40 of 40
Some things are once in a life.
The last few years I have opted to write 40 times during Lent, everyday, in silence, on the bike for 90 minutes – ending at Holy Week.
It seemed right and a good thing to do as the season was focused to a better place, and I went with it. This year there has been over 2,000 visits to these writings: small by InterWebNet standards, but big for this.
I opted to take a one day half time break, the 21st day of Lent, exactly 3 weeks ago. No writing, no bike. However this 3rd annual daily deal became point of life pivot.
At midnite a completely crazed night terror, my captaining our house thru a raging storm, ended went I crashed, awake. The resulting 5 days were spent in hundreds of tests, first every hour, then 2, then 4. About a dozen doctors, more technicians, and nurses and staff created a huge database. Scans – magnetic and radiation, every day, many blood draws all were performed. I was perforated, manipulated, walked and unendingly questioned and tested.
It came down to a “thrombic event”. A blood carrying tube had its inner layer compromised – probably genetic, as I had no (recent) head trauma – and no evidence of any other anywhere. It burst, flooding a part of my brain with blood. Except for balance, nothing was affected. I worked at my bed for 5 days with 9 wires, tubes and apparati attached to me
But everything was affected.
Those tests and hours upon hours of the Best and Brightest reviewing revealed a simple reality. I had had a 1 in 5 type of flood, I was 1 in 10 of those: zero damage. The lead doctor was amazingly focused and finally agreed, that there was nothing to do as I was healing on my own. After 100 hours I went home on the fifth day (24th writing).
Each day for the post-event 10 the drunken part of my brain sobered up, I did not resume coffee, deserts, milk or cheese, Triscuits, lunch or comfort food. But I could have a drink.
The results are daunting. Upon visiting a doc yesterday, I will have a tiny touch of aspirin and statin forever, just like the exercise I am doing now. I must get less fat, as my blood pressure must be less, although I feel fine, maybe better.
The daunting thing is not found in surviving, or therapies – it’s the weirdness of avoiding any and all medical observation, attention, help for 50 years and finding unlimited resources and 5 24hour days to reveal that I am “perfect” (and fat). Nothing before, nothing indicated after, no anything indicating anything anywhere else. No mystery.
But I am faithful. I return to Yale in 2 months to be inspected and have a massive blood draw – “I want to study those who are undamaged” said the Goddess. I will drop mass, and if enough pressure is relieved no other drug save the two I take now and forever, to reduce it. I will do as told, but the polite insertion of the event only cost one radio show and one potential client who could not wait a week to see me.
“You are young.” Said the very young doctor yesterday. Yes, but now it’s all pre-event and post-event, like going to school, getting married, having kids, kids leaving: one of the later markers has been set. Like these 40 pieces, unrelenting, but half in the post-event time.
Easter is Good.