Yipeee!

Today I saw the surgeon who did my open-heart surgery. First time in the seven months since that day. He was pleased with my progress, and impressed by my activity. He cancelled a couple of blood-thinning medications, which means I will clot better if/when I cut myself.

I may have told you about my post-surgery goal. (I can’t remember.) That is to swim a kilometer without stopping. Before the surgery, about 15 yards of swimming produced chest pain. I asked my cardiologist if I’d be able to swim after the surgery, and he said I would be able to. So, as soon as possible, I started. I was dismayed to discover that after one length of the pool, I was gasping for breath. This continues, although it’s a bit better. Most mornings I swim 14 -16 lengths this, in just over a half hour.

This afternoon, I asked the surgeon if my oxygen uptake would improve. Would I be able to swim further without a breath? He said I would be able to. I told him about my goal…one kilometer. He asked, “Without stopping?” I said yes. He laughed and said, “Good luck with that!” We both had a good laugh. I guess the message is that I should modify my goal, or at least not be surprised if I can’t make it. I will keep swimming, however, as much as I can. If feels really…although it’s kind of painful. At the end of each length, I am really short of oxygen, but at least now, I am not gasping weirdly.

I suppose that modifying my goals, being realistic about what I can do, is part of recovery. At this point, I am enjoying the workouts, the swimming, and the walking. I wouldn’t have time to work – never mind the energy – even if I wanted to work. Well, I do…sort of. But no way!

RETIRED retired…

When I suffered my hemorrhagic stroke in March 0f 2013, I was working half time as a replacement minister in a nearby congregation. Since I “retired” within my denomination, I have done similar work in five different settings, as well as doing Sunday replacements for a number of congregations.

Yesterday, September 29, I attended a worship event at which a minister was placed in the position I filled, this time, as a settled replacement. I wasn’t keen on attending, as the ending of my relationship with this congregation was fraught with conflict and bad feeling. I was asked specially to come, so that a proper farewell could be offered me. (The terse ‘goodbye’ that occurred with quite inadequate, I thought, since I almost literally ‘gave my life’ for this group.)

Attending this event was quite useful to me in terms of my own recovery process, although I did not find it a particularly enjoyable event. I did enjoy re-connecting with some of the folk I had grown close to, but the afternoon produced the rise of some uncomfortable emotions in me.

At the coffee time after worship someone asked me if I now was “retired retired…”, to which I answered “yes.” This produced in me, later, a wave of shock and dismay. It was a true answer, but it forced me to realize that I have, unconsciously, been aiming my recovery at returning to work in the future. This is, of course, totally unrealistic: I will be 80 years old in three months. Still, that has been the unspoken backdrop for my activities.

This awareness has driven a considerable amount of reflection over the last 24 hours. This morning, after swimming, I found myself thinking, “Why am I doing this, if not to work? What is the point of rising early and working so hard…for nothing?” Of course, I realize that it isn’t for nothing. I still have a life to live, for however long it lasts. But still…I have never been unemployed and unemployable since 1952…that’s 62 years! I found myself drifting around the house today, wondering what I might do, now that I can’t work. This gives me a whole new self-image to absorb, a whole new perspective to assimilate.

In some ways, I seem to have little to look forward to. Visiting my children is a good option, except that they likely don’t want to see me that often or that frequently, and I am finding air travel increasingly onerous as I age. So why recover? Why labour to so little purpose? That’s my current internal question. Of course, I will continue to swim, work out and walk, because I have established the routine, and I hate changing routine! But I have plenty to ponder. What use is an 80 year old retired professional in a culture that so little values the “wisdom” of its elders? I don’t feel like I have much to pass on…and in fact, no one is asking me, either. Hmmm….

Aging…again…

I’m shocked to discover that it has been two weeks since I posted anything here! It doesn’t seem that long to me…but then again, I suppose that’s a feature of age: time is either too long or too short. What on earth has been filling my time?

