Good Blood, Bad Blood

“There is nothing to do. There is nowhere to go.”

Thich Nhat Hahn 

I had an appointment with an oral surgeon in The Dalles, OR. It’s 20 miles east of my home in Hood River. The morning sun made freeway driving difficult. At one point, I gunned the engine to speed by a cluster of 18 wheelers. My check engine soon light began to blink. Well, soon is not now, so I sped onward.

I arrived early. I like the surgeon. He managed the installation of implants some years ago. I re-visited him in 2020 when osteonecrosis of the jaw occurred as a side effect of my cancer treatment. I returned in 2023 when a second area of bone exposure erupted. Since then, the gum tissue has continued to erode. I wondered if this might be the canary in the coal mine, warning of systemic collapse. Hence, a third visit.

The doctor soon allayed my fear. “Often,” he said, “if we try to treat the condition, we make it worse. There’s no sign of infection. Let’s continue with our conservative watch and wait.”

I left elated. Time for a walk on the riverfront. Hood River, where I live, is west of the crest of the Cascade Mountains. The green fir forests of that region quickly become high desert when heading east. Barren bluffs rise above the gorge, which time carved upon the compliant basalt geology.

Here, in The Dalles, the Columbia River dips to the south, then slowly curls back to its predominant east to west flow. The river, at this juncture is sheltered to some extent from the west wind. Its calm flow does not support the kite and sail board activities for which Hood River is famous.

The oral surgeon’s office is adjacent to the riverfront. It is situated in a business park established to house many city services. At one time, a large aluminum plant existed as the principle tenant of the waterfront. It’s long gone. Replacing it, and then some, is a campus of one of the world’s largest tech businesses, Google. Campus is something of a euphemism. Their presence is huge. Complex is probably the better word.

The politics around their arrival came with the common bargaining chips of new jobs, an infusion of money into the local economy in return for access to the river and its hydro-electric power. Tax breaks and etcetera were the trading tokens to make this happen. I won’t get into the right or wrong of this arrangement. Time will tell.

One of the benefits, though, has been improvements to the riverfront. A lengthy paved walkway acts as a promenade. Walkers and bikers can enjoy views of the Columbia and its wildlife. And, following my release from the dire threat of osteonecrosis, I set out with a sandwich, water, and my iPhone camera.

The pathway is flat. A few dips and rises add interest, but walking is easy. The river’s placid demeanor flows in stark contrast to the hubbub of Hood River’s Marina. A few walkers ambled along. Two bikers, two runners, and a maintenance person came and went. I had the riverfront virtually to myself. An occasional boat plowed the waterway. Waterfowl fed in comfort near shore. It was quiet, peaceful. The complex looms behind a tall attractive fence topped with security cameras and fronted by well maintained landscaping. Clean and tidy everywhere.

I wandered off the pathway when opportunities arose. But, for the most part, I just walked off my morning’s anxiety. After a couple of miles, I turned around. I moseyed a ways back. I stopped and sat at a bench. I ate my sandwich and drank some water. Below me, a group of geese fed themselves in the mossy shallows of the river. We shared lunch at a comfortable distance. The morning’s coolness dissolved into a warm windless afternoon.

I had nothing to do and nowhere to go. So, I returned to my truck and drove home. As far as that check engine soon light goes, well, I’ll Google it.