I have been out of commission for a week now, fighting back from a case of pneumonia.
It also affected my soulmate Karen and we are both just now coming out of it. I figure one or two more days should do it.
Ten days recovery time.
I’m not going to lie; I got really scared this time.
Not for myself, no.
For my wife Karen.
I’m too macho (stupid) to worry about my own pains or illnesses, and although
I’ve been sick before, the differences are like the title of this blog.
I’m a tough guy (dumbass).
The first time I got pneumonia it was actually a case of double pneumonia, and the doctors said my lungs were 85% filled with fluid when my sister-in-law discovered me in my bed at 2am and my breathing sounded like a very faint whistle as my lungs fought for air. My big brother rushed me to St. Mary’s Hospital in Tucson, Arizona where they gave me a shot and inserted tubes down my throat and began draining the fluid, restoring my lung capacity.
I spent one day in the hospital and was up and back to snuff working in two days.
But it was 1975, I was 21-years-old, in the best shape of this lifetime, and only had endured a few surgeries.
My heart was strong and healthy.
Fifty years later, the reality, as Old Rose Dawson would say, is “somewhat different.”
(I still think there was room on the door to let Jack get on.)
Seventy-one years of age, alcoholism, excessive drug abuse, scores of major surgeries, full-blown diabetes, and eight stents keeping diseased veins from collapsing, have all contributed to my lengthy recovery time.
But I am lucky.
People my age with pneumonia with my health profile, check into hospitals and don’t check out.
They die.
I have certainly done my share of fucking up in this lifetime and the one constant has been my refusal to assign blame to anybody but myself for my actions.
I know “why me?”
Don’t cry for me Argentina.
I’ve done things most people can only imagine or read about.
And I wouldn’t change a thing.
Seriously.
I wouldn’t want to take even the slightest chance that I would not be where I am today, alongside the only other person on this planet who I love more than myself.
Ken Kesey’s The Five People You Meet in Heaven is a life-affirming book that anybody with life regrets needs to read.
That’s a lot of people.
I had to cancel my regular monthly gig at a local nursing home but have already rescheduled to next month as I get stronger.
We all live (and die) by the choices we make and, as you can surmise, I would not be an ideal source for life advice.
Not my place.
It’s YOUR life.
Just because my younger years were spent in a hedonistic pursuit, doesn’t mean you have to be a dumbass, too.
Whatever you do, go full-blast!
And don’t forget to smile.
Stay well.
