door mobile home.

What weirds me the hell out — OK, first of many things, I guess — is that I didn’t panic. I couldn’t feel or move my hands or feet, but I could look around (at that silly arm, an image that’ll stick for a while, for sure), I was breathing, and … I was telling people what to do? Call 911? Take a picture?? Am I that controlling? Yet I was, temporarily at least, a paraplegic.

Well, fuck.

But, yes, “temporarily”. I wiggled my toes (on my own, and of course later in response to many repeated requests), my hands/fingers, and got that silly arm into a less silly position. Yes, I suppose I should have done nothing at all with that arm, but heat of the moment and all that.

That’s the moment, right there, I started to have hope. This was to be a road forward, not out.

Calls to 911 were made, of course. In about 10 minutes, Eastside Fire and Rescue was on scene. They carefully evaluated me, put on a C-collar, and positioned me onto what I can best describe as a tarp with lots of handles. Apparently, backboards are passe these days. They carried/loaded me into their rig and examined me more thoroughly.

Based on that assessment, they elected to wait for (30 min?) and load me onto a transport vehicle. This was another early decision that’s contributed to my recovery, I’m convinced. Rather than going all lights-and-siren to the closest but perhaps less well-equipped emergency room, they elected to stabilize and transport to the larger, more capable Overlake hospital in Bellevue, about 45 minutes away.

Logistics enters the chat

While I was being loaded up, Joo was on the phone with her 16-year-old son Eugene, who had stayed behind with Kathy at home. He quickly took on the role of communications liaison between some fairly panicked people. He did stellar work, truly. Again, right person, right place, and all that.

Together, they quickly took care of the dogs — mundane logistics like dog poop are never far away, regardless of world events. They were closer, so they would certainly arrive at the hospital before me. In the meantime, calls were being made and messages sent to those who not only would want to know asap, but also to some who might be able to help with further logistics if needed.

One good example was reaching out to Kathleen’s son, Adam. A longtime Tesla driver like me, he quickly figured out the Rivian and drove it home for us. (Electrics are a little different, and in an emergency, it’s good to have a little experience.) It seems like a little thing, an unimportant detail in the grand scheme of things, but it was one less thing to worry about. When more and more things to spend energy on are piling up quickly (mostly for others, I had a focus), removing little stuff from immediate need can be incredibly valuable.

As is the experience of a lot of people in similar positions, my primary memory of the hospital is ceilings, lots and lots of ceilings rolling by as I was moved in, moved about, examined, and whatever else.

Claustrophobic? I am now

The CAT scan was quick and painless. I have no idea what it showed.

MRI was painless, but decidedly not quick. I was in a very loud tube with a ~27-inch bore. My elbows were rubbing up against the walls as I was moved back and forth.

They asked if I was claustrophobic, to which I said, “I don’t think so.” Uh huh.

The image doesn’t do it justice, but interestingly, the bore didn’t bother me as much as the length. I was inserted quite a ways. I know my feet and legs were sticking out, but I couldn’t say by how much. Creepy doesn’t do it justice.

I suck at meditation, but have been doing it more or less consistently since 2008. Afterwards, I told a friend that the years of meditation had paid off in spades. Not perfect, it never is, but simple mindfulness meditation kept me from a complete freak out when they said, “OK, next run is around fifteen minutes”.

I don’t know what it showed, but it showed enough.

Central cord syndrome

As I understand it:

• No vertebrae were broken.
• At least one disc was ruptured.
• The spinal cord was damaged, but not torn. I liken it to a bruise. Bad enough, but still much better than some alternatives.

This was all in my neck, at C5-6, C6-7. The solution: anterior cervical discectomy and fusion, courtesy of Dr. Min.

I now have hardware.

I neglected to ask for any available Bluetooth upgrades. Missed an opportunity, I think.

Feeling no pain, or did I?

I have no memory of pain during the incident, the pre-op, or waking up post-op. I’ve been asked repeatedly if my neck or head hurts, or if any of the minor scrapes along the way caused issues. Nope.

Kathy, on the other hand, reports differently. Post-op, I was apparently somewhat… vocal? Apparently, I was asking, “What’s this AI crap?” and whether I could use my brain again (which assumes I had been using it to begin with). I have no memory of that or post-surgical pain. Pain induced? Meds induced? Something else? Dunno. I literally do not remember.

I’m sorry that Kathy had to witness it.

My first memory is waking up sometime after midnight, noticing my phone was within reach, and messaging Kathy to let her know I was OK/alert. (Not sure if my glasses were on, so I don’t think I could proofread well. Glasses were damaged anyway.)

Apparently, I surprised her.

And I continue to feel no pain related to my neck, head, or other bumps and bruises. Another bullet dodged, I think.

