It’s a month since I was released from the hospital and a little more than a month since the paramedics wheeled me out.
If the docs are correct by this point I shouldn’t be anemic anymore and have an appropriate blood count for an almost middle aged man.
Based upon how I feel and the progression I see in my workouts I think it is safe to say I am back to normal or pretty damn close. I am maxing out with weights that would have impressed 25 year-old Josh and pushing to go harder and heavier.
But I have noticed that it feels like a lifetime ago since I was carted off and left in the E.R. listening to the doc tell me about I needed transfusions or I could die.
Feels like a lifetime ago that I lay on the floor in the bathroom and recognized that death didn’t seem painful. It almost feels like it never happened which makes me wonder if that is my mind trying to protect me or if I have just moved on.
I have this feeling that Dad would have related to this and that we could have had a very interesting conversation about it.
But we’ll never have that conversation the way I’d like to so I’ll have to go with my gut on what he would or wouldn’t say.
An Almost 16 Year-old Mutt
A week ago the younger Mr. Wilner and I watched the Dodgers pull out a game 7 victory over the Blue Jays.
A week ago we sat on the couch and in between plays I glanced at the almost 16 year-old mutt, my furriest child and wondered what the future held.
Why?
Because earlier in weekend the younger Mr. Wilner called out to me, “Dad, the dog fell, come here.” I rolled out of the bedroom and found him lying on the floor, arthritic hind legs had given out on him. We sat with him on the floor for a moment, comforted him and then he got back up.
I gave him the meds the vet had prescribed and wondered what was going on.
They seemed to work and the three of us made it through the game unscathed, but I wondered if maybe we were closer to the proverbial rainbow bridge than we had been.
The next day I took him to the vet who told us that overall he was in pretty good shape and that some additional arthritis meds would make a difference.
But the days since have me wondering what is really going on. My furry kid slips between being interested in active in the world around him to somewhere else.
Going to have to take him back in and have the vet take another look because something doesn’t seem right. I don’t like this feeling, don’t like this sense that we may be in a place where it is only days or weeks left.
I look at him and tell him that after almost 16 years he could have learned English and we could have a proper conversation. I told him about my own battle with the Angel of Death and offered a few tips but I don’t think he’ll take them,
Our dogs aren’t gifted the same lifespan we are and it is one of the hard lessons in life that we can never get away from. If we can’t do anything to help and his quality of life suffers I won’t make him hang out just to spare our feelings.
Don’t know where we stand, can’t say on my own and won’t say I hope there is more time but there is no doubt the clock is ticking. I wish it didn’t sound so loud in my ears.
I know there is a connection inside my head between the dog and how things went with my father. I won’t ever forget when mom told me I better catch a flight home and the race from LAX to the hospital.
Won’t forget watching him say goodbye to my son and knowing that would be the last time they saw each other. Nor will I forget how much pain Dad was in and how hard he squeezed my hand.
Won’t forget moving him to the hospice and sitting with him and watching him slip away. As the morphine drip flowed through him he slowly stopped talking.
For a while he kept his eyes open and we knew that he was listening intently to everything we said but the time came when it was the exception to find his eyes open, though he would sometimes softly squeeze your hand and you knew he was still there.
And then he wasn’t.
That was part of what made me fight so hard to get up off of the floor. I thought about my kids and what life might be like without me. I thought about all I want to do and what I would miss seeing them do.
It made me angry and I fought my way back which brings me to the Walter Payton video below. I relate to it not because I think you should call me Sweetness but because of the audio and the plays he makes in it.
There are challenges in life and sometimes you have to put your head down, slam into the obstacle and fight past, through over, under or around it.
And we’re living in a timeline when tenacity, resilience and grit are more important than ever.
If you are still reading and haven’t a clue about my four day hospital adventure you can take a look at one or all of the posts below.
If I learned anything at all from this exercise it is that I am still processing a few things and that I am more determined than ever to continue the changes I have made in my life.
Lost a chunk of weight and am still dropping more, changed multiple other things and am in the process of doing more. I am already a different man than I was and the evolution continues. I like it.
Past Posts
As promised here are links to recent past posts:
Have You Ever Danced With Death?
What Happens When You Threaten Santa?
How Many People Need To Know You Almost Died?
Four Days In A Hospital Part III
Mostly Dead Is Slightly Alive
Four Days In A Hospital Part II
Death Didn’t Seem Painful
A Four Day Hospital Adventure
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