Apparently somebody doesn’t want me to collect Social Security.

A week or so before my 69th birthday some 22 days ago, I was hit with the flu.

I’ll take the doctor’s word that it’s the worst variation since 2009 and that I was able to weather it fairly well because I was “healthy.”

Then I scored an upper respiratory infection.

But that wasn’t enough.

I got a urinary infection.

Did I mention in the middle of this that I discovered a broken sewer line and a broken water line in my backyard?

I am not whining.

I have it a heck of a lot better than a lot of people.

That said, I have no intention of making Elon Musk’s job easier. I intend to maximize my Social Security.

The last I checked I wasn’t dead and I’m still under 150 years of age so Musk won’t find anything there. But somebody should clearly update Social Security computers given they seem to be still running on Fortran and there are more than a few instances of legitimate fraud.

I’ll admit I’m not a good patient.

Add to that being told it may take weeks to get up to full speed, I’m going semi-crazy.

I’m sure my Kaiser physician would have a mild coronary if she knew in the middle of all this I was digging ditches in my backyard to uncover pipelines.

I definitely had help. A neighbor, John Alves, was digging as well.

It all started when I noticed a puddle of water near my back fence.

A closer inspection revealed water bubbling up.

John pointed out we needed to dig things up to see what we were dealing with.

Long story short, after we exposed the broken pipe John was able to reach his brother Ed, a contractor and former no-nonsense Escalon City Council member.

My idea of “rest” while recuperating rarely aligns with the medical world’s version.

Twenty-eight years ago after my first hernia surgery, I was cutting the lawn two days later.

The surgeon, Dr. Jerry Weiner, had advised 30 days of avoiding strenuous labor. Cutting the lawn, by my definition, isn’t exactly strenuous.

What didn’t help was the painkiller meds that masked the pain. 

I stopped using them the next day.

I felt the pain with almost every breath afterwards, but it was enough to remind me I’m not OK and to take it a bit easy.

The pain drove me semi-nuts but it kept me from doing anything stupid.

A year or so later, I had my second hernia surgery.

I was told afterwards it had been close to bursting which is definitely not a good thing.

I didn’t want to take pain medication in the recovery room but was told it was a mandatory rule in order to be released.

I got a prescription that I never used.

Even so, three days later after Cynthia mentioned on her lunch break I needed to get around to taking out the three large cherry trees in our backyard that created a mess every year, I managed to top the lawn mower incident.

You can only imagine when she came home after work her reaction looking out the large window into our backyard and all she could see was a huge cherry tree that when she left at noon has been vertical and not horizontal.

I was careful to make sure the cut on the almost 30-foot high tree would fall in such a manner it wouldn’t hit the house, patio, or fences.

I did honor a promise not to touch the fallen tree for a week.

I eventually pruned and chain sawed the fallen tree into small enough pieces that it was able to be hauled off in the four green waste carts we had at the time. I did the same for the trunk and roots and repeated the process with the other two cherry trees.

The four green carts may have caught your attention.

The quarter acre corner lot we had was blessed with soil where anything you planted would grow and do so robustly. The exception was whatever vegetation gophers preferred to pig out on.

There were more than a dozen trees even after getting rid of the three cherry trees, a plum tree, a fig tree, two blue spruce firs, and an almond tree.

Toss in 168 roses and assorted other plants and shrubs, and you can see why filling three to four carts a week with yard debris was easy to do.

Of course, getting rid of mature trees in such a manner could take months of cart filling after it was sliced and diced to city standards.

Trunks in green carts per se were a no-no. But it you had an ax and a crowbar you could break them down into acceptable pieces.

If you haven’t figured it out, I’m great at grunt work as opposed to efforts requiring finesse.

As far as listening to my body, I definitely do even though a sane person might argue otherwise especially when it comes to digging ditches when recovering from an illness trifecta or chain sawing down a cherry tree three days after hernia surgery.

Some say I’m stubborn.

Not really.

I had a good teachers.

Both my mom and grandmother had to deal with adversity that I never have had to.

In my grandmother’s case, it was being abandoned by her husband with seven children to raise and a working ranch at the depth of the Great Recession.

Then when she lost it all, she moved into town, worked three jobs, and built a new home from scratch while still raising three kids under after 18.

My mom, besides becoming widowed with four young children to raise, later in life was viciously attacked by a pair of muggers who used a baseball bat on her head before slamming her face into the hood of a car.

Both kept going, dealing with life.

Sometimes I wonder with all of the bellyaching and rage going around maybe our collective problem with life is perhaps we have it a bit too easy.

You can look around and see families on the financial edge and others struggling who keep going without whining and throwing the adult equivalent of hissy fits.

They’re not being stubborn.

They’re being pragmatic.

We are far better off than most of the planet but too often we seem to wallow in self-pity instead of forging ahead.

This column is the opinion of editor, Dennis Wyatt, and does not necessarily represent the opinions of The Bulletin or 209 Multimedia. He can be reached at dwyatt@mantecabulletin.com