By the time I was diagnosed with diabetes, I was full-blown with both feet suffering extreme neuropathy. But since I worked sometimes 16 hours a day as a chef, I just called them sore feet.
I ignored an obvious sign.
So I totally saw diabetes coming, I was just an alcoholic doing drugs, eating all the wrong things at all the wrong times, and not noticing the recovery times of my binges getting longer and longer.
Now, God knows, because She has been with me all the way, the good and the bad, and is still with me. Of that, I am sure.
So last Saturday, I decide to jump into the hotel pool, usually packed, for an afternoon swim. No one but me and the water was crystal clear. I used to be able to go the entire length of a 50’ pool AND back. (Yeah, dipshit, but you were 18 years old!).
I broke the still water with a one-legged cannonball and started swimming around and, as you may know, I get these insane ideas from time to time.
I see the hotel pool is only 32’ long, and decide why not? It’s only 64’ total.
Piece of cake.
I make my way to the end of the pool, take a super-deep breath and push off with my right leg. I had eyes on the other end.
I can’t see shit without my glasses, so you know I am blind underwater. I made it to the other end without ramming my head into the concrete, but I knew there was NO WAY I would complete my trip, but I didn’t pay attention to the thunder in my ears or the pounding in my chest. I made it about 1/3 of the way back before breaching, gasping for dear life itself.
I rubbed my chest which was still pounding.
What did I do?
I ignored an obvious sign.
Come to find out, that beating in my chest was a heart attack.
So there I sat, tubes in places where man nor beast should have tubes. At least Mother Time has made my once-prodigious (Little Satin) manageable, requiring less of a length of tube for my catheter.
I was praying, making yet more promises to God, I was even trying to recall account numbers for God to make sure Karen had if it was decided I was leaving this plane of existence.
Through it all, I met the coolest nurse and made a new friend in the process.
I will recount my interactions with her in tomorrow’s blog.
Relax, the Domestic Despot already knows about her, and to show how worried she was, she brought a copy of my book to the hospital for her.
I guess I am too old to be upset she is not jealous of me.
I must be harmless.
As far as one-legged guys go, I’ve got it made. I have a gorgeous woman who I am still mad as a hatter over, two little furry friends that are the epitome of loyalty, and best of all, I never have to decide who or what I will be every year Halloween comes around.