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Explorers of Mortality

May 21, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 28 Comments

How many apples have I eaten in this life? I remember climbing a neighbors tree at nine with pocket knife and sampling slivers of green apples in the summer heat. Or biting into crisp Red Delicious apples fresh from the branch in Adams County orchards. Looking at an apple, a more regular component now of my new post-heart attack diet, I could see past the red fruit to the timeline of my life.

I’ve read that regardless of age, a life threatening illness turns people into explorers of mortality, searchers for meaning, waking up to a more authentic, meaningful life.

Whatever that means.

Four days after my heart attack I was back on the Vespa and exploring my new physical limits — mostly to keep my heart rate below 80 beats per minute — pretty easy when lounging on the back of a scooter. So far my recovery has been quick and without incident.

Speaking with my primary care doctor on Monday evening he said I was lucky to be lying in bed in the ER with an IV port in my arm when the heart attack occurred. When questioned why the cardiologist who worked on me said I could drive and ride in three days while everyone else said two or three weeks he explained the difference between someone intimately knowledgeable of my condition and those delivering the general, cover their ass message.

I felt fine on the road.

Mindful of my current situation I didn’t ride far, just a few errands around town and some mild meanderings. My accountant has a new Triumph Rocket. While we talked about motorcycles and scooters he called the local Piaggio dealer for a quote on an MP3-500 with ABS. For now, the Vespa continues to deliver what I need.

Riding has always provided a gentle pathway into the noise in my head. That aspect continues to be important.

After two days in the ICU I was moved to the personal care unit where I had more freedom to move around the hospital. Aside from the initial drama I felt relatively healthy during my stay, a marked difference from what I saw in other rooms as I walked the halls. If you feel you need to be reminded of the finite nature of life just visit a hospital.

Life persists. I stopped to see my granddaughter and saw in her all the lives that went before. Each of us carries a part of all those mortal beings in a long chain of existence. In an instant I could see where I came from and where I was going.

I was happy.

Stopping to smell the roses, or in this case Dame’s Rocket, is more than a tired old aphorism, it’s a prescription of change. It’s simple instruction asks only that for a moment I abandon what’s on my mind and acknowledge the world in front of me.

Riding the Vespa slowly along a country road I was struck by the sights and fragrances of spring in full bloom and allowed myself a moment to breathe it in.

I made a commitment to rest when I left the hospital. The meaning of “rest” is different for everyone and I continue to explore its application in my life. Not bounded by convention, a short ride on the Vespa can be as restful as time in an easy chair. For me right now, it’s bounded by physical good sense and a close eye on how I’m feeling. Being honest with those assessments paid off in the ER and hopefully will during my cardiac rehabilitation.

There are more than 118,000 miles of roads in Pennsylvania that don’t include these unpaved and unsigned farm lanes that crisscross the rural countryside. There’s much exploring left to do.

While it was difficult to believe I had a heart attack it’s even harder to wrap my head around being a grandfather. I remember so clearly my daughter like this, her warm head in my hand as she slept. In an instant memories flood over me and I understand how much has happened, how much there might be left, and my place in the story.

I would like to think it doesn’t take a heart attack to become explorers of mortality and that there are other ways to wake up to the world. Riding already had begun to shake me awake. Cutting off blood flow to my heart just added to the shaking.

Accepting the Path Ahead

May 16, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 90 Comments

While the road may appear straight and the destination clear, there are endless possibilities for interruption – a tree limb, a vestige of a truck tire, a distracted driver or a sudden dash of a deer. A routine ride can suddenly become a tragic event. I’ve considered many possible challenges on the road and have worked through strategies to address them. Finding a measure of calm and focus is important and I have developed a sort of fateful acceptance of what I might face on the road and in life.

That fateful acceptance was tested when I walked into the Emergency Room at Mount Nittany Medical Center on Thursday evening.

A few days earlier I had been riding the Vespa on a few errands with a minor detour to enjoy some of the more open areas of the valley. After a long day a ride offers an opportunity to clear away the noise of the day and focus on what’s in front of you, excluding everything that doesn’t matter to the riding task at hand.

