Another Fine Mess

Here is what happened…. about a week ago I road my bike about 6 miles or so on some great Monday weather in southwest Ohio. I felt an odd pain in my left breast that ran down my arm but to me at the time I thought – Oh you are straining that muscle you hurt last year. The pain went away after I stopped and rested a bit. That should have been a clue but it was not to me. On and off over the next few days it came back. I began to think that maybe I should get it checked out.

Debbie encouraged me to do just that and I made an appointment with my primary care person.

The ache in my left breast and trailer down my arm came back with a vengeance on Saturday while I was starting to put a porch glider together for Debbie. I still thought it was nothing and sat down for awhile and the pain subsided. (I just called it a pain. I did not do that then.) Debbie convinced me that it was not nothing and I should get it checked out.

We went to Jewish Hosp. and on Monday morning they did an angio-thingy to see what the problem was. I will interrupt my story a bit to mention that I was not in favor of visiting an ER on Saturday because no matter what, gray hair and chest discomfort – medical folks like that term instead of pain – will equal staying the night and the next day. I will admit that I should not be so cynical about that but it seems to be the way of our world and what the doctor found was worse that I thought.

I took up riding a bike again a few years ago. I did that a lot when I was younger.

When I retired from my engineering and service career I started walking a lot. Typically five miles or so for a typical trek around the neighborhood. We lived in a community that was perched on top of a ridge and I made a game of walking a long distance without going downhill. Over time I varied my walks to include parks and hills. When I saw my doctor for an annual checkup he said, “you’ve lost ten pounds!” instead of hello. The bike riding was a natural extension of that activity.

It got me through the first summer after Cheryl died. I was outside and in the sun.

According to the surgeon the right coronary artery to my heart is 99% blocked and there is blockage elsewhere. (It is remarkable to me that I don’t have more pain. Now, for example I have none.) The report that I have from this procedure states that the left anterior descending artery is 95% blocked with a couple of the branches 75% and 50% blocked. Doctors like to write stenosis so the verbiage is stenosed.

Yesterday there were a bunch of tests to find the extra tubing and to determine where the calcified stenosis blockages are best detoured around to fix me. Something called a cardiac arterial bypass graft (cabbage) is in my future on Friday.

Wow I thought. I just do not feel that bad.

At this point I am just beginning to understand the value of having another caring person in your life, a person that is not afraid to say to you that you are wrong about some things, that person for me is Debbie. If she had not insisted that I get checked out I might still be at home wondering what that pain was and masking it with Tylenol or ibuprofen or both.

The moral here is if you are having twinges in your chest in your left breast and your left arm is following the dance in full romance get checked out. Or you might check out.

Debbie is with me through all of this. No doubt the universe is unfurling as it should.

Carpe the damn Diem but do not ignore what your body is saying.

Dad

Who was your most influential teacher? Why?

My most influential teacher is/was my father.

Oh, you say. You cannot use a parent, but I say I must. I wrote is above because he still influences my thoughts occasionally.

Our parents are in all of us. We carry their DNA. DNA is more than just heredity. It is attitude and character. It is love and dislike. It is friendship and beauty. It is many things beyond the physical.

In my dad’s case he was a technician and a technical thinker. I spent my working career as an engineer. I have always felt that I learned the practical aspects of that calling from him. Later on as I got older I went to school to pick up some of the math that I did not quite understand.

He did not push it on me. He did teach me how to analyze problems and think for myself.

Carpe Daddio.

Screwtape and Lent

Our pastor decided that it might be fun to read The Screwtape Letters by C. S. Lewis for a Lenten exercise this year. Having read that in high school along with “Out of the Silent Planet” and “Paralandra”, I thought it might be a kick.

C. S. Lewis in the guise of Screwtape, a master devil mentoring his nephew and apprentice devil, Wormwood, writes near the end of chapter 13, paragraph 4: … The man who truly and disinterestedly enjoys any one thing in the world, for its own sake, and without caring two-pence what other people say about it, is by that very fact forearmed against some of our subtlest modes of attack. You should always try to make the patient (human subject) abandon the people or food or books he really likes in favor of the ‘best’ people, the ‘right’ food, the ‘important’ books….

That particular passage struck me right my prefrontal cortex. It was a bright sunny warm(ish) day in March. There are not many of those in Ohio. The Screwtape discussion group was scheduled for 1PM. I put my Trek in the back of the car and went to my favorite spot and rode 6 miles. There is something very special about early spring/late winter rides. They are infrequent and special. The book discussion was not in the category of “disinterestedly enjoyable”. I thought it would be a kick. It was not.

On the weekend prior to this book discussion meeting, we had met with friends for lunch and after lunch it was our plan to visit a small independent book store nearby. Debbie likes book stores. So do I actually but generally I am satisfied to patiently wait for the latest and greatest ‘important’ books from the library. Sometimes my wait is long enough that I do not remember why or who put me onto the title that magically appears in my holds queue at the nearby branch of the library. In this little book store I noticed a little book by Sarah Knight entitled “the life changing magic of not giving a f*ck”. The title alone made me laugh and I picked it up, turned to a random page and read, 7. Calculus. This may be my earliest recorded instance of not giving a fuck. My high school guidance counselor insisted …. I needed this for getting into college…. I did not take the class. I did get into Harvard.” That paragraph made me laugh and I bought the book.

I took calculus in high school. I also took it in college since the one I went to did not recognize the high school credit. Engineering students get a lot of math. Physics folks get more. Technical fields generally have statistical math of one sort or another. I do give a fuck about math.

