Get Well Soon Tom Spurgeon…
You should all know Tom Spurgeon, as his Comics Reporter website is an essential and engrossing read for all comic fans.
There’s no-one writing in comics right now that I could expect to open an article with:
“You have a life-threatening condition,” the doctor said.
“We need to get you somewhere where they can operate on you,” he continued, the words tumbling out of him.
“We need to get you there immediately.” A breath.
“We have a hospital. We have a surgeon. When we have an ambulance, you’ll go.”
….. and then continue to write, with wit, clarity and meaning, about so many different things; Green Lantern, the new DC, his career to date, and much more besides.
In many ways, the most amazing thing about all this is that, aside from a short sabbatical around con season, no-one could really tell anything was wrong. The Comics Reporter kept going, kept delivering, kept us informed and entertained, despite Tom being very seriously ill at the time. His article tells us all about it, but in a way, tells us far more about the man himself.
(Portrait of Spurgeon from his Wikipedia entry, art by Michael Netzer)
From the sounds of it, Tom’s been extremely lucky, and thankfully, is on the road to recovery with an excellent prognosis. We extend every best wish from all of us at the Forbidden Planet International blog and hope he’ll be around to entertain, inform, question and challenge with his views for many, many years to come.
We’ll leave you with Tom’s final words in his article, which we can whole-heartedly agree with. No matter where you are, don’t be afraid of going to a doctor and asking “is this normal, am I alright?” Most of the time, thankfully, you will be, but just for the one time, it’s worth any number of false alarms….
“The lesson this summer offered me was granted in the two hours in the ambulance on my way to surgery, when I was forced to look at my life as a potential whole unit, as something with a beginning and a middle and an end. It may have been denial, it may have been an emotional shutdown, but I had surprisingly few regrets, far fewer than used to come to me on an average sleepless night when I was totally healthy and completely terrified. I thought of my friends and family, each one in turn, and the extraordinary yet ordinary thing of loving people and being loved in return. When I die, I may or may not be remembered by a larger group of people for a moment or two. A smaller group of people will keep me with them for a longer while. Eventually those people will die as well, and I’ll truly be gone. It’s more than enough. People come to comics because they want to matter, but in every way that’s important they already do.
I’m in a long aftercare program. I favor sprints over marathons, and now I’m plopped onto a road course that will last until the end of my life. It takes some getting used to. My prognosis is excellent, yet reversals are possible and setbacks are inevitable. A repeat performance isn’t out of the question. As much as I continue to get better, as much as smiles greet me at the doctor’s office as opposed to calm looks of concern, as much as I feel stronger and more capable and filled with more energy every time I get out of bed, I can’t say with 100 percent certainty, “I’ll be around this time next year.”
Then again, neither can you.”