Standing in the emergency room I tried to summon that ability to focus on the task at hand and push the anxiety and fear aside for the moment. As succinctly as possible I described the events of the day to the triage nurse that brought me to her. Extreme fatigue in the afternoon, early to bed only to awake to pain in my left arm, nausea, heartburn, and shortness of breath. At home my blood pressure measured 200/105, a marked departure from my usual 120/70.

The solitary nature of riding has been instructive activity and has contributed to the unraveling of personal mysteries and shortcomings. I believe many non-riders think of two-wheeled life as a physical indulgence that’s both ego driven and fraught with danger. And on the surface, I might not disagree. But in a complex, harried world it can provide the mindful rider with a haven for relaxation, introspection and escape from the well-worn grooves of everyday drama.

I think the triage nurse was surprised to see my blood pressure standing at 210/110 and immediately send me to a bed where a technician did an EKG.

Heart function was normal.

Riding under a gathering gray sky is probably my favorite time to be on the road. Knowing the weather is changing and not sure what I’ll have to manage triggers a twinge of excitement as I consider how I might be tested. I’m certain it drives my encounters with winter.

The emergency room doctor questioned me on my medical history and symptoms as she worked to determine what to do with the high blood pressure while a nurse inserted an IV line into my arm and injected an anti-nausea medication that I could taste in seconds. Amazing how fast things move in the body. A minute later the nausea subsided and I realized the heartburn was actually pain.

While the doctor and nurse were in the hall discussing next steps I began to sweat and had trouble breathing. The pain in my arm and chest moved from annoying to something I can only assume was reserved for people who have lived on hot dogs, bacon cheeseburgers and little chocolate donuts.

For the first time in my life I pushed the red button.

Central Pennsylvania’s agricultural landscape is dotted with solitary trees that once served to provide shade for plow horses when farmers stopped for their midday meal. I see them as quiet testaments to life in a world where things change. Not matter how many times I pass this particular tree I almost always stop. I did this past week.

The ER doctor looked at me and asked for another EKG and it minutes it was apparent I was having a heart attack.

Things happen quickly in an ER when someone rings the heart attack bell. The rather mellow two person interaction suddenly swirled into a team of people acting in a precision dance of actions as they readied me for something yet to be determined. One person was shaving my arms and groin while another was placing a nitroglycerin tablet under my tongue. Morphine was pushed through the IV port and a cardiologist was on his way.

The pain got worse as I watched the ceiling lights on my way to the Cardiac Catherization Lab.

Remnants of my arrival at the ER – ports still in my arms in case they need to push drugs into me in a hurry.

The catherization team was outstanding – friendly yet undoubtedly professionally focused in ways I’ll never understand. They were able to convert what could have been frightening into something surprisingly mechanical. At least for me, they kept me focused on what they were doing so I wouldn’t panic with thoughts that I could die. I remember joking with them, thinking it would have been cool to have ridden the Vespa to my heart attack experience because it would have made a better blog post, but mostly thinking I hope they stop the pain.

A catheter was inserted into my wrist where the cardiologist determined my right coronary artery was 100 percent blocked. I remember feeling a sudden departure of the pain and muttering, “The morphine must have kicked in.”. The doctor said we just restored your blood flow.

I’m not sure how long this all took but afterwards they showed me computer images of my artery before and after a drug-eluting stent was inserted. It looked dramatic to me and I felt like a new man save for some wooziness from the morphine.

I’ve been in the ICU for about 36 hours now and feel remarkably better. The cardiologist said I’ll probably feel better than I have in a long time since blood flow has likely been restricted for awhile. And it was good to hear that I could resume life as normal. Well, not quite.
I will certainly be able to do everything physically I did before and they actually expect a little more from me. The doctor stressed I am not fragile. Lifestyle changes are part of the adventure ahead that will affect medication, diet and exercise, two things I’ve fought a losing battle with for decades. Now that I have more concrete proof that I’m not indestructible I’ll have to tap into some of the riding focus to take a little better care of myself.

There is much to be grateful for with access to medical care being one of them. Since I got in quickly there was little damage to my heart and the cardiologist expects I’ll not notice any limitations. Accepting the path ahead is already done as I plan some changes. The devil is in the details though and Kim, our kids and friends will help to move things forward as we embark on another adventure.

