I walked the mall today. I joined the club of advanced middle age and senior walkers that do the mall. I have seen them before. They wear “track gear” but not the Solomon, the Saucony, or the Pearl Izumi. Adidas and Nike are okay, as long as the colours are pre 2005. But jeans are fine as well and erring on the sign of safety is evidenced by those that wore both belts and suspenders.

I decided to join the mall gang today at the suggestion of my wife as the day dawned blustery and almost snowy. The doctor’s orders are still in effect, and I am not supposed to walk in foul weather. Today I was happy to comply.

So I showed up, feeling a bit like it was the first day at school. Mistake one was that we showed up late – we got there at 9:45 and were informed by the lady at the coffee shop that most of the walkers, the serious walkers are done already. My wife today took the role of the lap counter in Ben Hur during the chariot race. ( Judah Ben Hur and his nemesis Massala go round and round and some guy flips horsies on a rod to keep track of the laps). Anyway, my wife felt that since she had to walk The Beagle in snow and rain mix, that she should be exempt from Mall Walking.

I entered the stream and walked the Mall. Starting from the coffee place (just across from the camera place) I walked past the Sears, past the Dollar Store, did a sharp 90 at the Metro, walked to the end doors, then back tracked to the coffee place and then carried on past the Hair Place, past the new dental office, then to the doors, back to the main pathway, then all the way to the Mark’s Work Warehouse, then turning back at the Pizza Pizza and heading back to the coffee place and past my wife where she clicked a horse. (or at least kept track)

I learned a few things: Saying hello to a walker the first time is okay, doing it a second time makes you look like a dweeb. Cutting corners makes you look like a malingerer. Do not get uptight if a small child races past you. Minimal window shopping and browsing is okay.

The Mall Walkers are the worst nightmare of Sports Marketers and the Regulatory Authorities. The Sports Marketer depends on people wanting the latest stretchable, breathing, environmentally gracious, material in the latest fashion colour. The typical Mall Walker does not care, which of course is horrible for the economy.

Even worse, the Mall Walker is not enthused by government sanctioned and approved wellness programmes. A bored and disinterested government functionary armed with flip charts, brochures, Power Point Presentations, and a script created by professional motivational thinkers is not going to do well here. Nothing disturbs the regulators more than a person that wants to help themselves.

But have no fear – I am not going to fall into this trap. I am already looking forward to getting the okay to drive so that I can go to Mountain Co-Op in Ottawa and stock up on the pesticide free cotton in the newest colours. And I am biting at the bit to meet my trainers and motivators at the Carlton Place and District Memorial Hospital. Maybe one day I will have the courage and resolve to be a Mall Walker. Until that day I will just continue to be the consumer that I love to be. (but I still hope that they don’t give me the boot from the Mall)

It is Friday evening. For a man of leisure like myself, the pleasure of the Friday evening loses a bit of its allure, compared to the days of being the Working Man. Of course if the Rita McNeil song “Working Man” is the litmus test for work, I have done nothing like that ever. My work has been for must of my career the meeting, the talk, the report, the plan, the presentation, the justification. But I am glad to be away from that as well for a while.

But, it is Friday evening. If this were a winter’s eve it would be stellar: Clear skies and a low of only minus ten Celsius and barely a wisp of wind. But is officially already spring and we have been spoiled by sunny blue skies and highs in the low teens during the day. This morning the Madawaska had hundreds of headless geese in it, swimming in unison. Well the geese appeared headless, I think in fact they had tucked their heads under their wings; they were as unimpressed with the Arctic air mass as the rest of us.

So what are we doing this chilly evening? Well the fireplace is on in it full faux wood propane glory. It does look a little phony, but the warmth is real. We snacked on Moroccan Clementine, some light cheese, and some dark chocolate. (in full disclosure it was one small square of Lindt Dark Chocolate and one small Babybel Light). Despite hovering cats and Academy Award Acting Mutts (Best Beagle in the “I Have Never Been Fed” Role) it was quite lovely and romantic. Elina Garanca is singing in the background with a backup chorus during the very quiet parts of the geese glee club from the river.

The above is why I got my surgery. I don’t want to live to a hundred and who knows the future? But just being able to have a gentle Friday Night makes life worth while. I think of those without water, food, shelter, warmth, clothing, security, medicine, and worst of all no hope and no love. I sit here warm and content with a full belly and no thought to dangers that could lurk outside. I am surrounded by love and hope and gratitude.
When I lay in bed at night it seems like my heart is pumping with a new vigour. This Sunday the University of Ottawa Heart Institute has its annual telethon on CTV Ottawa (aka CJOH) . I have already donated and will be watching and donating again. It is hard not to be grateful for a Friday Night

I went to another one of the Contemplative Masses at a local retreat centre on Saturday. One of the readings was from the East, perhaps from Hare Krishna, but I am not sure. The theme was about the danger of ownership and possession. I am going to badly paraphrase, but the idea was that the words “My” or “Mine” are very dangerous. I like that – I cannot say this is My House. That implies that I have now and always will have full say over what happens here. It further implies that I have full and legitimate possession of it. If I think about any of those things in depth, I am troubled. There is a great deal of comfort in being a renter or temporary holder of something.

