Tag Archives: faith

Just In Case

If you saw my recent post about my upcoming heart surgery, you know I have a lot on my plate lately.  You might also know the heart condition was found somewhat by accident.  In all the tests, the imaging, the consultations, and doctors’ appointments looking for the cause of my almost two-year-old headache, we found something else.  Well, we found a number of little, inconsequential things.  But we also found a big thing going on in my heart.  And the blocked arteries have nothing to do with the headache, so I’ve been told by the cardiologist, so we’re still trying to figure it all out.

In my younger years, I was always of the opinion that I didn’t want to know.  I didn’t care to go to the doctor because I could handle whatever was ailing me and tough it out.  And if there was something seriously bad, I wouldn’t want to know anyway.  Let it run its course, and I would be fine- or not, but it wasn’t going to bother me either way.  Plus, if I found out something was seriously wrong, I might have had to rethink my whole philosophy of my fantasy that I was invincible.  And we were all invincible at one time or another in our lives.  Well, my invincibility has been fading for about a decade now. 

I have never been afraid of dying.  And I’m still not, even though I have feared that it could have happened a few times in my life.  Most notably, once in Iraq and once in Afghanistan.  Even then, I wasn’t scared of dying, I just wondered if I had done everything I needed to do or could have done for the ones I would leave behind.  That’s always been my fear, did I do enough?  For me, I am confident in my faith, so I know my death won’t be my end.  I’ve never claimed to be very good at being a Christian throughout most of my life, but I do remember an exact time in my life that I trusted in Jesus Christ and gave my life to him.  I am not afraid to die. 

Because I’ve always been a planner and preparer and organizer, I’ve been looking at where I am now in my question of “did I do enough?”  I’ve talked to my life insurance guy a couple times in the last couple weeks to double-check and make sure everything is up to date.  I’ve pulled out the folders that contain my pre-paid end-of-life arrangements.  I need to update my address with them.  I’m looking closely at my finances and investments.  I’m covering everything I can think of.  There is no over-thinking, no panic, no drastic changes to anything.  I’m simply preparing for just in case.  It’s the right thing to do.  And all of this has my wife in her ‘feels,’ being a little emotional while I make sure things are in order.  I certainly understand.  This is somewhat of an emotional time for both of us.

I, myself, have been a little irritable since having my heart catheterization and then hearing the results.  Some of it stems from the fact that looking ahead to heart surgery is not fun.  And even worse, I’ve looked at what recovery is going to be like, and I already hate it.  I’m bored now just because I’m not supposed to be overdoing things and taking it easy.  Can you imagine how freaking bored I’ll be for the months of recovery I’ll be going through?  Oh yeah, and I have to quit smoking.  Just thinking about that is irritating enough.  Y’all pray for my wife, she’s going to need it.  I’ve quit smoking a few times before, once for five years.  The first couple weeks every time is the hardest.  Seriously, y’all check on my wife.  She’ll have her hands full with me.

The procedure I’ll be having is scary, but it’s not that uncommon these days.  People have been getting open heart surgery for decades now and doctors have become very good at it.  So, I very much plan on living through my heart surgery, fully recovering from it, and eventually finding a new normal at some point in the future.  But, also, I plan on dying.  Hopefully, not for another 20 years or so, but it will happen.  And not to be a killjoy, but you are going to die, too.  We all have that in common.  It’s one of the flaws we all share with these human bodies; we all wear out and eventually die.  I can’t do anything about that, but I can do my best to prepare for when it does happen somewhere down the road.

First, I have to make it to the surgery.  At my post-cath follow-up, my doctor was running way behind.  By the time I got in for my appointment, he was rushing and I didn’t get much at all out of the visit.  While recovering in the hospital after the heart cath, he had told me what my heart looked like and all the problems he found.  But I was still a little high on the sedatives from the procedure, so I really don’t remember most of it.  At the recent appointment, I was hoping he would break it all down, spell it all out to me exactly where the blockages are and what exactly the dissections mean.  I even brought a notebook to take notes.  Basically, he just confirmed that I need surgery and referred me to the surgeon.  How the appointment went is another reason I’m irritable and moody. 

