And I thought 2021 was exciting, what with the stroke and all! 2024 started optimistically, with me doing stairs training and getting to a point where I could heave my carcass up 1.25 flights of stairs (1 flight = B1 to 26; half a flight = B1 to 14; a quarter flight = B1 to 6). Then in mid-March, I got COVID for a second time. In April, I ended up in the hospital with severe breathing problems. I'd assumed the breathing problems had been COVID-related aftereffects, but the diagnosis came back that I had heart failure—specifically, severe left-ventricular systolic dysfunction. I was given a new suite of meds that led to severe diarrhea; the diabetes doc took me off all of my cardiac meds (I still wonder whether she had the right to do that), and in August, I had a heart attack caused by coronary-artery blockage.
The day the heart attack happened, I'm told I got CPR from (1) a building staffer, (2) a retired doc, and eventually, (3) the paramedics, who also zapped me twice. I was taken to the ER, where I was stabilized, and at some point between the ER and intensive care, I was given an emergency stent, i.e., my blocked artery got Roto-Rootered, and a stent was placed in to keep the blood vessel open. That stent is now in there for life; I feel a bit like a cyborg now. When I thought about this incident later, it occurred to me that my body was following the exact pattern of my father's heart attack in 2006: he, too, had suffered a coronary-artery blockage; and he, too, had gotten stented. There's a certain inevitability to genetics, and both sides of my family have a history of heart problems, with maternal and paternal grandparents dying early.
Things started to get better after that second trip to the hospital, although the heart-failure diagnosis hovers in the background like an actuarial death sentence. My brothers David and Sean came over to see me; David, who hadn't talked to me in years, had to leave his life out in New Mexico, where he'd been for two years already; Sean and Jeff had just started a European vacation when they rerouted to Korea. (I suspect Jeff may be sore about the whole thing given how thoroughly my medical crisis had interrupted his vacation.) My buddy Charles kindly came over with dinner at one point and met my brother David. My buddy Mike also came to see me a bit later. We had fun catching up and watching Season 2 of "House of the Dragon" together. Through it all, my boss (also a Michael) was my guardian (bohoja) at the hospital; my brothers and my buddy Mike had a chance to meet him.
It's been quiet since all of that. October and December saw me doing my interrupted walk. November saw me prepping my yearly enormous Thanksgiving dinner. The docs had told me that I had two or three other 30% blockages forming around my heart, but those blockages seem to be holding steady, maybe thanks to the new new suite of meds I'm on, which includes—unfortunately—exogenous insulin. There's been no return of breathlessness or severe chest pains; just a twinge now and again to remind me that I'm never getting out of these woods. The best I can do is make the slope of my decline a bit shallower, and we'll see how things go. I've been on borrowed time for a while, it seems. The one-year survival stats post-diagnosis are about 100% for most people; the five-year stats, though, drop way down to 50%, so I could croak before I turn 60, which is something I've said as a joke to people around me for years. Little did I know, eh?
Well, it's been a good life, and while I do have a few regrets about certain roads not taken, I'm overall happy with how things have turned out. I'm especially happy that, in 2017, I went ahead with the idea of walking across Korea along the Four Rivers bike trail—an event that changed my life, gave me a new addiction, and altered my perspective on this beautiful country. I'm going to have to arrange for my walk blogs, at least, to somehow survive me and stand as a legacy for the curious to read. They may end up as books once I get a handle on Adobe InDesign, a program for publishing. We'll see. In the meantime, it looks as though I'll be making it to 2025. We'll just take things a day at a time and go on from there, shall we? What a goddamn year it's been. I hope yours has gone better.
Happy New Year and all the best.
Well, we are all glad you lived to tell about it! I've got quite a few years on you and more and more, I've come to realize that every day is a gift and I could be gone without a warning. Still, you have to make it to sixty so we can follow along as you hike the Camino de Santiago trail!
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