A summary of stress…

First, a correction. In my last post, I said I hadn’t conducted worship since February. In fact, that should have read, February 2013, over a year and a half ago. Hence my nerves.

Two items have dominated my thoughts in the past couple of days. The first is reflections on my father. The second is the impact of the stressful time that Beatrix and I have shared over the past four years.

First, my Dad. I think this was prompted by my comments about my son’s enjoyment of being a grandfather. The Second World War took my father away from me for six years, from 1940 to 1946. I have some memories of him from my early childhood, not all pleasant. Like the time I was throwing rocks at passing cars – I was about four – and he came from work and caught me. I remember him laying me over the plush arm of an easy chair and spanking me with the back of a hairbrush. He was short on patience, and given to corporal punishment. I later learned a lot about his childhood. During which he, as a sickly kid, was punished for malingering in much the same way. I don’t think he was the recipient of much negotiation or talking to. He had no experience of it, and I was the recipient of what he learned as a wee boy.

The war took him away from me just as I started school, and returned him when I was twelve. All those years when a boy can idolize his father, and learn things from him were never part of my life. When he came home, I was a snotty 12 year old, a species of human with which he had no experience. Adolescence was not a good time for us. Even in my adult life we had little in common, until much later in his life. I spent a lot of time with him during his last days, during which he told me, for the first time in my life, that he loved me. He gave me a kiss. That is memory I treasure still.

Often, when I am working through something, I think of him, and realize how alike we are. I ponder the distance between my son and myself, and realize that, although it I for different reasons than with my own Dad, it remains a problem for me.  I wonder if my son will reflect on my life after I’m gone, and find some value in it for himself?

The past four or five years have been incredibly stressful for Beatrix and I. We cope with it, but it takes a toll on each of us. The “stress” has been our combined medical problems. During that time, she has been diagnosed with breast cancer, and undergone a mastectomy. Later, the process of reconstruction surgery began, and isn’t quite finished yet. Over the past two years, I have undergone prostate surgery – no cancer, just hardened tissue – followed by an internal hemorrhage and the wearing of a catheter for ten days. Not long after this event, I suffered a hemorrhagic stroke – a bleed with no blood clots. This was short lived, but its impact was huge. My only symptom was that I could not read! I had to learn that skill again over a three-month period. We had begun calling this a “minor stroke,” until a Doctor explained to us that such a stroke has only two outcomes: the bleeding stops…or you die. No intervention is possible. And I could have another one anytime.

Before this happened, I was seeing a cardiologist for a valve problem in my heart. He had planned to have surgery done on me in June of 2013. Of course, the stroke (in March 2013) meant that the surgery was postponed. It finally happened as soon as I was fit for it in February of 2014. Between recovery from a triple bypass plus aortic valve replacement, and a “drug episode,” I spent two weeks in various hospitals through February. I have been recovering ever since, as you will have read in past posts.

Through all this, Beatrix has continued to work, apart from a sabbatical time that was pre-arranged. At times, the anxiety was overwhelming for me, and for me, as the future seemed so uncertain. This summer’s vacation, coming in two weeks, will be a welcome respite from anything resembling responsibility…I hope.

I have, as I mentioned the other night, begun swimming, or rather, gasping my way from one end of the pool to the other. I do this about ten times each visit, and it gets marginally easier each time. My goal of continuous lengths is still a bit away, but I am moving towards it slowly. Emphasis on “slowly”, as my cardiac therapist continually reminds me.

Enough for tonight: I am still in recovery, and hopefully coming into some light at the end of a very long tunnel. We’ll see.