Winding Down

In fewer than 2 days, a new year will have arrived, 2009. That number looks like something out of science fiction, but I can remember when 1984 sounded just as futuristic. I don't remember much that's memorable about the new year holiday, except that I was married for the first time on 12/31/59. I suppose that makes it memorable on a permanent basis, though that marriage ended many years ago.

I do remember taking notice of 1950 coming in as I listened to the radio (yes, radio) as the grownups talked and, I'm sure, drank. But other than 1950 and 1959, I've met the arrival of a
new year with little notice, much less excitement. Since I'm a recovering alcoholic, I'm sure I was blitzed more than once on that auspicious eve. But I'm taking notice of this one more than usual because it could very well be my last one. And I say that without self-pity, more with a matter-of-fact.

Back in February 2006, I spent a month in hospital at Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles. I entered through the emergency room, as I was having a difficult time breathing. I wasn't there long before I went into respiratory failure and was put on a respiratore, life-support for those of you who follow "ER." I stayed hooked up for 15 days, and I feared that I might not survive. Dr Schroeder promised I would leave the hospital under my own power, and I did. The lung infection was finally diminished, and I went home to a life of oxygen use for the remainder of my time on earth.

Well, just a few weeks ago, I came down with another lung infection and was admitted to The University of Minnesota Hospital, though this time without the respirator. While I was being treated with antibiotics, a 70% occlusion in my Main Coronary Artery was discovered, and I underwent an angioplasty and received a third stent. I suffer from what is called Interstitial Lung Disease, and I will use oxygen for the rest of my life. But what I've noticed from this last infection is that my lung capacity has diminished, and it will never get back up to where it was.

In other words, each time my lungs get sick, my breathing will be affected on a permanent basis, so "getting well" takes on a whole new meaning. This will continue until there's no breath left. My particular condition just doesn't "improve." Of course, I brought this on myself with 44 years of smoking cigarettes. But that doesn't make it any more acceptable or any less scary.

Maybe I'm luckier than most in that I at least know what will kill me; I just don't know when. I don't dwell on all this, but it helps to write about it. Maybe there are others out there who are similarly afflicted. If so, drop me a line at giddocliff@yahoo.com. Happy New Year!

How Do You LIke Your Blue Eyed Boy Now, Mr. Death?

December has been, and it's only 2/3 over, a difficult month. I returned home Wednesday after 8 days in hospital, a locale at which too much of my life has played out over the last few years. On 12/9/08 I felt myself short of breath beyond normal, so my wife took me to the ER at the University of Minnesota Medical Center, as the memory of my complete respiratory failure in 2006 is yet quite fresh. I was admitted after 9 long hours, and I was soon put on a regimen of powerful antibiotics for a lung infection. Tests were run, blood was drawn, EKGs and Echo Cardiograms were performed. The medical professionals feared that my heart condition had worsened, and they were right.

An angioplasty was performed, and a stent put into a 70% occluded artery. I now have 3 stents, of which I'm justly proud, as they saved my life, a procedure that wasn't even available just a few years ago. I picked up a load of prescriptions on my way out of the hospital, and I now take what seems like dozens of pills every day. A good friend back in Los Angeles helped me out with some cash relief, and I was able to purchase them all. It's really a shame what outrageous prices the pharmaceutical companies charge for medicine that one really needs. Part D of Medicare was not our lawmakers' finest hour. But I'm alive.

This time I'm truly going to have to alter my eating habits, cut down on salt and fats. I was told that the site of the new stent must remain open. The alternative is simple: death. Although my many years of smoking brought all this on, there's nothing scarier than being short of breath and not be able to do anything about it. I'm grateful to all the medical folks and also to those who make the machines that help me maintain an acceptable level of oxygen. I wish Santa could bring me a new pair of lungs. One of my children told me that if I had made better "life choices" that I wouldn't be in this pickle. Hell, if I had made better "life choices," she wouldn't be around to criticize me.

In any case, I'm home and looking forward to a quiet Christmas. We'll dine with the other seniors here, and I'll say thank you one more time. Merry Christmas.