Reflections (and ripples)

House and Pond with Ripples

Two days ago I turned 54. (Maybe I shouldn't reveal that publicly. But let's be honest: anyone reading this is either not interested in identity theft, or they already know they'd be stealing debt rather than credit. Plus, the dark web has had my birthday for years, so it probably doesn't matter.) We were out of town at a Christmas party, and on the way back that evening, I was pondering (not ponding, even though that's perhaps inferred from the image above).

When I was a kid (teenager), my grandfather (my dad's dad) had early-onset Alzheimer's. I recall one evening when, as a teen, I was "babysitting" my grandfather. (He tried to pay me for the dinner I heated up for him, and then wanted me to "take him home" as he didn't recognize the house he was in that he and my grandmother had moved to so that my maternal grandparents could look after him during the day while my dad's mom was at work; I ended up taking the spare change he had in his pocket and left it on the kitchen table with a note.) I also recall him clapping and "singing" (even though he couldn't say a single word) during one of our church's services (while he was still able to attend), worshipping for sure even though you couldn't understand a thing he was singing. I recall him in the nursing home, where we would set my first child on his lap (holding her), and his eyes would just light up. And I recall taking him to see Christmas lights (from the nursing home), with my grandmother, stopping at the DQ drive through to get some soft-serve ice cream (because we wouldn't be able to get him out of the car at the Krispy Kreme, a tradition from when he and my grandmom would take my brother and me out to see the lights every year). He passed a couple of months before my second child was born.

This had an impact on my life. Watching "The Notebook" (movie) based on the book by Nicholas Sparks always makes me cry. Hearing "I'm Not Gonna Miss You" (Glenn Campbell, also suffered from Alzheimer's prior to his death), as I'm doing as I write this, causes those allergy flareups, too (ok, fine: tears start to build in my eyes). I like to think of myself as a fairly intelligent individual, but fear that one of these days I'll start really forgetting things and end up asking my kids or grandkids to take me home (to some prior homestead that I recall from years past). It's a nagging thing that occasionally permeates things; one year, I did an Alzheimer's walk to raise fund for the Alzheimer's Association, and for a while I was adding my little bit of computer power to "Folding @ Home" for Alzheimer's research. (If you haven't heard Campbell's "I'm Not Gonna Miss you, here it is.)

Then, just under 5 years ago, things changed. We were on Christmas vacation, nearing the end, in Destin, FL. It was Dec 30, 2020. I'd been cranky, and having a lot of pain in my upper left back (you know, the kind where you want to stretch to pop it, but it wasn't helping). I was tired. I had been all week, especially after Monday when we'd gone disc golfing with my son and nephew, and I figured I'd overdone it. On the way to dinner on the 30th, while we were walking across the road toward the restaurant, my wife asked, "Are you having any other pain, like in your jaw?" or something like that. I replied no, but the question lingered. I wasn't all that hungry, but I ate some. That evening, the pain in my back was getting worse, and I was really tired, so I went to bed around 8 or 8:30 (very early for me, at least at that time). I couldn't get to sleep. I did start having some pain in my jaw. I tossed and turned. I looked up the nearest ER. But I never got to sleep.

My wife came to bed, maybe 12:30, and pretty quickly fell asleep. I was still awake, still in pain, and getting worse. And then it started to hurt in my chest, too. Somewhere around 1:30 or 2:00 (if I recall correctly), I woke my wife, and started discussing it, and she said maybe the front desk could tell us where medical facilities were, at which point I mentioned there's an ER ten minutes down the road. She shot up, and said, "Get dressed." (Apparently my having looked up the ER was a huge red flag to her, haha.) We did. On the way, I tried to get her to turn back, as I wasn't feeling quite as bad, and wouldn't want to make a fuss over nothing, but she refused. We got to the ER around 2:30 AM on the 31st.

Quickly I was taken back, had several aspirin and a nitroglycerin patch on my chest (after the first blood draw), and by mid-day had undergone cardiac catherization and had a stent placed (95% blockage in the right coronary artery). Guess it's a good thing she wouldn't listen to me as I tried to get her to turn around. (If you want a more in-depth recounting of that, here it is.)

Now, every time I have a back pain (such as when I had Covid), or a chest pain, or similar (like the heart palpitations which led to the diagnosis of Afib), I wonder, "Is it the second attack?" Often heart attack victims - if they're going to have a second attack - it happens within the first 5 years. From that perspective, I've "almost made it." But it still permeates my mind. Some nights, my last prayer is, "God, let me wake up tomorrow, because I still need to take care of my wife." And my first morning prayer is, "God, thank you for letting me wake up today."

It's silent, but it's present... those thoughts, thoughts of "how long do I have?" Thoughts of "have I prepared my wife, my family?" Things that ripple. Probably causing more stress (yet, I still don't feel like I've made adequate preparations). Reflections of things past, and ripples of things to come.

I think I had more I intended to write in this post, more I thought about on the drive home last week, but here we are, on Monday, and as I'm writing, much of it has disappeared from my mind. But that's OK. I'm not sure I really even recall the intent of this post, but maybe you can find something to take from it. And I know this post is a little more grounded than my typical posts, but I'll get back to the "normal" LBD stuff soon enough. Until then... a topato!