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!