Surviving the SCA - come to terms with not dying.

Talking with a friend the other day and musing on our respective near-death experiences. My Sudden Cardiac Arrest was my second such event - the first was a few years ago diving in the Blue Hole in Belize. (equipment failure at 119 feet - yikes!). These are obviously very different episodes, but what they had in common was by the end of each of the two days, I was overwhelmed by the growing understanding that I could have died that day. It can take a while for that reality to sink all the way in; my mind just wanted to reject that concept - on both days.

Of course, we could each die every day; car accidents, killer Orca's, hurricanes, earthquakes, lightening - all possibilities each day. But those two days ---- those were days when death was really close by; he was sitting with me, hanging around to see if this were the day we left together.

I know I'm not alone; many people have near death experiences. And I think I am a fairly rational human being, but it can be terrifically difficult to come to terms with. (Yes, I know that's a preposition at the end of that sentence, and I remember Winston Churchill's quip to a young editor slashing his manuscript with red ink, murdering those prepositions: "This is nonsense up with which I will not put"....

Back to death. Some days I think I have come to terms with it and other days I know I have not. I was unbelievably lucky - not only did I survive (2% do), but because I was in the ER when it happened, I apparently did not suffer heart or brain damage - and so many people suffer grievously from one or the other or both. I took a bar exam this week (5 months after the SCA), with my 50+ year old memory - always a drag, but really - I am so fortunate that this kind of life is even possible for me.

This morning, in an Alanon meeting, where I had not spoken much, the topic was "Intimacy" and I was stunned that as I started to speak about the nature of my relationships in the aftermath of the SCA - I became emotional. I NEVER become emotional in public or the semi-public that is Alanon.

So I'm not there yet. I want to think that I am, but I know in my heart that I am not. If I were, if I had fully come to terms with the presence of death that day --- I would be able to speak of my family's response to the SCA without choking up.

Some days I just don't know what to do with this extraordinary luck.

Looking backwards

I met someone for lunch yesterday. A new acquaintance, perhaps we'll do some work together, we have one shared network - that type of new friendly relationship.

We got on well, exchanging our work histories, our plans; common ground included a decent sense of humor. I mentioned my Cardiac Arrest almost in passing. He was one of those people who are intensely curious about it; some are, others think it's synonymous with a heart attack, some don't care. Anyway, he asked a lot of questions from the clinical to the emotional. He's a smart guy, and they were smart questions.

One was new - and pulled me up short for a second. Simple question really. It was "since the SCA, do you find yourself thinking back and regretting things you have or haven't done in your life?". I am sure it's perfectly reasonable that many people would do exactly that, but I just don't have that chemistry or orientation or whatever it is.

I honestly hadn't thought about it during these 5 months, and that was the surprise. But when faced with the very well-intended question, I did then think about it. And no. I haven't done that; I don't think I have spent 5 minutes looking back over my shoulder. Maybe I should, but I have not.

I spend time thinking about now, my new now - and the future of course, but not looking back. I'm not sure if it's a lack of introspection or just my inherent pragmatism. I couldn't help but think "what's the point of that?" - yup, pragmatism.

And of course Alanon and Courage to change - making constant clear distinctions between what we can control and what we can't -------- and not wasting our time and energy on the latter.

Me, I focus more on coming to terms this this new now and thinking about the future - the hopes, plans and fears of it.

But is surely was a great question - so surprising I hadn't even considered it.

Not Driving Made Me a Better Driver - really

Post Sudden Cardiac Arrest, I was not allowed to drive for 90 days. I didn't have physical limitations, just doctor's orders. I think they want to make sure you're not going to repeatedly lose consciousness out there. [Prudent, but another day we can argue about SCA people behind the wheel v. texters, eaters, arguers, singers, kid-tenders and all that].

So for 90 days, I sat in the passenger seat. With lots of different drivers. I hired one for the routine, non-social stuff. The first month included a depressing number of doctor visits, then 3 times per week to cardiac rehab for the duration. And all the mundane errands that I just couldn't bring myself to ask friends to do.

Beyond Driver Dude, I was a passenger with friends, acquaintances and visitors. 90 days. Passenger seat. And we know what our normal instincts are from that passenger seat. We "communicate" with sharp intakes of breath, occasional squeals or yelps, and of course, the slamming or tapping the foot on the phantom brake pedal we have over there. In a really tense situation, we might do all at once- gasp, yelp, slam foot to floor and perhaps grab the dash or the handle above the door. Not endearing, to be sure.

