Emerging from the Fog

It's hell to get old.  A familiar utterance from my father for as long as I can remember but until recently I didn't fully appreciate it's meaning.  Over the last two weeks I've worked through real and imagined ghosts of aging.

Stood for awhile in the studio today staring at the camera LCD wondering who this guy is. Self-portraits often reveal uncomfortable things.  They're not for anyone who likes to avoid the truth. The recent ER visit may have been the wake up call but I hadn't realized how far down the scale I might have fallen.

And just so you don't think I spend my days at work taking pictures of myself I was working out photographic style issues for a new marketing campaign.  I was just a convenient test model.

Poor Junior. 

Opened my eyes on Sunday morning and peered out the window -- fog.  No long walk on this morning.  Fleeting, vaporous, no time to spare when an enchanted landscape appears like Brigadoon emerging from the mist.  

Fast shower, dog out just long enough for morning responsibilities and I'm off on the Vespa seeking the quintessential magic image.  I've been chasing it for years. My blue butterfly.

Less than a mile from home I realize the fog has already moved off leaving just a gray calmness over the morning.  Abigail, the M4 Sherman tank in the picture, is similar to the ones in a photo album of my father's recording his time in the United States Third Army in the 1940s.  I see his ghost when I look in the mirror and feel the biological clock ticking, reminding me that I have choices to make.

In the past two weeks I've lost 24 pounds.  Fueled by stress, medication and the flu it rendered my less than finely tuned body into what I can only describe as a frail, muddled organism.  A stoic denial of sodium in response to my blood pressure spikes I was so thorough that my arms and legs seemed to constantly be cramping.  Only some insistent advice from loved ones and friends was able to penetrate my hard head and adjust my diet.  The same hardheadedness that makes it possible for me to ride through the winter also makes it difficult to see the light shining.  

Sometimes.

I had to cancel my place in the MSF Experienced Rider Course.  I was weak and didn't believe I could withstand the seven hours in the sun.  So much of me wanted to ignore all the data and go anyway.

 

Riding frequency declined for a number of reasons including the sudden necessity to replace our vehicles.  Bad, bad planning and requiring an amazing amount of time and effort.  So when I was able to ride it was mesmerizing.  Every possible good feeling and nerve end tingling greeted me.  It was good to be home.

Standing along Spring Creek and listening to the water sing almost made me cry.  I don't know why I've been so lucky in life.  Or given so many chances to succeed.

 

Riding has a calming effect.  Or so I tell myself when I watch my blood pressure numbers decline to their normal levels.  The past week they have pumped steady between 110/65 and 125/75, the range they have been for the past 50 years.

As the early morning wanes I head back to town and cut across campus towards my weekly meeting at Saint's Cafe.  The streets are empty as I ride beneath the last remaining elm tunnels. 

All the magic is gone when the sun is out.  Any chance of depicting Gordon as some sort of character out of a Harry Potter story is impossible in this light.  I'm thinking sodium at this point and what I can eat to give myself a bit of salt.

Mushroom and bell pepper quiche.  Vespa rider fare.  With much encouragement and advice I've moderated my stoic diet.  Weight loss has ceased and I feel good again.  The results from a battery of tests still linger in the future when I see my doctor later this week.  Until then I'll continue to do what I'm doing.

Heavy skies were forming in the west when I departed Saint's and by the time I got to Lemont I felt it wise to stop for a few minutes at the cafe and let the storm pass.  And a good excuse for tea and a cookie.  My first in a long time.

A cool breeze blows across the porch, delicate ringing from small bell chimes fills the air as every suggestion of the heat from just a few minutes earlier is washed away.  As the first drops of rain begin to fall I know I could stand here all day.

In minutes a steady, hard rain makes me smile that I've made a good decision.  Similar decisions loom down the road in regard to diet, stress and exercise.  What, me worry?

My father used to tell me I reminded him of Alfred E. Neuman.  Must have been the ears.

The rain passes and I make my way towards home.  The road stretches ahead and I don't know what's around the bend.  I can guess but mostly it's paying attention to what happens next.  For now I'm ok.  Or so it seems.  

The business of living is moving along.  A new Honda Fit Sport has replaced our old VW Jetta.  My Ford Ranger will make it's debut on eBay later this week with a Honda Odyssey van taking it's spot in the driveway.

I've had no aspiration to be a minivan driver but years of all season Vespa riding has tempered me for the task ahead.

And my apologies for all of you still waiting for me to post my review of the BMW K1600 GTL.  And to make matters more daunting I also have to write reviews of the Ducati Diavel that Craig Kissell and I took a ride on.  The Ducati Multistrada and a second time out on the BMW 1200 RT.

Plodding wins the race.  Look for more soon.

And thank you to everyone for your kind regards and support.  I do appreciate it.