My activity has been curtailed by two factors. The local pool, where I do all my workouts and swimming, has been closed since the beginning of September. The pulled muscle in my back has restricted my daily walks. The pool opened this week, so that routine is getting re-established. The nagging muscle – actually appearing to worsen – has kept me from walking the distance I’d like to keep up the heart recovery. A 40-minute stretch is all I can manage.  Hopefully, this will begin to change soon. My impatience shows here, big time.

With time on my hands, I’ve made a couple of trips to Red Deer recently – 45 minute drive away on a four-lane highway, filled with people going somewhere very quickly. I was back this afternoon, to pick up my car with a new rear bumper, the old one having been damaged in a very minor fender-bender a week or two ago.

(I just discovered, and posted, an entry I made a week or more ago, which didn’t get posted. I remember that day: my Internet connection was not working. So I left the post on the desktop and went on with other things…promptly forgetting about until I discovered it today! Late, but there anyway.)

I was in the pool this A.M. at 6:00. Managed to swim 14 lengths, one at a time. It is much easier and faster to do it with flippers on my feet. I virtually fly! I am grateful for the pool manager suggesting this to me. Whether I actually do more work is questionable. But I do have a greater feeling of accomplishment.

At long last I had a call from the office of the surgeon who did my heart surgery back in February! On Tuesday next, I have my “follow-up” appointment. I suppose so he can finally sign of on the job and file it away. It has been a long wait. I actually thought they had forgotten it; but no, I’m on deck Tuesday. I will proudly report my recovery activities!

I have mentioned previously the increased level of anxiety I feel from time to time. More than “from time to time.” One of the matters over which I obsess is the state of my country, politically. I tend to be moderately left wing in my political leanings. Our current government is hard right, somewhat akin to the extreme Republicans in the US. One of their activities over their years in office is to quietly remove one democratic institution after another. They have shut down quite a number of research stations whose reports give them information about climate change. They do not want to hear about information like this, so they block it out. In the House of Commons, their MPs are only allowed to speak with the Prime Minister’s permission, and that is only given to front bench members. Anyone else who speaks has a prepared text, vetted by the PMO. There’s a lot more, but you get the idea.

I find myself obsessing about this ‘fascist’ tendency in the government of a supposed democracy. I lose sleep over it; I wonder what kind of a nation my grandchildren will inherit. It seems never to end…my anxiety, I mean. I write letters about it, and I will vote. I feel helpless to do anything else. The anxiety is of concern to me, because it is pointless and unhealthy. I share it because I need to let others know. I feel that this sort of thinking impedes my recovery.

So, as you can see, I suffer from two of the effects of aging: existential anxiety borne out of an increasing sense of helplessness in the face of a changing world, and the slowness of the body to heal even minor injuries. Sigh…I don’t suppose I’m the only person who deals with these things, but I am the only one who has to live inside this skin!

Sept 15, un-posted for some reason…age likely!

Straining a muscle in the lower back is a bit embarrassing, because it is part of the gluteus muscle group, which places it very near one’s buttocks. Any comments you make about its tenderness invites jokes about having a “pain in the ass.” Which it truly is!

Over the past week, the muscle strain I sustained riding my bicycle (first time in two years) into a strong wind became worse. I’m sure I contributed to that condition by applying heat to it, because it felt comforting. Instead, I should have been icing it, which I finally began to do last evening. Along the way, I walk each morning, although not my full therapeutic 5 km. I felt good enough Friday morning to try the 5 km walk…it was a big mistake! My back was severely aggravating by this move, and I have been paying for it ever since!

All of the above may be seen as commentary on ‘recovery and decrepitude’ from last week. The part of this that bothers me most, along with the sharp, “hot-poker” like stabs of pain in my back, is that I am not able to continue my cardiac rehab as I would like. I know…I know…a bit if a layoff won’t hurt me or retard my recovery. But I am a man addicted to routine; doing what I have done is important to me; keeping up with a plan is important to me. “Get used to it!” says the little voice inside me. So I am trying to get used to it…for the present.