But having said that, I have to admit that I'm a hypocrite . I like to possess things and hang on to them. My brain tells me that the possession is transient in nature, but something else in me shouts MINE MINE MINE.

So a little challenge was handed to us during the service. It was the gift of a small stone, which we were challenged to assign a quality or name to, and then decide if we want to give it up. I already had a stone called Fear, that I still had at home but, had left it there either accidentally or maybe on purpose. I am not ready to let go of Fear.

But what attribute should I give to this stone in my hand? It was made all the more complex by the thought that ownership was bad. Then I heard the reading about the woman who allegedly was caught fooling around on her husband and was frog marched to Jesus Christ himself. Jesus, if you have forgotten the story, knelt down and wrote something in the sand ( no one knows what he wrote, but I imagine it was something like this: “How long do I have to deal with these idiots?”). He then gave the famous line “Let the one who is without sin throw the first stone.”

I suddenly knew what was in my hand – the stone of wrath and judgment, the stone of my righteousness, the stone of my self. How I love that stone! I love to judge. I love to be right. I love to be superior. How many times have I made snide comments about the Woman Who Claims to be Our Member of Parliament because of her dislike of gay rights and love of weapon owners' rights? I love gripping that stone and tossing it with all my might!

But yesterday, I got up and put that stone at the base of the cross. I can comment on a person’s actions or statements, but I have to learn to give that stone up. I have no right to it, it does not belong to me, and I have no idea how to use it.

But, I must say, that I did feel sad leaving that stone behind. And I have not started to look in my pockets yet.

Dependence -
the condition or fact of being dependent; specifically.,
a being contingent upon or influenced, controlled, or determined by something else
reliance (on another) for support or aid
subordination



Wow! Dependence seems like a very bad word and a very bad condition. In fact if you Google dependency it gets even worse, and all kinds of horrible medical and psychological attributes are given to the dependent one. The adult incontinence product that seems most popular is called Depends, and all of us of a certain age giggle nervously about its use, and the day it will perhaps enter our lives.

Somehow being dependent, depending on others, and anything to do with that word has become a sign of weakness, and something to be under the harsh spotlight of shame. I think that is a lot of bunk – being dependent can be one of the most wonderful and empowering things in your life.

First of all no one is independent. We all depend on police, firefighters, ambulance drivers, coffee servers, banana pickers, airplane cabin crew, snow plow operators, hydro lines people, solidiers, pharmacists, hotel clerks, farmers, farmers, farmers, furniture delivery people, lawyers, conservation officers and about 30 million others in this country alone to keep things moving and to keep the other 29,999,999 safe.

I have been quite dependent on others the last while. Obviously there was the time in the hospital where that dependence is pretty darn clear. But then you get home. I discover that I am dependent on my wife (well more dependent than before) on tasks around the house. I am dependent on her for car rides. If I have to get somewhere and she is not available I will prevail upon a friend. I go to events and I cannot help put chairs away – someone else does it. At my book club meeting the other day someone even got me tea. Nurses came and changed my dressings.

Being dependent is good for me. It shows me my true place in the universe (powerless) but it shows the solution to that is dependence and that gives me power. It is only when I take help from others with a truly grateful heart and a truly open mind that I can help others.

I think the dictionary should change the definition of dependency:
Dependence - The condition of being fully open to the love of others so that you can train your brain and soul to be truly grateful. This will give you full power to make the world a better place one action at a time.

It is 24 days since my quintuple bypass and I think that I trudge the road of happy recovery pretty well. Fatigue is still the main culprit in doing the victory lap. I had a full and good night’s sleep last night. Yet , this morning, after my walk, I took a 60 minute nap. I think it was in part because I had a busy day yesterday: I went to a St. Patrick’s Day Lunch at the Galilee Centre and then that night went to my Book Club. I am glad that I went to both (especially the lunch!) but they did tire me out. That does remind me of the power of the surgery. Fatigue is your friend – it tells you when to sit down or lie down and take a rest.

I go for two official walks a day of about 22 minutes each if I follow my chart. I don’t want to stray too far off the path but the cardiac surgeon did say the more the better so I usually sneak in a third walk. The weather is so gorgeous. The ice is out of the river for the most part and I an looking forward for the okay to go out in the kayak. There is little green anywhere (Mother Nature is wise) but the pussy willows are in full fur in some ditches. The chipmunks have woken up from their torpor and are given the red squirrels a bit of competition. The red winged blackbirds have returned but I have yet to see a robin. Yesterday there was a massive Pileated Woodpecker in the Valley trying to destroy a tree. It seems like all of nature has been directed to entertain me as I recover.