ICU

I spent four nights in the ICU. Naturally, I was regularly checked for signs of injury, mostly to confirm progress but also to identify any potential regression. There was no regression. In fact, progress has been steady and forward. There are really only two significant issues:

• Walking. I’m doing well with a walker, and even short steps without (with supervision!). Walking multiple times to the bathroom, learning how to step up into my home, and just walking to rebuild the motor control are all happening.
• Hand use. Given what I do for a living, this was also/additionally concerning. Motor control, in both hands, but primarily my left, was affected. So, it’s one reason I had Kathy bring in my laptop: typing. And it’s been working wonders. While there are many other exercises and therapies down the road, the fact that I’m freehand typing this (with occasional light assists from Grammarly) is, in my mind, huge.

Interestingly, my chronic high blood pressure was used to my advantage. In fact, I’m told the primary reason I was in the ICU post-op was to monitor the BP-increasing med closely they’d put me on: norepinephrine. Why increase? To increase the profusion of fluid into my spinal cord for improved healing. This is measured in MAPS or Mean Arterial Pressure.

The norepinephrine was slowly decreased as monitoring progressed, and coming off a more-or-less constant BP monitor (every 15 minutes, to every hour, then finally to every four) allowed them to kick me to an orthopedic floor.

That wasn’t the only testing, though. Neuro tests, like hand squeezes, limb movement, and strength thereof, were routine. These tests actually gave me my next level of hope: they were consistently improving, if slowly, across the board.

Ortho tech

Technically, I had an ortho procedure — bones and screws and all that — but it sure seems neuro-adjacent, literally.

My time in the ICU came to an end, and I moved to a room on an ortho floor. Nice and large, and comfortable for a hospital, for sure. My one hope, without asking, was that it had something I could use as a desk.

My concept of a “go bag” is my backpack and the technology I keep in it. It’s not designed for any specific purpose, like a hospital, but if I’m called away or stuck or whatnot, my ability to connect and work, or something similar, is critical. Put another way, it’s who I am. I sometimes refer to it as “Ask Leo! world headquarters”, since wherever it is, there I am. So when Kathy asked what I needed, it was for her to throw my laptop in the backpack and haul it in.

I set it up on the desk, and it remained operational throughout my stay. Seriously, it became my lifeline in so many ways. It was my communications, my reading, my music, my video, my typewriter, and probably more things that I can’t think of.

Of course, my mobile was with me as well, but with damaged primary glasses and secondaries that required me to hold the phone some distance away, it was a pain at times. On my nightstand, for sure, and used, but still … definitely more typos there.

Ortho poop

I promised TMI. Time to deliver a little.

“Average” regularity is once a day for most. I’ve been told once you get to around three days without, it’s time to consider “measures”. I hit five, heading towards six. Not uncomfortably so, just … no action, likely due to a combo of good (or bad) timing, and constipatory drugs like oxycodone.

There’s also some baggage. Even though I had no symptoms, my mother’s final demise was exacerbated by a very painful bowel perforation and ostomy. So it was on our minds.

Miralax to the rescue. The problem, though, is that the reaction time is long enough that it’s a little too easy to say, “Well, maybe we need a little more.” And “maybe we need a little more, mixed with prune juice” (actually not bad, chilled). And then “well, perhaps a little milk of magnesia to stimulate things a little”.

The first is glorious. The second is a reassurance that things are returning to normal. After that … fear.

When I was younger, I always shook my head at the apparent fascination older people had about their bowel movements. I get it now.

FWIW, the staff on the ortho floor (and, actually, the entire staff across all floors and departments) were absolutely incredible. One introduced herself as a professional butt-wiper. I had hoped to avoid her services, but it was not to be.

Speaking of …

Be kind to the person who wipes your butt

Many years ago, Kathy and I were flying back home, and for a few reasons out of our control, we missed our connection through Dallas. We were not alone; there were perhaps hundreds of delayed passengers.

These folks generally took two approaches to dealing with the situation:

• Becoming angry, abusive, and demanding better (though unavailable) treatment.
• Shrugging shoulders, rolling with it, and making the best (or least worst) of it.

We fell into the latter camp. We were joking around in line, knowing that there was nothing we could do to change the situation, and what would happen would happen. It was out of our control.

Guess who got to go home sooner than some others?

Hospitals are stressful situations, without a doubt. But the same rules apply: the people there are honestly trying to help you get to where you need to go, including the professional butt-wiper. Treat them well, and everyone will have a better experience. Yes, there are extreme situations where that might not always be possible, but still.

Naturally, that was my goal: treating them all with respect, some humor, and an absolute acceptance that they had my best interests in mind, even in a chaotic (and sometimes insurance-complicated) environment. We got along great. I love them all.

I honestly can’t say enough good things about the staff at Overlake. Front to back, top to bottom, ER to surgery to ICU to Ortho, they took great care of me. More than that, I felt very well taken care of and respected. In a situation such as this, that’s more than just comfort and reassurance, I’m convinced it’s actually part of the process that allows me to heal at my unanticipated pace.