The past week was a strange one in my life. For one thing, I was preparing to conduct worship and preach in a relatively unfamiliar setting this past Sunday. So I was increasingly anxious. I’m sure I have mentioned this new aspect of my interior life. Since I began a bit of work again after the stroke and the heart surgery, I find myself becoming anxious as the date of my worship leadership approaches. I’m nit exactly sure why. I take lots of time to prepare, content wise. It’s the personal preparation that troubles me. I am troubled by fears of failing or at least ‘not measuring up.’  I have begun to wonder if my deep inner voice is telling me that it’s time to stop doing ‘supply preaching’, filling in for absent clergy. I can do the work, but the uncertainty within myself seems to grow.

It’s now 24 hours later. I got distracted, and life intervened. Not-very-exciting-life, but life, nonetheless. One of the things that I was pondering over the last day was a review of a book I heard on CBC. The book is The Village Effect, by Pinker. In it, she studied the Island of Sardinia, on which there is a heavy preponderance of centenarians, particularly in one area of the island. She wanted to discover the factors that supported this anomaly. What she found was that family, friends, visitors, and people who just ‘drop by’ for a visit constantly surround very old people, in one or two villages. The elders are constantly involved in interaction and attention. It seemed the only factor she could isolate that explained their long lives. This is in direct opposition to what happens in our culture, where the elderly are ‘warehoused’ – to use a pejorative word – and live in relative isolation, unless their institution runs a very active program of events.

My reflection on this raised for me the question of why I need to go to Tim Horton’s twice a day for coffee. It dawned on me that Tim’s is, in many ways, my “village.” I see many people, know many, speak to some, and have conversations with a few. And I do this virtually every day. When I miss a day or two, I feel it. ‘Bereft’ is one word to describe it, or ‘lonely’, or ‘sad.’ Strange, isn’t it, how one finds ways of meeting these kinds of needs. Being basically an introverted person, I wouldn’t want to be pushed into many deep conversations in a day, but a few short ones meet a need for me.

A final note for this time: I’ve been trying to ‘treat’ my strained back muscle. Heat was a mistake – seemed to make it worse. Then I remembered: “ice!” So for the past day I’ve been icing my back two or three times a day. Things appear to be improving. Good thing. I’m missing my long walks, and I’m beginning to develop a small roll of blubber around my waist. Back on the trail soon I hope, and back in the pool come Monday! Recovery continues!

Recovery…decrepitude

The weather has turned foul, suddenly. Close to the freezing point, snow all morning…on September 8! Welcome to the prairies of Canada. It was warm on Saturday, will be warm again by Saturday, but in between, winter roars in for a spell. Let’s hope it’s just a spell, not  long stay.

However, it fits with my current predicament. My joints ache, specifically my knees. The weather is part of it, but they have been aching for some days after I finish my 5 km walk. This situation prompted my lugubrious thought that ‘recovery’ is being challenged by decrepitude! My experience underscored this thought after I rode my bicycle yesterday, for the first time in two years, into a strong north wind. Afterward, my back ached, and still does. Muscles that haven’t been used in a long time tend to protest, as mine did and are still doing. Decrepit: “worn out or ruined because of age or neglect….” Decrepitude…the ageing of an organism in such a way that it refuses to function as it once did…or perhaps never did!

This experience has forced me to consider the possibility that the day will come when my necessary activity, as regards my heart health, may not be possible because of the state of my aging body. A sobering thought, indeed. For the moment, however, it’s simply a matter of endurance and pain management. And patience…a state of mind in short supply, so far as I’m concerned.

Last evening, we watch a documentary movie about Elaine Stritch, an 87- year- old actress who still does club dares, singing all the songs from her lengthy career on Broadway. Watching her slowly succumb to the memory loss, and stiff legs that I know so well was painful. The bright spot was that she continues to perform, with all her limitations, as best she can. Audience approval is just too important to her to stop until she is unable to go on. She plans to retire, the on-screen words say in 2012, “in 2014…or 15.” Gutsy lady. A long-time AA member, she has decided that, at her age, she will allow herself one drink a day. Come hell or high water!

I’m not quite so gutsy, but I do think of that future as pretty dismal indeed. So I set my alarm and plan to walk in the morning, even if there us snow on the ground. Period.