the 2 fat Firefighters

3 AM on a Monday. I awoke to the most intense cold I’d ever experienced. I was shaking violently, uncontrollably. My teeth were chattering so badly I feared I would break a tooth. I was on the couch where I had fallen asleep watching the game. I frantically grabbed for my blanket. Covering myself, I begged aloud for it to stop. It was no relief. I somehow mustered the strength to get up and trudge up the stairs, hoping my bed would provide some relief.
I was beyond cold, I was scared.
I crawled into bed and wrapped myself in the blankets, everything had to be covered down to the last toe. The trembling continued for what seemed an eternity. I had never experienced anything like it. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, it stopped.

Cold. So cold. The thought of a finger or a toe escaping my cocoon absolutely terrified me. I knew this wasn’t normal, something was terribly wrong with me. I needed to yell out to my mother downstairs; I needed to reach for my phone to dial 911. I needed to do something. But I didn’t. It was just too overwhelming and so very, very cold.
You may die, a voice in my head persisted.
“I don’t care”, I fired back.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

“Bill, you need to wake up! You’re going to b e late for dialysis!” my mother said in an elevated, scared voice. I faintly recall her doing this several times. I vaguely remember sitting up once in bed, when my blanket fell off I grabbed it and fell back into bed. The next thing I remember was 2 heavy Firefighters carrying me downstairs.

The next thing I would remember was waking up in the ICU. Struggling to focus through the bright lights, I saw several nurses bustling about the room and my mother and ex-wife in the back, chins on hands.
“Where are the 2 fat Firemen?” I croaked.
My Mother joyfully exclaimed to my wife “Yup, he’s fine.”

In the 6 days I spent in ICU and the 5 spent on the Cardiac floor I had plenty of time to gather the pieces. I was haunted by the grim faces of my family, by the cautious explanations of the medical team. I had a feeling that I had been to the 9th gate of Hell and no-one was telling me how bad it really was. I knew that I had lost 2 full days and I wanted answers. Fortunately, my ex-wife stepped up to the plate.

I had gotten an infection in the dialysis port in my chest.
I had gone on 2 ambulance rides. One to the local, useless hospital that was unequipped to treat me. They iced me down to control my 104.9 degree fever and shipped me 60 miles to a better hospital. I don’t remember one second of those rides.
I had been sedated with a breathing tube and catheter as antibiotics were pumped through me.
The port in my chest had been surgically removed and I had been given dialysis through a temporary access in my groin. You would think I would remember that.
At one point I tried to rip my breathing tube out of my throat. It took a team of very strong nurses to restrain and sedate me. I did this in front of my entire family.
My wife was preparing to tell my children that I was gone. My DNR had been discussed. It was that close.
I had Sepsis, at a 104.9 fever a man my age has a high risk of brain damage. When I asked where the 2 fat Firefighters were, I had proved that I was indeed fine.
Last, and perhaps most significant, and I say this without drama…I almost died.

In my 11 day stay, I was haunted by the unknowns. When my ex filled me in on all of the unpleasant details I had more questions than answers. Sure, the doctors told me the essentials, but I’m thankful for family for telling me the truth and for their support.

____________________________________________________________________________________________
Once I was alert I began my recovery. It’s what I do. The doctor’s were astounded at how fast I bounced back. I don’t know what the expected recovery time is, but I beat it in street shoes. After 8 days in bed, I was told that I would be working with Physical Therapy to see if I needed to go to a Rehabilitation center.

The next morning I was asked to get out of bed and try to walk. It was amazing the amount of strength it took just to sit up. I was in a complete state of Atrophy. With the assistance of 2 therapists, I attempted to walk the hallway. I was weak, dizzy, unable to support my own weight. I made it 6 steps before needing a wheelchair. It is astounding how much strength I lost by being bed-ridden.
I was told that my going home was contingent upon my physical strength and ability to walk out of there.
By the end of the day I was able to walk the hallway 6 times unassisted. The PT Therapists were floored. I was sent home 2 days later.

I have been home for a week. Recovery is slow. I’m weak and still haunted by how close I came to a dirt nap and by the unknowns. I have no memory of almost 3 days and it bothers me deeply. However, nothing bothers me more than being visited by my Mom’s best friend, who was at the hospital with my Mom when I was admitted. Her first words to me were,
“I have to tell you, I never thought I’d see you again.”