And, of course, I looked it all up on the internet based on the doctor’s notes I was able to get printed out at that appointment.  I think I mentioned it in my last blog post about surfing the internet for medical answers not being the best idea.  For real, though.  I looked up the percentages of each blockage from the notes and what the dissections mean, and now I’m pissed.  Honestly, based on what I found, they should have kept me and done surgery that day.  He even told me that he was surprised I hadn’t had a heart attack already.  I know!!  I found that on the internet.  But I also know that my mind is running a little wild with all of this and it’s almost never as bad as what you find on the internet.  But it is still frustrating because I don’t know what all will happen and when.  And that’s part of why I’m making sure I have everything in order for my wife, just in case.  It’s something we should all do from time to time. 

No matter how long or how much you plan on living, you should go ahead and plan on dying, even if it won’t happen for another 50 years.  Make a plan now for your loved ones for later.  Make their lives a little easier in the future if you can.  I, for one, plan on living until I die, and I plan on that being years down the road.  But, because I love my family, I also have to plan on dying as if it were tomorrow.  Because you never know. 

Thanks for stopping by Story of My Life today.  Some of this might seem a little heavy or dark, but it is simply the facts of life.  And because I love my family, I have to plan this way.  Give some thought to what I talked about.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

Get Philosophized

Philosophy says that the early bird gets the worm. Ok. But the early worm gets eaten. I guess timing is everything. And it is. I used to drive a box truck for a produce company. If my truck wasn’t ready to go when I showed up for work at 4 a.m., I would be running late getting my route done. It was at least an hour drive from my starting point to my first stop. I needed be ahead of the morning traffic. Between Pensacola and Ft Walton Beach, there must have been 372 school zones (I exaggerate, of course, but it sure seemed like it). And if I didn’t leave on time, I would undoubtedly catch every one of those annoying school zones, one of which was less than 100 feet. If I didn’t leave on time, I would be at least an hour late just a few stops into my route. And my leaving on time was contingent upon the night loaders getting their job done and getting the trucks loaded.

On the flip side, when I did leave on time, I would have about an hour wait by my third stop. Nap time! The cab of the truck wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but a couple times a week, when the loaders got my truck ready on time, I would enjoy a short cat nap while waiting on the manager of that restaurant to show up and accept the delivery. Sometimes I was early, sometimes I was late. Being the early bird that gets the worm, or the worm that got told by customers he was late, all depended on someone else doing their job.

I really miss that job.

And on the subject of being early, why does my GPS offer me slower routes when I’m driving from Florida to South Carolina and back every month for my army reserve duty? It shows “This route is 34 minutes slower.” “This route is 15 minutes slower.” I’ve seen it give a slower route by an hour and 15 minutes while driving. Why? Why would I want a slower route? If I didn’t care what time I arrived, I wouldn’t be using my GPS. But honestly, I mostly use it for traffic updates and an estimated time of arrival. But really, why try to sell me on a slower route? It’s more than an 8-hour drive one way. I don’t want to go slower. I just want to get there and take a nap.

Another philosophical anomaly is seeing a glass half empty or half full. Who came up with that? I don’t mean to sound judgmental, but that’s just ridiculous. Let me explain. I’m a very analytical person. I need more information than just a cylindrical container being at 50% capacity. The truth is, if you are filling the glass and stop halfway, it’s half full. If it’s full to start with, and you drink half of it, it’s half empty. This same equation works for beer, except that with beer it’s always half empty. No one starts out with only half a beer.

Lastly, let’s look at “I think, therefore, I am.” I like that one. But I still have questions. Do I exist because I think? Or do I think because I exist? What about some of the people we deal with on a daily basis that make us scratch our heads when they think? Come spend a day with me at the airport I work at and you’ll see what I mean. I guess when Descartes came up with “I think, therefore I am,” he didn’t add an addendum that it has to be intelligent thought. I guess his glass was half full.

