We got up early this morning; Maria insisted on driving me to get my Covid-19 test at Saratoga Hospital. We always considered how to have some fun, so we got up even early and went to a lovely cafe in Greenwich, N.Y.

I’ve re-focused myself on a diet and healthy eating since my blood work showed a rise in my A1C number, still low but moving in the wrong direction over the summer. And small wonder, since I inexplicably and foolishly slipped off the wagon this summer and started eaten sugar-filled desserts.

I wish I could tell you what I was thinking, but I guess I wasn’t thinking. I’ve always had this strong notion that a moral life requires me to follow the rules and the law, but I’ve never really applied that to my body, which I just never had much of a relationship with—something to keep working on.

That’s how I look at surgery. People are graciously praying for me and wishing me well, and I appreciate that. But I see surgery as several other things in my life as a chance to learn, grow, and understand myself.

Before my surgery, I asked myself what I could learn? What do I need to know? What will make me brighter and healthier? How can I turn this into something useful?

I’ve taken a half-dozen tests in the past weeks, and I have learned a great deal about my body, my diet, aging, and a healthy outlook for an aging man. I’ve enjoyed most of the conversations with my doctors, all of whom happen to be open, empathic, and available.

When I have surgery, I make sure I have my crosses ready. I call them “protect crosses,” they each have a different meaning for me. The small one was an old Roman Cross, found during an excavation in Italy.

The larger one is my newest cross, an onyx at the center, purchased when I learned I was having surgery on my foot. Interesting, for a Jew, turned Quaker turned pseudo-Christian. I can’t bring them into the operating room with me, but I can keep them nearby. I do believe they will watch over me.

I wear both of them all the time, under my shirt.

I know I am fortunate to have such good doctors and nurses. With each surgery, I become closer to my doctors; they know me better, understand me and know when to challenge me and educate me.

They are empathetic but not gentle. As they get to know me, they tell me what I need to hear, not what I want to hear.

Surgeries deepen and enrich my relationship with Maria. An independent partner, she moves closer in before surgeries, drives me places, keeps an eye on me, lets me know that I am l loved.

They also give me the chance to reaffirm her independence and her life as an artist. She doesn’t want to be a caretaker at this point in her life, and that’s the last thing I want for her. Surgeries remind both of us that we can be there for one another, but also that we can keep our identities as creative people intact.

I think that is something we need to be committed to and work hard at. There are a lot of ways to help and to get help. This will prepare us for the time when it becomes more challenging.

On surgery day and a day or so after, she will be there when I need her, and then, as soon as she can, she will happily retreat to her studio and make creative and beautiful things.

I am perpetually surprised at how little I know about my body. I didn’t know my heart had a big giant blocked artery (we opened it up last year.) that they couldn’t fix during my first open-heart surgery.

I didn’t know a bone spur could cause infections and ulcerated injuries from down below. My foot injury is from the bottom up, not the top down. This is new to me. Bone injuries can keep wounds from healing. I’ve learned a lot about feet and how they work – or don’t.

And diet is not something to be considered once, but every day, all the time. I need to look at those packages and understand what they say.

I have a soft spot in my heart and mind for nurses. I just like them, their directness, their honesty, their warmth. We talk easily with one another; I trust them; I bring them cookies, Amish necklaces, and even books.

I refuse to see doctors and nurses as uncaring, dishonest, or suspicious characters when it comes to my health.  Health is finding good people you trust and then trust them. I refused to believe I had sleep apnea. I do, and a severe case of it. Every day I was in denial, endangered my heart, and enabled my diabetes.

It tears my heart to see idiots scream and yell at them during the pandemic and the vaccine controversies; even helping people has become a poisonous political issue in America.

And, of course, I learn about my odd and sometimes twisted psyche. I do much better in trouble than I often do in the ordinary world. I see during surgeries where I am strong and where I am weak.

I learn about myself beyond medicine.  Each procedure makes me stronger, as well as healthier. They tell me I’m a good patient, cooperative and uncomplaining, and eas easy to work with. I guess that’s what I want to be with each surgery – healthier, no whining, and a will to heal.