I was having a nap yesterday when the beagle, in full enthusiasm mode decided to jump on the bed via my chest. I took counter measures and he did not impact the sternum but I ended up having a bit of soreness that has luckily proved to be transient in nature. I still have to sit in the back seat during car rides. If the beagle travels, he gets the front seat. Once I get the okay to ride in the front it is going to be an interesting battle of the wills.

I am happy and content and full of gratitude and look forward to each dawn. That is how I feel 24 days into the rest of my life.

One sort of strange thing that has stood out in my little journey is the shower. Shower has more than one definition so just to be clear - I am talking about the good old North American “stand naked under a perforated water outlet and let litres of water spill over you” sort of shower.

Before the surgery I took a series of five cleansing showers with special soap. These were always preceded by a regular soap and water sort of shower; so talk about being clean! Then I had my surgery on the 23rd of February and for reasons already documented elsewhere in excruciatingly boring detail, there were some problems with air bubbles and incisions. This resulted in no showers for me from the morning of February 23rd to the afternoon of Monday, March 8th.

Most of the world would say; “What in the name of anything that is holy are you droning on about?” Don’t you know, care, or understand that:

1- Over a billion people in the world don’t have access to even clean drinking water
2- A person living in sub-Saharan Africa is lucky to get access to 10 or 20 litres of water a day – in Canada you routinely consume 325 litres a day
3- At even given time 50% of the world’s hospital beds are occupied by people who got sick because of the water

So what if I had to take almost two weeks of cleaning up by standing next to the wash basin. I am sure that is done routinely in much of Asia and Europe every day. I am such a whiner. But I will say that first shower felt so nice. It was so wonderful to wash my hair and to see icky stuff disappear between my toes down the drain.
A hot, five minute shower – Yet another thing to be grateful for

Today is Thursday, March 11, 2010 and it is 16 days since my surgery. I cannot believe how good I feel. There are a few minor negatives. The incisions in both the chest and the arm seem to make unilateral decisions once on a while to either itch or mildly be sore. These are transient in nature and are more nuisance than substance. The sternum will mildly throb or ache, especially first thing in the morning or in the evening, and I am not above or beneath popping a couple of Tylenol for that. It does hurt to cough, laugh, or sneeze. I do have a slightly annoying latent cough that seems to be new (new as I did not have it prior to the surgery). As for the laughing, well, at least the saying “it only hurts when I laugh” has meaning. The best advice with respect to sneezing: “don’t”. One thing that seems to work for me is to rub the roof of your mouth just about the gum line beneath your nose. That seems to stop the sneeze. It is important, to make sure that whether you cough, laugh, or sneeze that you either hold your chest, or better yet, use your pillow or teddy to make sure that you displace nothing in your still fragile sternum.

I do have to be careful, very careful, of how I move or lift or open. The magic number is 10 pounds, just over 4.5 kilograms: If I pull, push, lift, drag, catch, or anything I can mess things up and I have to be continually cognizant of that.

The final nuisance factor is the fatigue or reduced energy. The bad news here is that I am a little frustrated that I tire out easily. But the good news is that I can take a nap at the drop of a hat and am just following doctor’s orders.

I have been waking up at 6:30 or 6:45 in the morning. Today I was proud of myself for making coffee and breakfast for my wife and me. That is followed by a bit of sitting down and then I get to go for walk number one of the day. I think today I am allowed to do two 15 minutes strolls and the one I did in the morning was on the topside of a still frozen meadow. No doubt beneath the crusty snow all kinds of things are happening: The DNA of plants for the billionth generation in a row is getting the perennial grasses to wake up, seeds are starting to divide cells, voles are putting on sunglasses to protect against the increasing light that comes with melting snow, and the chipmunks were hitting the torpor snooze alarm. But my wife, the beagle, and I were taking advantage of the hard surface just to get in my delicious morning stroll.

We went home too quickly (but my wife is a diligent guardian angel) and I took a short rest followed by my daily stretches and breathing under the supervision of my wife (who at this point becomes a bit of a drill sergeant guardian angel).

My wife went off to work and I read and surfed and napped and listened to the iPod and dillied and daddled. I took a shower which is a bit of an exercise that I will describe in a separate post.

I am proud to say that I made my first dinner. Whole wheat pasta with olive oil, mushrooms, lemon rind, lemon juice, a bit of parmesan cheese, and some leftovers from part of some East Side Mario seafood pasta. My wife and I thought it tasty, but the beagle went insane over it.

My wife is cleaning up the kitchen (hey! I am supposed to rest) and making a cake for a friend’s 35th birthday. We are going over for a bit of a party tonight.

Day 16 and I am still counting blessings! Time for the second walk of the day.