Thanks for stopping this week and getting philosophized. And since I skipped last week, Happy New Year. May your 2018 be as good as you make it. Well, that statement is an interesting bit of philosophy. Think about that for a while. Good day, God bless.

Dave

My List Is Complete

About twenty years ago I managed a pizza delivery store in Panama City Beach for a couple of friends of mine. During the spring break season, we were open 24 hours a day. It was busy. According to our food distributor, we were the busiest independent pizza store in the country based on how much cheese we ordered each week during that time. MTV was in town covering the festivities of party-goers, Spinnaker and La Vela were packed every night, and the strip was bumper to bumper traffic for miles all day, and continuing late into the night. Needless to say, getting everything done each day was a monumental task.

One of the guys I worked for there was a list-keeper. Everything he needed to do was on a list. It wasn’t always the neatest looking lists, but it worked for him. He kept everything in Steno pads. And he always seemed to have everything crossed off his list at the end of the day, for the most part. I was impressed with his ability to get it all done, but also not happy with myself for never finishing my list and always having to move things to the next day. I was a great manager, but for some reason, I could never cross everything off my list.

I finally asked him one day, “How do you get it all done? You have a page full of stuff, the same as me, but you get a lot more of it done than I do.” His reply changed my life. Well, that’s a little dramatic, but his words certainly have stayed with me for more 20 years. It was so simple. I still use his strategy today. He said, “When I get something done, I add it to my list and check it off.” Mind blown. Eyes opened. Life changed. The philosophy of that simple idea is amazingly deep.

He would start his list with what was important to be accomplished. It might only be a small handful of things. As he would get things done throughout the day, he would add those things to his list. Since those things were already done, as he added him to the list, he would check them off. That’s brilliant. Do you realize how much stuff we actually get done in a day? If you made a list, you would know. And if you knew how much you do get done, maybe you wouldn’t beat yourself up for not completing your to-do list, a list that might be unrealistic to begin with.

As 2017 draws to a close, I look back on the year and I know I did not even come close to getting all the things done that I wanted to this year. If I had made a list at the beginning of the year of all the things I wanted to get done in 2017, that list would still need some work, or the year would need to be extended. But I won’t lament or lose any sleep about not finishing my hypothetical list. I will, however, be happy with what I did accomplish, even if some of it is trivial or perhaps less productive in the big picture of life as I see it. I still got a lot done this year. I survived. And that is a rather huge accomplishment in and of itself in some respects.

I finish this year broke, but none of my bills are behind. Except my student loans, which will likely never get paid. I didn’t get much done this year on the novel I’m writing, but I estimate that I wrote about 30,000 words to my blog in 2017. Neither of those endeavors pay the bills. I really just want to make a living as a writer, but I like the job I have and the people I work with. I’m not where I want to be in life, but I am certainly not where I was a short while ago, which is a good thing. I didn’t finish everything on my list for 2017, but I am pretty happy with what I did get done, including the less important things I added to the list as I went along.

My friends, do not make an overwhelming list for yourself that you cannot finish. Once you start moving things to the next day, it becomes easier and easier to keep doing that. You will never get it done that way. Pick a few things that are important. As you move throughout your day, week, or year, add to your list the other, less important things you get done and check them off. You’ll be surprised by how much you really get done, even when it doesn’t feel like it. Happy New Year to you all. May 2018 be a year of checking off the important things on our lists and realizing how important the things not on the list are that we get done as well.

Thanks for stopping by this year. Hope to see you in 2018. Good day, God bless.

Dave

Abstract

I fell asleep thinking about you, hoping to see you in my dreams. You didn’t show. But that’s ok, I know you’re busy. I should shave my beard since that’s what derailed the last dream and turned it into a nightmare. Even the smallest ripple can turn into a tsunami that engulfs my slumber when my dreams start to go sideways. And once it starts, there’s no stopping it.

