The Music is Over…

Turn out the lights… A couple of weeks ago, as I was sitting in the emergency room getting a diagnosis that was surprising and terrifying at the same time. I thought to myself, I have tried to do everything right. I work out, my diet is not all that bad, damn, even my numbers were not bad, I am not that old.

As the evidence built up, doctor after doctor marched in, telling me, "This is the issue; this is what we are going to put you on; this is what we are going to do; and this is your future." This stuff happens so fast, each doctor overloading me like trying to put ten pounds of crap into a 5-pound bag.  At this point, I already feel overwhelmed and helpless, believing my body betrayed me. With the looming question swirling around my head what I do wrong to cause this.

 My mind reeling from the day's events, trying to get some sleep in the middle of the night, when a guy next to me kept yelling, "Help me, me help me."

The next morning was no better. Here comes the tests, the blood draws, and the scans. Feeling like crap, no shower, no hope. Then the parade starts one more time, one doctor after another repeating what they found after the tests and scans to reveal that, yup, I have a problem.

I'm questioning what next, is this even worth it? My wife showed up to ask me what they said and what the prognosis was. My brain doesn't work that way to intelligently regurgitate 20 pounds of crap that made no sense to me. Words I have never heard before and then look at her face when she is worried, and I can’t even relay any useful information to give a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

As this was all happening throughout the day, my neighbor was getting a full day's sleep, ready for his nightly activities. I don’t blame him; he was suffering as well. As night drew in, I talked to my nurse. I told her I hadn’t slept for 24 hours and that you were looking for me that I would be sleeping in the bathroom. The nurse said I understand. I'll find you a new bed.

The nurse came in with some help, wheeled me to my new room, handed me a melatonin pill, and said good night. They left, and the guy next door to me spoke softly and said I like going to bed early. Is that going to be a problem? I spoke up and said, " Love you, man, good night.

The next day was much better. I got some well-needed sleep. My wife got to speak with the doctors. I got some peace. Plus, a doctor came in and took these 20 pounds of crap and reduced it down to 2 pounds of information that I could break down and get a handle on.

In a moment of despair, I asked the doctor point-blank. I said I took care of myself, and I did everything I could to keep myself in shape. She looked at me and said, " Maybe if you didn’t take care of yourself so well, this could have happened 10 years ago.”

I am home now, like nothing ever happened. I have a different future, a different song playing now. It's almost weird, yes, I must make some lifestyle changes; it could have been ten times worse. But, as I think back on this episode of my life, I must admit I am excited because it's like I have a new future, a new project, like Crohn’s Colitis was so many years ago.

This is a different type of optimism. Yes, my diet, exercise, have changed but not that much. My faith in my future a lot more. When this shattered my future that I see myself living like a cheap mirror it woke me up from my slumber. I got in that trap and became complacent and just went through the motions. Am I worried?  Yes, am I excited? Yes. Am I faking it where I feel like I am teetering on the edge of a razor blade between scared and excited very much so.