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They’re Going In Through the Front

February 19, 2026February 19, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

Thoughts, fears, and snacks in the days before neck surgery

On July 24, I had back surgery—and for once in my life, something involving surgeons and sharp objects worked exactly as advertised. The surgery was an absolute success. It relieved pain I had carried with me for years, pain that had eventually relegated me to a chair or a bed like a piece of well-worn furniture. Since then, I’ve been more active, more mobile, and reminded of what it feels like to move without negotiating with my spine first.

The issues I’m dealing with now are the natural result of a life lived in full living color—action-packed, unscripted, and with me doing all my own stunts. Sadly, I didn’t think to record any of them. Back when I was chasing crooks down alleys, sliding across car hoods, and arresting bad guys, there were no body cams strapped to our chests and no doorbell cameras documenting every questionable decision. In hindsight, that may be a blessing. People behaved differently then. The folks we pulled over or chased didn’t try out legal theories they learned on YouTube. If someone even hinted at going the “sovereign citizen” route, they’d likely find themselves exiting the vehicle through the driver’s window and reconsidering their life choices on the pavement. Judges were less impressed by nonsense back then, too. Jail cells and fines were far more common than viral videos.

Sometimes I wonder if all the bumps, bruises, and hard knocks were worth it. Then I remember a frightened grandmother who was grateful we showed up and took the bad guy away—and I know it was.

But I’m getting sidetracked. Apparently, even when facing surgery, I can still drift into police stories.

So, back to the main event.

On March 5, I’ll be going in for cervical disc replacement—C3, C4, and C5—each swapped out for shiny artificial parts, with the added bonus of the surgeon filing down a few rough bone spurs while he’s in there. The procedure requires entering through the front of the neck. Which to me translates to “the throat.” A place I use regularly for swallowing, breathing, and moving blood around—activities I’d like to continue uninterrupted.

Naturally, I have concerns. One poorly timed sneeze. A joke told in the operating room. A momentary slip of the knife. Any of those could turn a routine procedure into a very different blog post.

Oddly enough, what concerns me most is how fast my insurance company approved the surgery. Six days. Six. Anyone who’s ever dealt with insurance knows that’s suspiciously efficient. Normally, approvals involve paperwork, appeals, second opinions, and possibly a séance. So now I’m left wondering: do they know something I don’t? Is this a cost-saving measure? A quiet attempt to write me off while I’m still in beta?

Which is unfortunate, because I’m still working on a book—and I haven’t even finished the first section. I’ve got way too much left to say.

My anxiety is manageable, but my paranoia is stretching its legs. Even my dog has noticed. He’s been sticking close, watching me like these might be my final days…or possibly because I’m giving him more snacks than Steve. It’s hard to say.

Whatever the case, I’m choosing to approach this with humor. It’s what got me through a police career. “Sick humor,” they call it—and yes, I’m going to need every bit of it between now and March 5.

March 5 should be a perfectly good day. Except history keeps raising an eyebrow.

The Boston Massacre happened on March 5, 1770. Patsy Cline—one of my favorite country artists—along with Cowboy Copas and Hawkshaw Hawkins, died in a plane crash on March 5, 1963. BOAC Flight 911 crashed into Mount Fuji on March 5, 1966, killing 124 people.

Still, I’m choosing optimism.

I’m determined that this March 5 will be remembered for something else entirely—a day when the pain that has severe pain in my right arm finally loosens its grip. A day when modern medicine does exactly what it promises. A day when the feeling of numbness, electrical pulses, pain, and partial paralysis ends.

Unless, of course, I crash into Mount Fuji.

But I don’t think my insurance covers that.

I Will Be Back…Or So They Tell Me – A Note Before Surgery

July 23, 2025July 19, 2025Benjamin3 Comments

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

2–3 minutes

A Note From Benjamin Before Surgery

By the time this post appears, I’ll be less than twenty-four hours from checking into the hospital. I have a scheduled lower back surgery. This operation was first approved in 2020. It was postponed due to the overwhelming strain COVID-19 placed on hospitals at the time.