Farewell to Bacon

Last Wednesday evening, my view of the emergency room, wondering if I had a heart attack or stroke.  I was polite and kept my boots off the hospital bed.  I'm not really that tall.

My daughter told me this morning while I was walking Junior that she wasn't surprised that I ended up there considering my diet based on the four food groups -- hot dogs, potato chips, pretzels with extra salt, and bacon.  From my point of view it wasn't so bad considering I didn't smoke, drink, and had given up chocolate donuts a long time ago.

Arriving home from work that day I was tired enough to take a nap for about an hour.  Kim was on the phone talking to someone about antique bricks when I sat down to have a sandwich and my second bag of potato chips for the day.  I noticed my left arm was aching but thought it was probably a result of the two tons of bricks I had moved the previous couple days.  Tired, aching arm, a headache beginning and I start to feel a little wobbly even though I am seated at the computer reading Twisted Roads.  A recently purchased blood pressure monitor was sitting nearby and I wondered if my blood pressure changes when I don't feel well.


Normally I'm 117/72.

Strap on the monitor, press the button, listen to the thing pump up and feel my heart pounding in the cuff.

197/109.

"Shit that's high." I say to myself.  Can't be right.  Wait five minutes and check it again.

227/117.

Now I'm worried.  I have been monitoring Kim's blood pressure for awhile and knew what constituted a crisis event.  My arm's aching and I am having a little trouble drawing a deep breath.

Kim was standing in the living room talking on the phone when I touched her shoulder and said, "Hang up."

Normally, she might give me a look that says, "Who the hell do you think you are?"  but she hangs up immediately and later tells me the look on my face told her something serious was afoot.  I tell her she needs to drive me to the hospital now and I head towards the door.

I need to interject two things here.  First, Kim is a good driver.  Second, I am a terrible passenger.  I almost never allow anyone to drive me anywhere.  Kim says I am somewhere between cautious and paranoid.  We get in the car and she wants to get me to the hospital fast.  I'm pushing the invisible brake pedal and ask her to slow down.  No wonder I ride a Vespa.

I still can't figure out how Charlie6 of Redleg's Rides got me in the sidecar of his Ural on the freeway at night.  He must be some sort of Ride Whisperer.

The ER is waiting for me.  I begin wondering if our $29.95 blood pressure monitor was giving faulty readings and I am about to be revealed as a fraud and wimp as they wrap a professional BP cuff around my arm. Two nurses begin to ask me questions that Kim wants to answer.  I already know they are trying to assess if my brain is working and ask me my birthday over and over again. For an instance I consider pulling their leg but decide against that course of action because I really want to go home.

Vindication -- my pressure is 187/108.

Laying in the hospital bed I'm considering what all of this means.  One of the first thoughts is no more hearty breakfasts.  Somehow oatmeal doesn't have the same romantic lure of bacon, eggs and potatoes.  I'll have to survive on the fruit and parsley.  

Over the next for hours I find out the following:

1.  Did not have a heart attack.
2.  Did not have a stroke.
3.  EKG normal.
4.  Blood enzymes and chemistry normal.
5.  Chest X-ray shows no enlarging of the heart.
6.  I have high blood pressure, take these pills, see my family doctor, change my diet, exercise, grow up .

I know there are a variety of things that will have to be assessed (I see a stress test in my future) but for now I am good to go.

By the time they send me home the pressure has dropped, thanks to some medicine I can't remember, to 125/80.  Still feeling tired but maybe that's just my laziness coming out or the 4000 pounds of bricks.  It was kind of nice napping in the ER and listening to all the chaos.  Kim wasn't having the same good time.

The next morning my BP was 117/72.  I was miraculously cured.  Didn't last as the numbers climbed all day even though I was eating a healthy diet.  By the evening I was close to the levels of the previous evening for a short time before watching them drop.

Did I say I didn't take the medication they prescribed?

Same thing today.  Start normal and slowly work up through the day though nowhere near the crisis level.

*Sigh*

I guess I have entered Stage I Hypertension.  Downloaded a nifty app for the iPhone to record and chart my BP, mean arterial pressure, pulse, weight, and time of day.  By the time I see my doctor next week I will have a great set of charts he can use to lecture me about the importance of diet, exercise, and stress reduction.

I would really like to say this blindsided me but I knew something like this was coming.  I have been eating like a cartoon character for 50 years.  Something was going to happen.  I let my boyish figure deceive me into thinking things were AOK.

Thankfully I like riding enough that I want to keep doing it for awhile and will make the shift away from fat, sugar and salt.

Farewill bacon.  Goodbye chocolate Tastycakes.  Ciao pizza. No more two cheese hot dogs for 99 cents.  It's going to be a sad culinary life.

I think I need a motorcycle to help manage this transition.