July 23: Deep thoughts on this vacation

It's been busy the last several weeks, always seems as though there is something to do when I get home from work. And now working almost four full days a week, which is tiring. So there has been much that I haven't thought deeply about, including my upcoming vacation.

The closer it gets, the more excited I've been. Yes, I'll be seeing family who I enjoy (for the most part!). Yes, the setting is gorgeous: on the lake where 'On Golden Pond' was filmed. Yes, it's a week off from work. The happiness, however, seemed somewhat out of proportion to the trip. This is a place I've been to off and on for at least four decades, chances are it will be similar to many other weeks spent with family there.

Suddenly there came the realization: this is the first vacation I've had in a full five years. And this oft-repeated trip will be the first one in my 'new' life.

There was Egypt in January, 2004 and the diagnosis in February. As bad as the mitral regurgitation was when discovered, it seemed to settle down and was only mild-moderate by June, I even had gone back to exercising. Late June at camp was the usual, although I sprained the left ankle going after one of the kid's tennis balls in the rocky woods surrounding the court. It was while using the crutches that I seemed to deteriorate again, and in August the MR was severe again, then progressed to the surgery in October. While I've gone to this camp two more times in the last few years, those visits were in 2006 & 2007. In 2006 my second surgery was already scheduled for early August, the soonest it could be done after Beth's commitments. So while on that 'vacation' there was already the specter of the next surgery hanging over me, with the threat of sudden death at any time because of the surgically induced abnormality. And in 2007 Beth and I left camp with George to take Susan's kids for their flight back to Italy, then Beth and I went to Boston for surgery number three, again clouding what would normally have been a happy time. Last year there weren't enough family members who could have made it to camp, so no one went and I never took any other time off between finances and not feeling well.

The last three times vacation with the family has preceded, at varying intervals, getting my chest cracked open, then my heart stopped and sliced open. In 2006 my attitude was colored by wondering if I was ever going to be back there again, if I would live through the surgery or be mobile enough to be at the camp again. And in 2007 it was even worse, with the even stronger possibility of dying or being disabled by a stroke. Packing and leaving my house that year I was struggling not to let others see me cry as I wondered if I was saying goodbye to my furry companions for the last time, wondering if things were in order enough to not be too confusing to those coping with things after my death. Even more frightening was the thought of being in a nursing home with advanced paralysis, knowing that my cats and possessions were being dispersed, that objects and pictures saved and treasured were being sorted and dispassionately thrown out or sold.

It is easy for others to dismiss these thoughts, to say 'Oh, don't think about that!' But the fact is that there was no way I couldn't think about them, because all of those horrible outcomes were distinct possibilities, not just morbid ramblings. These are the thoughts that are so terrifying, that eat at you, that keep you awake at night despite sleeping pills. These are not outcomes that I could put aside and try to meditate my way around. And while the logical reaction from others is to say 'Don't borrow trouble, don't get yourself so worked up over things that probably won't happen', it isn't that easy. Because these thoughts and worries aren't logical, aren't controllable by will. They are what torments you when you are critically ill because the potential is there, they might really happen--they aren't outside of realm of possibility. And knowing that is the worst of all, because they can't be easily dismissed.

The foot/ankle will inhibit my mobility, and the continuing chest pain/sternal separation will keep me from doing still more. I will never be able to do the activities that I did 7, 8 or 9 years ago, and that is the recognition of what the 'new' normal will be for the rest of my life. But I'm not going away with the shadow of death looming over me, coloring my emotions and interactions with family and others. This year will not be leading into another painful and scary heart surgery. My health and the possibility for catastrophe will always be more than my companions, because of my permanent heart disease and the blood thinners. But, comparatively speaking, this year will be the best vacation in recent memory.

It occurs to me that the ankle is an interesting bracket to the whole thing: the downward spiral involving my heart started after badly spraining the left ankle five years ago, and now as I move up out of the abyss the same ankle is again an issue (plus the broken foot, but stay with me!). But I want to think of this as the end of this horrid period of my life, the completion of a circle that will allow me to move to another, better phase of my life--although it will be much different than could have been imagined six or more years ago.

No one can imagine or plan for the life after a death defying critical illness. But this vacation is a major hurdle into something that is a normal thing to do, after so many things that have been so abnormal. From a person who has repeatedly said that 'Everything is Relative', it makes sense that I'm positively giddy.

Thanks for checking in, Laurie