I am happy to say I don't think I did any of that. It was a quick conclusion that for 90 days I would have ZERO control over the car(s). I couldn't go faster, slower, change lanes, decide to stop short at a yellow or pop through as it turned pink. Nada, zip - zero control.

So I relaxed. Honestly, you can make a DECISION to relax. There is no control, we might as well give up all illusion and hope of control and enjoy the lack of it. Happily, Driver Dude was an excellent driver, so it was easier to get started with the "I will relax and forget about control and even influence over the vehicle"... A new 12 step mantra! "I am powerless over the car, and my life has become....".

It worked, first with him and then with the others. Not all of them were great drivers, of course. One often drifts over the center line, another accelerates at odd moments, one seems to be competing for a prize for number of lane changes per mile, and so on. But regardless - no control over here in the passenger seat. [I will say that I did want to ask the center-line-drifter if she/he didn't ever NOTICE the fact that oncoming vehicles swerved and veered away from the center in wild self-defense as we approached. But I was on a mission to relax over there, so I never did ask that.]

So I went through my 90 days and then got my keys back. I was surprised how quickly I dropped into my old driving habits and attitudes. How I was cranky about other drivers again right away after 9o days of zero crankiness in a car. How I drove faster again - Driver Dude never drove fast. It was kind of nice after I got used to it. But here I was, driving fast, changing lanes, calculating the odds of getting through that light, silently bemoaning how others drove. Too fast, too slow, too close on my tail, not close enough to the guy in front of them...

I've stopped. Or mostly stopped. I found a great sticker for the car; first sticker I've put on my car since I was in my early twenties (Philadelphia Flyers stickers - they had won the Stanley Cup; it was almost a Philly requirement). Here it is; a nice discreet oval "Wag more, Bark Less". On my car. My new motto.

I drive more slowly; I don't race. I don't change lanes. I mostly don't get cranky with other drivers (though I do have my lapses, for sure). It's a more peaceful experience to be sure. All this non-barking.

Not driving made me a better driver. Thanks to SCA.

Grammy's and Leonard Cohen and being cranky

I was going to write about cars and how not driving for 90 days has made me a better driver, but hold that for another day.

It's been a week and a half and I am still cranky about the Grammy's - right, those music awards. I had been so excited to see that Leonard Cohen was to receive an honor, something along the lines of Lifetime Achievement. I told friends, marshaled an audience and poof - he got all of a 10 second "shout out" or something to that effect. THEN I checked and sure enough, he had gotten his award the day before in a "special ceremony" - like what the Oscars do with the awards we don't understand (key grips or something... or documentaries filmed in the Southern Hemisphere in odd-numbered months) . But the OSCARS - when they have special honors, they actually HONOR the person.

So Leonard, Loretta Lynn and some others got there pathetic "Shout out" during the ceremony and what was probably their time went to the elaborate spectacle for Michael Jackson. Now, I know Jackson is dead, and I know he single-handedly saved the music industry back in the Thriller days, but come on --- he died because he was a drug addict. Admittedly, I'm not much of a fan - I was, when the music was great - but over the years, the ick factor rose and quality of music declined until finally ick turned into revulsion, and I just didn't follow Mr. Jackson any more.

So he got Leonard's time, and I am still cranky. Cohen's contributions are legion. I am so grateful that I got to see him a few months ago; such an outstanding concert, and a terrific time all the way around.

So I'll put my crankiness to rest, but geez Grammy producers, you should either honor them or not - .

I'll get back to the unanticipated benefits of not driving next time.

PS Skippy remains absolutely quiet. Tomorrow I have to do a "manual transmission" of his data - should not be scary, but it is. I'm trying to figure who to coerce to come over here while I am doing it - just in case Skippy perks up.

Things We Now Think About

Such odd thoughts lurk around in the New World Order (that's the post SCA world order....). Thoughts that are along the lines of an adult version of what they told us as little girls --- always to wear clean underwear because you might end up in the Emergency Room. (did they tell little boys that as well? Who tells innocent children these frightful things - frightful both in terms of the relationship with undergarments and having us worry about the ER - who does this? Aside from the Sisters of Mercy, of course.).