Yeah, that’s not something you hear often. Nor do you want to.

 

 

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Little things

Sometimes it takes the littlest things in life to make your day. All it takes is the right attitude, a pleasant look on your face and the awareness to look for inspiration in every aspect of your life as you walk the world doing your thing.

Today, it was a friendly cashier at the market. I had a problem with my card and she happily and patiently fixed it for me.

As a bonus, as I was walking out of the store I smiled at a lovely woman as we crossed paths. It flashed through my mind that she was way out of my league. But as we passed we made extended eye contact and she gave me a smile that will tickle my loins for the rest of the day.

Look around you people, the good stuff is out there.

Peace and love to all

the quest for open-mindedness

I have faced many obstacles in my life as I have gotten older. Health issues, financial issues and a turbulent marriage both scarred me as well as taught me many lessons. I have largely let go of anger and bitterness over things from my past and have learned to pick and choose what I allow to bother me. I can almost say that I have conquered all of my demons. Except one. I struggle with open-mindedness.

To be clear, I am not closed-minded by any means. I am largely receptive to opposing viewpoints and I am civil and tolerant of those who disagree with me. But that’s a learned behavior not a mindset. In my heart of hearts I still get annoyed, even angered by things that go against my grain. And it bothers me.

I’m sure that I am not alone in this, especially among my age group. I was raised in a wonderful time period. I was exposed to the influence of my Grandparents, people who lived through the Great Depression and a World War. They knew frugality, community and practiced old-fashioned values of honesty, integrity, civility and the unspoken bond of a handshake. I then had my parents, who had the luxury of the same influence but also of the societal shifts in the 50’s and 60’s that saw great turmoil but also resulted in an expanded view of the world and society in general. Yet, they both were largely black and white on a lot of things. Unfortunately, I have been accused of that very thing. I was very bothered by that accusation. I didn’t agree and resented it. I had a black and white reaction to being called black and white. Isn’t that irony?

Being black and white is a defense mechanism. We take between 18 and 30 years to form our identity and belief system. Our identity can either be our aura that casts light on the world or a suit of armor that shields us from that which threatens us. I feel it safe to say that as we get older it is almost inevitable that our identity becomes a shield. Unless of course we make the effort to recognize and change the pattern.

This is the road that I am on. I am annoyed at the extremes of society that gnaw at my sensibilities. While I have never lacked compassion or empathy, I have had a fairly narrow view of the world. I sometime feel that part of me fights to maintain that narrow view as another part of me struggles to escape the confines of my upbringing and take a broader view. It is a daily struggle.

The knee-jerk reaction is the thing that has to go. Life is not about what happens but instead how you react to it. The knee-jerk reaction happens when something that you don’t agree with results in a visceral and personal reaction. But it’s not personal and it only affects your life if you allow it. Very few things are actually a personal affront. Yet we act as if they are. I’m guilty of it. It took me a long time to admit and address it but I’ve made progress. I have come to the conclusion that in this day and age of bad behavior, short attention spans, poor education and general lack of civility people have taken sides. When one takes sides, it is not unlike war. Defend your position and attack when able. It’s going on everywhere but I refuse to add to the insanity anymore. I have chosen to take the “walk a mile in their shoes” mentality. Every hot-button issue exists because a percentage of the population is affected by it. It is not an attack on me and I need to remind myself of that. Constantly. It sometimes requires me to even count to 3.

Everyone is entitled to an opinion. There is a caveat of course, it must be an informed and properly communicated opinion. Just as in childhood, we responded positively to a even tone of voice laced with understanding, even love. When we were yelled at, we closed ourselves off and most importantly, fought to keep the words out. I am very open to an even voice, I am angered by being yelled at. In the whirlwind of the hundreds of issues debated constantly, the message is often drowned out by the noise and anger behind it. Thus, so is the reaction to it.

I have decided to count to 3 before I speak or type, I will then look at as many angles of the issue at hand as I can. I will do some research if necessary. Most importantly, I will try to not be offended. And then, once all that is completed, I will measure my response. If I even choose to offer one. I’ve been practicing this recently and I have to tell you it works. If more people adopt this mindset, imagine the difference in our current climate?

At an age where many are closed off, I want to open up. Many of my fellow bloggers are already on this path and I openly admire them for it. They are ahead of me. It’s up to me to catch up.