I enjoyed a couple of naps this week. I’ve hired a nap coach so I can get better at it. I hope to turn pro at it one day. I wonder what the pay is for a napper at the top of his game. Could it be classified as a sport and what would the scoring system entail? And would the TV commentators whisper into the microphone, “Oh my gosh! He nailed it! Look at his form.” Regardless, I’m sure everyone who gets a nap is a winner. I think we should all explore this.

I’ve been wondering some things. What do the constellations look like from somewhere else in the galaxy? Or even outside the galaxy? Would Orion’s Belt become Orion’s Suspenders? Or perhaps the Big Dipper looks like a bottle of wine from opposite of where we are. Maybe a giant bottle of chardonnay? And we’ll need a colossal size bottle of booze in less than 4 billion years when the Andromeda Galaxy comes crashing into ours. That’s going to be one hell of a party. I should put a reminder in my phone for it.

Today feels like Friday. But, in fact, it is Saturday. I wrote this on Wednesday. You figure it out. Days of the week mean very little to me anymore.

I used to believe in Santa Claus. I’m trying to believe in myself again. I do believe in Jesus, so I got that going for me. But of those three, the only one I really talk to anymore on a regular basis is Me. You should hear the arguments I have with Me. But I am very happy that no one can see what’s going on inside my head at any given time. If you could, you would either be extremely entertained or terribly horrified. At least that how it works for me, having this front row seat to it.

Sometimes I have memories that I’m not sure are really mine. I don’t know how they got in my head; nonetheless, they are here. But I’m not convinced they belong to me. If you are missing some of your memories, please have your people call my people and we’ll work something out. Otherwise, the ones that go unclaimed will be put on craigslist.

I’ve had green tea in Japan, hot tea in England, chai tea in Iraq. As a southerner, you would think that I drink sweet tea. I don’t much care for it. But I like beer. The chai tea in Iraq was the best. But the grits were horrible. They definitely weren’t southern. And don’t get me started on the so-called red beans and rice they served us in Afghanistan. Not even close. Not. Even. Close.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Law of Diminishing Return is real. And the best way to counter it is to go backwards, then it can only get better. Read the previous two sentences again. It’s not confusing, it’ll come to you sooner or later.

Today’s crazy abstractness was brought to you by the number Twelve and the color known as Purple. I hope you enjoyed something a little different from me this week. I sure enjoyed writing it. Good day, God bless.

Dave

My Worst War Memory

WARNING  This content may be upsetting or triggering to some.  WARNING

This week, while on orders at Ft. Jackson, South Carolina, I ran into a long-time army buddy. It was good to catch up with him while having dinner and a couple of beers. We reminisced and talked about the people we served with together, shared stories of what’s going on in our careers now, and had a couple good laughs. Most of my army memories are good. Most of my deployment memories are good, even if only because I try to remember the good ones. Most of the not-so-good memories can still be made into an amusing, funny story. But not all of them.

Not long ago I did some online forums where people could ask me questions about a topic I would post. One reader asked me what was my worst memory was from war. For a moment, I wasn’t sure. I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on the worst memories, so I had to think about it. And as discussed in a previous blog, I have memories that are hidden. One of which, not my worst, was discovered during a therapy session with my psychiatrist. And once I remembered it, it was back. My mind had hidden it for two years until my therapist walked me through it.

But my worst memory from being deployed happened while I was in Iraq (2008-09). I went a number of years with that memory tucked away, hidden from my consciousness. And I didn’t even know it. It surfaced a few years ago, hung around for a while, then was gone again. I think it’s been more than three years since I thought about it. Now it’s back. This is something I’ve only shared with very few, and even then, I generally only tell the main part of the story.

