In recent days, blogger friends Diogenes and Stogie wondered why I hadn’t posted
anything since the Monday before Thanksgiving.
That post was time-stamped 9:29
AM. It was filled with positive thoughts
and notions of Thanksgiving and well wishes for my readers. It was published one hour before my scheduled
appointment with my lung specialist. One
hour.
Little did I know that I was
about to be brought to my knees.
The Wednesday before, I underwent
heart catheterization and reported
that the doctor who performed the procedure said he saw no blockages in my
heart. He even gave me a couple of
copies of the angiography images.
When my lung specialist entered
the room and sat down, I asked him where I stood in terms of my health. He looked uncomfortably at me and told me
that I have diastolic heart failure, something they used to refer to as
diabetic “stone” heart. He explained
that diabetes damages the heart to the extent that someone with diabetes is two
to six times more likely to have a heart attack at an earlier age than other
people.
He went on to explain that the
right side of my heart, the atrium, remains rigid after pumping out the blood
to the body rather than relaxing. He
prescribed Carvedilol® to be taken twice daily.
Carvedilol® is used to treat
heart failure and patients whose hearts cannot pump blood well as a result of a
heart attack. It works by relaxing blood vessels and slowing the heart rate to
improve blood flow and decrease blood pressure.
He prescribed this medication to improve my chances of survival.
Now I know why the doctor who
performed the catheterization gave me copies of the images he did. They were cherry-picked so I wouldn’t worry
before I had a chance to talk with my lung specialist and cardiologist. I examined them more closely and found that
there were actually at least 49 frames.
He gave me frames 32, 34, 44 and 49.
Feeling sorry for oneself is the
greatest of all acids to the human soul.
Normally, I don’t succumb to self-pity.
Normally.
I have always known, as a
diabetic, that one of the many complications associated with diabetes is heart
attack or stroke. I’ve always known
that, but chose not to contemplate it. I’ve
always managed my diabetes well.
I don’t recall which product is
being advertised in the TV commercial, but in it is a woman who is opening her
mail. She opens an envelope and takes
out a piece of paper upon which is written, “Your heart attack arrives in two days.”
By electing not to contemplate
the risk of heart attack or stroke, this commercial now took on a life of its
own in my mind. It did a number on me
and the world’s smallest violin began playing.
I began paying attention to my
shortness of breath, the little pains in my chest, the achy neck and the
occasional dizzy spells that lasted scant seconds and began to imagine the
worst. I was becoming a mess.
And then it happened.
This past Saturday, God said, “Look
at you. What are you doing?”
And then this happened. I was advised that a group of young children
with their parents and chaperones would be entering my checkpoint as guests of
the Make A Wish Foundation to take a “flight” on Delta Airlines to the North
Pole. Upon their return they would be
greeted by Santa Claus at the Delta gate.
Donning the Santa hats that Delta
had purchased, we began to screen these remarkable children and the parents who
live with the knowledge that their little angels have little time left on this
earth.
Their faces were brimming with laughter and anticipation of meeting Santa.
Several flight attendants were dressed as Santa’s elves and one was even dressed as Mrs. Claus.
I met with the pilot of the “North
Pole” flight. Each child was issued a
boarding pass that showed the destination NORTH POLE. He even had a manifest showing each child’s
name.
The “flight” would never really
take off, but would have the plane simply taxi down the runway and back again
giving the ground crew a chance to change into elf costumes and the gate
attendants enough time to decorate the gate to look like the North Pole when
the children deplaned.
The airline gave each child a super-cool backpack, blue for the boys and pink for the girls, which looked
like a Delta airplane. The backpack was
stuffed to the gills with all sorts of goodies.
They even decorated the wheelchairs with jingle bells and decals and
bows and ribbons.
When the festivities were over,
all the kids were smiling more broadly than before and the faces of their
parents seemed happier.
I have shared this wonderful
story with you for two reasons. There
are wonderful people out there who care deeply for others. The other reason involves a certain someone
who was feeling sorry for herself.
It took this stark reminder to
move me away from the self-pity that engulfed me.
I cannot admit to you that I do
not fear my diagnosis, but I can say that God The Father set me straight that
night.
I witnessed courage in the faces
of the parents—a courage I cannot fathom—and a courage that no one should be
forced to find in their lives.
I saw innocence in the faces of
the children who are facing their own mortality. It was a testament to life and living and all
that is good if we just seek it out.
That is why I hadn’t posted
anything in a while. I hope my readers
understand my momentary reflection of life.
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