I want to end with a question? Would you call yourself open-minded?

a good week

I have to say, it’s been a good week. Other than a killer case of gout and dry-eye, which is essentially a bloody eyeball with a centralized headache behind it that makes focusing unbearable, things have been good.

Dialysis, I am happy to say, has made me feel a lot better. Some may complain about it and feel bad for themselves but I am here to say that I feel better than I have in months. So much so that I stepped forward to help out at the local Community Club meeting. I helped, alongside 7 other awesome people, prepare a meal for 86 people and then had enough energy to serve, clean tables and wash dishes after. While I admit that I was hurtin’ for certain by the end of it, I know that I could not have done half of that even a month ago.

My Social Security Disability came through this week. I have been waiting a long time and it has never been a guarantee. I was very disheartened when I was denied in December. I was very encouraged when I had my appeal this past August but still, I was not certain about being approved and even if I was, how far back would it go. It worked out perfectly for me, I will be getting a retroactive settlement from October of 2016. Over $30,000 to soften the blow. I will give my family half of it and that should set them up pretty good. I will pay back my mother and catch up on everything I have put off for the last 18 months. In the Spring I will buy a used motorcycle.

My friend Steve, who I wrote about last week must have been blessed by all of you that wished him well. After several years of waiting by the phone for MA General to call him, driving in to be tested against a cadaver because there was a fatality that may be a match for him, he got the call on Wednesday. This one was a match and he got a new liver. He is recovering nicely now. I am absolutely thrilled for him. As the saying goes, it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. He’s a good man and a great friend.

Well, that’s it. Superman is back to his old self (for the most part). My strength is coming back, my sense of humor has caused people to say “you’re like the old you!” and I’m even losing a couple of chins in the process of dialysis.

I’m going to enjoy the day because this is a good one. I’m going to run with it because, after all, who knows what tomorrow will bring right?

where were you on that fateful day?

17 years ago to the day
I can’t see the world
quite the same way
disgusted by how far
some will go
to destroy those
they don’t even know
it escapes me
it really does
the hatred and venom
their twisted cause
For some the anger has faded
not me
I’m eternally jaded
where were you?
on that fateful morn
when buildings fell
and hearts were torn
I still look to the sky
I stop and ask myself why
airplanes staying in the air
are no longer a given
our only crime?
our way of living
lives changed forever
innocence was lost
the widows and orphans
such a tremendous cost
if broken spirits were the goal
the bastards failed
Old Glory’s still on her pole
It brought out the best in us
the tables were turned
we rose to the occasion
as the buildings burned
First Responder’s responded
with soldiers and regular Joe
reacted with a fierce resolve
that we had yet to show
for a short, glorious time
we were all brothers
put aside our differences
respected each other
came together as one
hatred can only conquer
if you choose to let it
hang your head today
and always remember
The weight of your heart
on this day in September
mourn for the lost
the brave and the strong
celebrate those that fight for us
all the year long
on this anniversary
of an event so heinous
may faith, hope and charity
always sustain us

you don’t know

when you were young

your favorite line

was “Dad, you don’t know”

what you don’t know

there was a night

not long ago

I sat on the edge
of my bed
of the universe

one in the chamber

cursed glass of whiskey
liquid false courage

in the other hand

disgusted with yesterday

bored with today

uninterested in tomorrow

desperately seeking

a reason

to carry on

I’d lost my joy

the will to seek it

where once was strength

a cavernous

anguished

aching gash

where was the zeal?

missing the real

existing
but not living

tears of pain roll

down my unshaven cheek

one, just one

fucking reason I seek

to not end it all

the safety off

just drunk enough

sick enough

to call Bullshit

on this timed-out
worn-out
overplayed phase
I call my life

then I think of you

my precious child

your first steps
sun in your hair

your infinite

infectious smile

golden and pure soul

my heart yearns

stomach turns
my mind scolds me

at the thought
of hurting you

if I was to shed

this mortal shell

in the throes
of my selfish pain

I would crush you

my dear child

I had forgotten 

in a selfless moment

your love

ceaseless adoration

and your words

that I am

your favorite

person

in the world

 

I couldn’t pull it
the beckoning trigger

for I had vowed to myself 

in a lighter hour

I would never

cause you

a life of pain

in the name

of ending mine