In recent years, the town of Saratoga Springs has become more prosperous and gentrified, in the midst of the chronic economic depression of upstate New York. Horse owners have restored Victorian mansions; developers have constructed, and are still constructing, attractive condominiums (I do not know if they are finding buyers); chain stores have mixed in with the mom-and-pop shops on Broadway; and, although the proprietors of Saratoga County's best restaurant, Chez Sophie, are closing it and moving to France, there are more good restaurants in and around town than ever.
In spite of all the changes, Saratoga Springs retains its magic. The town not only has the natural advantage of its springs, but also a setting amidst lakes and rolling farmland. The perennial success of the race meet defies all logic, particularly in the context of the accelerating decline of the sport of thoroughbred racing. Saratoga Springs is located far from major metropolitan areas; the clubhouse and stabling facilities are antiquated; there is a severe shortage of hotel and motel rooms, parking, and seating; the horsemen have to pay inflated rents for housing; and on the days when it isn't raining, it is often hot and humid. Like most horse owners and fans of racing, there is no place I would rather be from late July through Labor Day.
With the exception of some horsemen, particularly Californians, who go to Del Mar, most of the leading figures in American racing come to Saratoga for at least part of the six-week meet. Days on the racetrack start before dawn, and Saratoga's social life, at all levels, is non-stop during those six weeks. Daily life offers summertime small-town charms, such as the farmers' market. For thoroughbred horse-industry professionals and insiders, the focus of activity, including conferences and yearling sales, continually shifts throughout the meet: during a given week, one might find the steeplechase crowd in town, or the Kentucky breeders and yearling consigners, or the coach-horse people. There are families of owners, breeders, and trainers that have been stalwarts of racing and come to Saratoga for decades. There are new owners who have made a lot of money in the latest hot area of the economy, most of whom disappear from racing and Saratoga in two or three years, a few of whom endure to become part of the fabric of the industry.
While I would love to get back to Saratoga before Labor Day, I cannot set such an objective. I simply have to follow the cliche of taking each day as it comes. Following my surgery on June 15, it was predictable that I would be weakened and lose weight, but it was not predictable that I would develop shingles, an infection of the incision, a blood clot, and muscle spasms of the lower back. In addition to the pain killers, the various drugs that were administered to me for these complications also robbed me of energy and clarity of thinking-- as reflected in the paucity of my blogging since the surgery. (After I got off the last of these drugs two days ago, other than the blood thinner with which I will have to continue injecting myself for at least six months, I was relieved to find that my handicapping of the races improved markedly yesterday and today.)
To deny that I am facing this coming surgery with trepidation would be transparent bravado. With my memory of the first surgery so fresh, I have no illusions about the suffering that is in store for me, even if all goes well. Debilitated not only by lingering effects of the four complications that developed after the first surgery, but also by loss of weight, muscle mass, and stamina, I go into this surgery with much less strength in reserve. But the surgeon seems to think that I am doing relatively well and that I am capable of staying on an ambitious schedule. Apparently, some patients have to wait months between the two surgeries. I keep reminding myself that for the first two months after my diagnosis, I was told adamantly that surgery was not an option for me and that my disease was incurable.
Having undergone these two surgeries, I will have much better odds of surviving for a few more Saratoga race meets, and even some chance of being cured. I approach Monday morning's surgery keenly aware of how lucky I am to be going into it with strong support from family and friends. Susan plans to communicate with you by posting on this blog after she returns home from the hospital.