This adult version, when one has a daily, ongoing relationship with one's mortality, is along the lines of "Do I care if the house is a total mess? If I have an SCA episode, I will either be no longer with us or in the hospital - most likely). Who will come in? Should I leave instructions that NO ONE is to read my journal? Even post-mortem, I just don't like that idea - though really, that unease is just completely irrational. I mean post-mortem is post mortem. But I guess the worst case scenario (in terms of the journal, messy house, yesterday's underwear) is that I land in a hospital in such a state that a family member or friend has to come into the house to get Stella (the dog) and/or belongings to take to the hospital, etc. Of course, in my irrational mind, they wander about looking through my things, inventorying my undergarments, reading what I am sure is a toss up between an incomprehensible or deathly dull journal... and THEN they get the dog and/or my belongings. And what makes it worst case is that I am still among the land of the living and have to cope with embarrassment or guilt for having hurt someone's feelings in the writings. (I used to self-edit when I lived with Tom. Then as the relationship deteriorated, I became more direct again; after all, by then I think I felt spiteful - if he read it, it was OK that his feelings get hurt. Perhaps even desirable).

And the thing of it is - I KNOW that I really should be worrying about doing my taxes, or passing the upcoming SC bar exam, or staying on my new diet, or getting my work done for a new client --- anything really, other than the state of my undergarments or journal-seeking friends and family or the house being in a state.

Thank goodness I don't have cats.

Bird Population

I e-met a woman the other day who is struggling with what she calls post-traumatic stress disorder 2 years after her SCA. She faces depression and with some significant physical limitations.

It may me realize yet again how extraordinarily lucky I was on 9/5/09. As my sister says - this is why we buy lottery tickets; the percentages alone don't tell the entire story of chances and possibilities, just the probabilities. (And I sincerely hope my economics professor nephew never sees this; I can hear the groan all the way from UC Davis). But the odds for me were - 98% die after SCA AND of the 2% who survive, the overwhelming majority suffer brain damage and/or physical damage and long rehab processes. I suffered neither.

Luck, luck, luck - I went to the ER 10 minutes before the SCA, so my luck was having and recognizing and responding to the instinct to go. Once there, my survival and lack of physical and mental damage were just the geography - how close to paddles I was. I was awake, joking and in full command of whatever brain power I had before the SCA - in minutes. (Admittedly, the jokes were not good ones and my delivery was probably poor as well). And physically, aside from blood pressure that took weeks to settle down - no damage. And remarkably, virtually no damage to the heart itself.

So I feel for the woman who struggles with depression and PTSD - we all hear all the flipping time how lucky we are and the one that really grates on me is the "God must have a plan for you". Well, if he/she/it does have a plan, it's a pretty big and well-kept secret what that might be. But my luck extends - I don't feel depressed. There are days still when I am just stunned that this happened - that I got that close to death and came through as I did. I get cranky at the "God plan" crap (like he/she/it failed to make the plan for the 98%; that they were not 'worthy' of the plan? that it fell off God's to-do list that day? Nuts really).

But back to the birds of this posting title. I shared with my new e-friend that while I deeply empathize with her, I don't have to suffer the depression and symptoms of PTSD. I face and wrestle some with being pissed about the things I can't do and annoyed I have to cope with new fears, but that I also see far more birds and spectacular big skies than I ever saw before. Beautiful coastal birds and skies. Magnificent.

I rather doubt the bird population jumped on the date of my SCA, so my observation is now different. I don't think it's God's plan and I don't think my retinae somehow sharpened. While one cannot pass 24 hours every day doing nothing but feeling gratitude, I have moments of sheer joy at the birds and the big skies. (And yes, I got up during the middle of the night a month or two ago for a meteor shower...). I should probably be finding greater meaning in my new birds and skies, but today, I simply revel in the pleasure.

(And am off to find some nasty sounding meal-worms to entice bluebirds - wish me luck!)

More "Just gotta love Wilmington"

First reason - tomorrow it will be 60 degrees and sunny after a loooooong run of freezing temperatures. Everyone who lives here will be outside; I expect the beach to be almost as crowded as a summer day! Stella and I are pre-excited already.

Second - the chamber of commerce is throwing a party tomorrow night "I Survived 2009" -of course, they are thinking of business survival in tough economic climate, but me --- well, it's literal. I can't wait to go - they are giving away T-shirts with "I survived 2009" emblazoned. I think it will be my new favorite garb, replacing the Sonny Jurgensen shirt. (and that's an EAGLES Sonny shirt, not a Redskins one....)