I was at Camp Bucca, Iraq. My chaplain and I were responsible for about a thousand Soldiers that fell under our battalion. The two of us went to the hospital to visit a Soldier that had been seriously injured in a motor pool accident. The Soldier was soon to be transported to Germany, then back to the States, I think to San Antonio to get specialized treatment and start rehabilitation. I never made it to the room with the chaplain to visit the wounded Soldier.

The bay-style room we walked through that would lead to a private room with the motor pool Soldier had three beds in it. In each of those beds was a child. Each child had been severely burned over their whole body. The chaplain and I both paused and inquired about the children. Their ages were approximately between four and nine years old. It was the most unexpected thing I’ve seen. I got the story from the medical staff that had accepted the children into the hospital due to the severity of their injuries.

Their father was dead. He was trying to steal fuel, propane I think, according to my memory of the story I was told, and the whole tank somehow exploded. Why he had his three little girls with him to steal fuel, I will never know. But the explosion killed him and engulfed the children in flames. They were brought to our hospital for treatment. They were almost completely wrapped in gauze, only parts of their faces showing. Only the oldest spoke while the other two whined and cried. I think the oldest was trying to comfort the other two. They couldn’t see each other, only hear the sounds of pain and anguish that filled that small part of the room.

After a couple of minutes with the staff, the chaplain was ready to move on to the injured motor pool Soldier. I couldn’t do it. I had to leave. I told the chaplain I would be out back, that he could come get me when he was done with the Soldier. I found my way to an exit, then I sat on the steps and cried. The reality and gravity of three children laying there, burned, crying, scared, barely alive– it got to me. It got to me in a way nothing else previously had in life. That includes losing a child one day after birth.

I could see that memory every time I closed my eyes, from that night on, for about two years. Then, it was gone. I forgot about it. It would reappear every 2-3 years, depress me, horrify me in my sleep, then hide again. Well, it’s back. This is probably the most details I have ever shared about this memory. I’m hoping that sharing it this way will help. I don’t remember ever talking to any psychiatrist or counselor about it. It must have been pretty well hidden since my psychiatrist last year was able to get the memory of a wrong turn in Kabul, Afghanistan to resurface, but the burned children never came up.

In preparation for this post, I reached out to a friend of mine that I served with in Iraq, Joseph Galvan. He told me that the event of the three burned children was one of his worst three memories he has of war. Being a medic, he was regularly exposed to more pain and suffering than most. He was on staff at our hospital on Camp Bucca during the time the children were there. I asked him if he would give a quote for this week’s blog about his experience there during that time. Just as I remember him during deployment, he didn’t fail to produce when called upon now. Here is what he had to say:

“As horrible as having three severely burned children was, the worst was after. The MRO (Medical Regulating Organization), who was the theater medical operations hub, ordered that we no longer accept any critically injured local national patients. The girls were in our ICU for about four months and we only had 5 ICU beds.

“’Try and imagine what that must have been like for our medics. Locals bringing their severely ill and injured to us, having heard that the Americans took care of children that were near death, only to be turned away. The begging, pleading, and crying they had to witness.”

 

 

My friend and hero, Joseph Galvan.

Galvan went on to say, “I can still hear them scream from their wounds being cleaned; there’s only so much morphine you can give a child and it’s not enough. That’s why I’d always bring my guitar to work. I knew the schedule for their wound care and I’d play for the kids after, while the nurses washed their hair. It got to be a routine. I’d even do it on my days off. The smell of burning hair and children crying or screaming in legitimate pain fucks with me pretty hard. And the burn patient smell…that sickly sweet, but acrid smell…I can’t do it.”

Maybe his sharing this with me will help him in some way. He told me earlier this week, “I just realized that I’ve never told anyone about that. The folks that were there (in the ward, on shift) knew, but I’ve never talked about it.” Joseph Galvan is a hero. His heart for those children makes him a hero to me.

This is why it’s harder to come home from war than it is to go. The memories never leave. Never. They may hide for a while, but they always come back.

Thank you for reading this week. Good day, God bless. And a special God bless to our military medics.

Dave