Now, five years later, the time has come. The need for the surgery has grown unavoidable. It has reached a point where it significantly impacts not just my own quality of life. It also affects those around me—including our ever-faithful dog, Otis. After careful planning and the support of some very good people, the time feels right.

To keep the blog active, I’ve written and scheduled daily posts in advance. These will post – daily over the coming weeks as planned. Once I’m fully back to writing day-to-day pieces again, I’ll let everyone know. That said, if something urgent comes up, I will post an update. If it is of national interest and inspires me, I will do so before then. This is, of course, recovery allowing.

In the meantime, I’m grateful for the many kind gestures, well-wishes, and thoughtful messages already sent. That encouragement has made all the difference. I’m especially mindful of my partner, Steven. He will be holding down the fort. This will be happening while I’m in the care of a trusted medical team. He’ll be shuttling between the hospital and home, making sure Otis gets fresh air, snacks, and his favorite TV channel. We’ve jokingly planned it like a household awaiting a newborn—minus the diapers, thank goodness.

The procedure itself will be performed by Dr. Christopher Yeung, a well-regarded spine surgeon whose experience includes working with multiple professional sports teams. After an in-depth consultation, I felt confident in both his knowledge and his approach. The surgery, known as an Anterior Lumbar Interbody Fusion, involves accessing the lower spine through the abdomen. An access surgeon helps to safely move internal structures aside. It’s a careful, technical procedure. The recovery is long. It begins with just a few steps on day one and builds slowly through physical therapy. This process continues in the weeks and months ahead.

So for now, I’m focused on the first step: getting checked in and moving ahead. I’m hoping for deep sedation, steady hands, and a smooth path to healing.

Thanks again for walking alongside me, even if just in spirit. I’ll be back in touch when the fog begins to lift.

Where am I going? In July I will be going places…So watch for me here!

June 22, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

2–3 minutes

A Little Heads-Up About July

Next month, you will notice I won’t be posting daily. Don’t worry—some content will still show up, thanks to the magic of pre-scheduled posts. The reason for the slowdown? I’m finally getting a long-overdue back surgery.

It’s not a procedure I’m exactly excited about. There’s a good chance it’ll knock me off my usual rhythm for a while. That is, of course, if everything goes according to plan. But, there are plenty of ways it not happening:

I can experience a sudden, miraculous recovery and cancel the whole thing.
My insurance will decide it’s a luxury item and deny the claim.
The orderly will wheel me into the wrong operating room.
The doctor disappears right before showtime.
Or, I will be the one who disappears—just as the doctor walks in, ready to go.
Or, the operating table goes missing on the day of the surgery.

My hope is that the surgery will go as planned. If so it will ease the constant, gnawing pain I feel. It affects me whether I’m walking, sitting, standing, or trying to sleep. The sharp, stabbing, burning sensations mostly travel down my left leg. Though, they sometimes jump to the right when they get bored. They’ve also been known to zap my arms and hands. This happens especially in the middle of the night. It leaves a tingling, numbing wake.

I still manage to write here and there. I try to sound semi-coherent. I cook the occasional meal. I do my best to avoid going completely coo-coo. This journey has been a slow burn, building over more than fifteen years of other health concerns.

Sometimes, I see people out in the world. They are screaming into the void. I think, Wow, what must it be like to be them? But then I look around at my home, my dog, and my better half. I realize they’re probably looking at me thinking the exact same thing.

Until then, I’ll keep doing what I do—telling stories, filing reports, and generally pretending everything is completely under control. I’ll keep you posted on the surgery prep as it unfolds. Yes, I’m still obsessively checking my doctors’ reviews on Healthgrades.com. So far, there are no red flags. There are just a few mildly worrying Yelp comments about cold hands and questionable playlist choices in the OR.

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Ben’s Surgery!