The many

By far the single biggest surprise? Take-away? Unexpected realization? Was the number of people who flew out of the woodwork to support Kathy and me. I’ll be writing about tears and emotion (and steroids) separately, but for the past two weeks, when I think about the people, both groups and individuals, involved in all this, I frequently weep.

It’s common these days to be cynical when talking about people in general. “Have you met people?” is a common comment that reflects the negative perception so prevalent right now.

I’ve met people. People are awesome. No, not all people, but the chosen collection of family, friends, and acquaintances I’ve somehow managed to surround myself with have been absolutely nothing short of amazing.

Many of us have those “drop everything” friends — the ones we would drop everything for in an emergency. Turns out that’s a reflexive property. We had several who offered to, and some who did, drop everything in an instant to come to our aid. The offers were often inconvenient, but they were made nonetheless. And while often mundane in nature — vehicle pick up, pet care, food coordination, transportation, company, whatever — they each represented something that would make our lives ever so slightly less chaotic, with one less thing to worry about.

The list of names is long. The surprise is that it’s a much, much longer list than I’d ever understood it to be.

The one

Kathy and I met on October 7, 1977. My parents were opposed to our marriage, which happened two and a half years later on Groundhog Day, 1980. As I write this, we’ve been together 48.16 years and married 45.84 years. (Yes, there’s a spreadsheet. I am who I am, after all.) They said it wouldn’t last. To their credit, my folks embraced the invitability before the wedding, and she became the dearly loved daughter they never had.

I tell that story because it’s been Kathy who’s both suffered the most throughout this, while simultaneously being my rock. Yes, I know there were long, hard tears at home, particularly the first night, and that the word “terrified” has been used more than once. But she’s been there for me without hesitation. “We’ll figure it out” has been a common response as we encounter the various nuances and surprises of our situation. And we do. We just do. Calmly, rationally, and with positivity and humor.

Together.

As I first lay paralyzed on the ground, my thoughts did not go to death. I honestly didn’t feel like it was my time, but even if it had been, as horrific as it would be for all, at least it would have been clear. No, my concern was that this paralysis would not be temporary at all, and that I’d have just saddled Kathy up with a lifetime of caregiving.

I’m so thankful that was not to be.

I could not be more humbled and more grateful to have her in my life. There simply are no words.

Future

I’ll wrap this missive up here. There’s more to come, of course, but as topics present themselves, I’ll write them separately, as they’ll likely be more philosophical and think-pieces than chronology and commentary. I’ve been keeping a list; I did mention to a friend that if nothing else, this experience has generated more ideas to ponder than ever. (Though this is a sucky way to generate content, I will say.)

As for my physical well-being, I truly hope (and expect) the coming weeks to be boring—boring is good—continued rehab, a little progress every day. My progress already exceeds my own expectations, and that it might continue to do so — no doubt despite inevitable setbacks — gives me great hope.

I’ve essentially taken the month of December off, and am only making tentative plans for January. With respect to some of my projects:

• Ask Leo! – My staff at Ask Leo! stepped up instantly. They are absolutely part of “the many” I mention above. Newsletters and videos will continue as edited re-runs of popular and important items. I’ve also collected a long list of tech-related items resulting from my experience that I’ll start detailing next year as well. A lot went well tech-wise, and there were lessons learned along the way.
• Not all News Is Bad – Should resume in January sometime. I plan to be my own first story.
• 7 Takeaways – Should resume in January sometime. The first issue will be non-tech takeaways from my experience. As I said, I have a growing list.
• My personal blog (where you’re reading this post) – Will continue to see occasional posts. As I said at the beginning of this essay, writing is how I process, and I have a lot to process. If you care, you can sign up for email notifications when I post something new.
• My volunteer work – I’m lurking and watching folks step up admirably. While I’m available for quick answers to unblock or clarify larger issues, I’m mostly hands-off both for myself and to allow other eyes to examine the organization’s IT infrastructure for both understanding and infrastructure. The plan is to resume normal efforts gradually in January as well.

Until then, if you’ve lasted this long, thank you for your attention and well wishes. They’re all deeply appreciated.

I wish you a calm and peaceful — perhaps even boring — December and holiday season.

And watch your step.

PS: AI, AI, Oh!

For grins, and because it’s who I am, I uploaded a large collection of notes — raw doctors’ notes, status and progress reports, nursing reports, plans, and records — to AI. Specifically, I uploaded to Notebook LM so that I could then ask questions in English and get understandable answers about what happened to me. It’s been interesting, to be sure.

After uploading something like 64 documents, Notebook LM pooped out this summary.

Even the selected icon is spot-on.

“What’s this AI crap?” indeed.