It has been a full week since I have written here. I began
to wonder what it is that I am avoiding looking at, when I remember how much
has happened in the last week, both externally and internally.
For starters, “recovery” is way on the back burner these
days. The foreground of my life is preoccupied with matters cardiac, as well as
matters “hyster-ectical,” to use a word that probably doesn’t exist. As well the impending angiogram/angioplasty,
I have also been through a neurological exam, which pronounced me a very fit
candidate for cardiac surgery – brain-wise at least, and additionally, affirmed
that I am sane. Some of you will want to question this last decision.
On top of that, there is the looming reality of Beatrix’
hysterectomy on February 5. We ponder together a worst-case scenario: each of
us having major surgery on the same day, in different Edmonton hospitals. How
do we get home? Who looks after us here? How do we get food, laundry, etc.? Of
course, there is little chance of this happening. My process, once through the
testing phase, will probably slow down, as I wait for surgical appointments,
surgery date, and so on. The hope is that one of us will be well enough to look
after the other once the two surgeries are completed.
We’ve had discussions about Beatrix postponing her surgery
(I flatly nixed that), about bringing her church board members into the picture
regarding home help, and reassuring one another as best we can. I will speak to
some of my Lodge Brothers about the need for drivers and lifters for a number
of weeks. There are at least two that I can count on.
In the midst of all these mental gymnastics, I have also
been trying to fit in a night of sleep in the Wetaskiwin Hospital Sleep Clinic
– which will happen hopefully on the Friday night of next week (Jan. 24).
I keep walking three times a week, working out in the pool
(at 75% intensity) at least 4 times a week, all in the interests of being fit
and ready for…whatever. In between all the reflecting, date planning and fussing,
I do reflect on the possibility that my last visit to my children was…my last visit.
An unavoidable thought, I suppose, taking into account all possibilities.
My Dad used to say, as he dealt with his 80+ year old body, “Getting’
old is not for sissies…” Amen to that, Dad.
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