Sarah’s book is much more interesting than “The Screwtape Letters”. The language is a bit crude but it captures the sentiment of, “abandon the people or food or books he really likes in favor of the ‘best’ people, the ‘right’ food, the ‘important’ books” succinctly. In life there is often (maybe always) someone to report to you what wine pairs with what food. There is, no doubt, also a YouTube video about wine pairings. If those things are important to you then you should give a fuck to it whatever it may be.

Be present to your own ideas, thoughts, morality, ethics. Educate yourself to your needs not other’s wants. Believe in yourself and as the Max Ehrmann quote goes, ” And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul….”

Carpe Diem.

In a Dream

I do not think I have told this story here before.

I have told it to others, just not here.

I am not a big believer in dream experiences but several months after Cheryl left this existence she visited me in an early morning dream. The dream was so vivid it stays with me as a memory something that I lived through. I did not but my brain did live through it and it is still with me many months later. I remember it upon occasion to reinforce the connections between the neurons.

Here is what happened.

There was a gathering at our church. My memory of why we were gathering is unclear even now but that is not the important part of this story. For this particular gathering, however, we had been instructed (requested?) to bring our own chairs. I remember thinking in the dream that this was an odd request because our church had just replaced all the pews. They were relatively new. Still shiny with new varnish there were few sticky spots where the small children had been. But that was the need expressed so we took our newish recliners with us to the church that night.

My memory of how they got there is foggy at best. It involves something about the car which I think morphed into a moving van just for this excursion.

The scene that is vivid in my experience is this one. The service and gathering was over and we sat up to go. We had been reclining which was why we brought the recliners with us. Many others had brought their recliners also. As we were organizing ourselves to leave, Cheryl announced, “I have to go!” which I took to mean – go to the ladies room. For the previous couple years every time we left a restaurant or any event she felt the need of a toilet. I had visited many public “Women” in many restaurants as she bumped her way into the restroom and stall and occasionally got stuck in one. It did not occur to me that “go” meant any other meaning to her. My response to my wife of five decades was, “okay I’ll wait here until you return.”

I stood and watched her mingle with the rest of the crowd who had by this time started to exit with their chairs. The crowd generally swirled around our spot as they made their way to the exit. The lady’s room was near the exit but out of my view. Cheryl was moving really good. She was moving without the aid of a walker or a cane. She was moving like her old self. She was moving with determination toward what I thought was the toilet. She was shuffling between people and chairs towards the exit. She was not touching anything and she did not hesitate.

Still in the back of my thoughts I was not certain she could find her way back. Sometimes she was unaware of her surroundings and lacked direction. In restaurants and stores I would hover near the restroom door and occasionally open it a crack and ask her if she was doing okay. She had been gone long enough that I thought she might be in that predicament.

I started to maneuver the chairs toward the exit and hang around near the restroom door. As I was beginning this process a young man that I had not met before approached me and asked if He could help me with the chairs. At first I thought to say no. I was sure Cheryl could help when she came back. She was moving really well that day. But He was persistent and I explained that I was waiting for Cheryl to return from the lady’s room and she might have difficulty finding me if I took the chairs all the way to the car. He looked at me with a face full of compassion and sympathy and responded with, “She is not coming back. She has left. She is doing okay. I will help you.”

This dreamy experience comes to me at odd times of the day, not every day but often. Today as I sit here in my office writing this post I can see this scene. She has just disappeared around the corner into the crowd and a small anxiety shows up to make me worry that she cannot find her way back to where I am. A young man with curly frizzy hair approaches to help me. Who is this guy?

Cheryl had been struggling with cognition and awareness for sometime before she eventually succumbed to dementia and disorientation. I helped her into and out of the car, into and out of church, into and out of the restroom, into and out of bed, into and out of the doctor’s office. Who was this young man? Over many recalls of this image at the end of whatever happened in church, I have come to believe that he was Cheryl’s guardian angel. She sent him back to me to tell me she was okay now. She was without any pain or disorientation or other encumberment. She was where she belonged. I did not need to worry or be anxious about her. I am not.

I awakened that morning in my lounger in the living area of my house. Sometime during the night I had trouble sleeping and had moved to the living room to read for a bit and await slumber to return. Most likely the shape of the lounger cradling my body triggered the dream but that image is very vivid. I could then and still can hear her voice. “I have to go!” she said. I have let her go. I do not see the young man except in this context but imagine angels differently. I see her angel in other people.

I have come to believe with conviction that she visited me to convince me that she is okay and happy where she is now. Why else would she visit me in a dream?

Carpe Diem.

Spring is coming

Harbingers of spring…

This forsythia bush easily viewable from my favorite chair is a joy to me when it blooms.

The cardinals usually show up in February. They are probably around earlier but I notice them then as I peer out the window and long for warmth.

The squirrels seem to have an easier time finding their nuts. The chip monks are busy doing what ever they do.

A coywolf passed by a few days ago. Sadly the battery was weak in my trail camera. It was moving too fast for me to get a picture. It was a beautiful animal.

No deer seem to be coming by yet. Perhaps they have kept themselves in the deep woods for now? The picture here is of a deer I call Fred from last summer. I am pretty sure he was a fawn about four or five years ago. He is skittish. His sibling, a doe, is not. They kept the honeysuckle trimmed that spring and summer.

It is close to springtime.

It is close to a joyous time of the year.

It is time to bike and walk and enjoy the change.

Carpe Diem