And if I understand the cardiologist correctly, I can go for a scooter ride on Monday!

Levofloxacin Dreams

April 25, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 34 Comments

“You have pneumonia”.

It’s not what I expected to hear during a second visit to a doctor in a week. The first was a feverish trek to an urgent care center on a Sunday evening when a cold or flu turned towards infection. Being on an immune system crushing drug for ankylosing spondylitits you learn to pay attention to persistent fever lest you’re body enter a competition with a bacterial interloper that it’s just not prepared to fight. A horse pill of levofloxacin is the antibiotic ringer in my corner.

Several days later the fever was gone along with all other symptoms save a nasty, choking cough. A visit to get a cough syrup prescription grew larger with a diagnosis of pneumonia. The persistent state of feeling old, tired, exhausted started to make sense.

Into my sixth decade I’ve become keenly aware that my body has changed but it’s subtle, a little less strength, a little less endurance, a little less desire. But add a serious cold to the picture and suddenly I’m imagining life at a more advanced age. It left me asking questions about what I’m doing with my days, what I want to do, and what I need to do.

I’ve not been on the Vespa in weeks until this evening — a short ride to test what I’m able to do and how quickly energy seeps away. For the past year I’ve been thinking about growing older and this latest illness just turned up the heat. I keep thinking I’ve entered a levofloxacin dream.

The Vespa still feels familiar. The evening air was cool and I could feel it flow over the place in my chest that can flame into a ragged cough. Riding with the visor down and making sure to keep any physical exertion to a minimum there were no problems.

Still, I got tired quickly just from pushing the scooter onto the centerstand and taking a few pictures.

The short ride this evening was a simple, physical test. Still not ready for a long ride but will probably be able to commute to work. Despite fatigue, it was a thrill to see the sun fading beyond Mt. Nittany. There are many mountains I want to see by Vespa before I can’t.

Thinking about health and growing old may chew away at plans and ideas — dreams really that fuel a lot of creative activity. I’m reminded of something novelist Gabriel Garcia Marquez said about growing old:

“It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.”

Illness put a temporary blindfold over my dreams. Best take the blindfold off…

Fighting Winter

February 24, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 17 Comments

In bed, dog still asleep, a glow of pre-dawn light illuminating the curtains, I sneak a look at the iPhone to look at the temperature — five degrees below zero. Winter has relentlessly chewed on souls and psyches, turning even the most positive outlooks into jagged personas. Fighting winter has become a full-time job to keep depression at bay and not feel like life has become a massive landscape of failure.

Call me gray cloud.

And like the Peter Finch’s character in the motion picture Network, I got out of bed saying to myself, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!’

And the decision was made and a methodical undertaking of steps led me to be standing in the driveway with the Vespa scooter idling, ready to head to work in spite of the frigid temperature. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and the roads were mostly clear.

I should add that winter riding is a game of relativity. My cold weather concerns are nothing compared to the weather that Dom Chang and Richard Machida endure in Colorado and Alaska respectively. My cold weather is their balmy weather. Richard doesn’t seem to worry about the temperature until it nears -40F and then only because “things” don’t sound right on the machine.

So maybe call me wimpy as well.

The ride to work was almost uneventful save for two unexpected stops. The first was to put air in the tires. In the cold I guess the pressure decreases, in this case by seven pounds per square inch. Nothing like fiddling with tire valves with your bare hands in sub-zero weather. On the heals of the tire maintenance was a need for fuel. Best to keep the tank full in cold weather.

On the bright side, the heated grips are fantastic. They get so hot that I can feel them almost burning my hands through heavy winter gloves. The Tucano Urbano muffs keep the wind off my hands with only some minor impairment of access to the brakes. Not so much impairment but a need to adjust how you manipulate your hands — you need to use exaggerated movements.

And another unexpected surprise was with the First Gear Kilimanjaro jacket. I usually ride in cold weather with several layers underneath the jacket but was distracted this morning and left without them. Didn’t want to turn back to make adjustments thinking I would be fine for the short trip and it turned out I didn’t need them at all. I was toasty warm with just a sweater on. First Gear considers the Kilimanjaro a three-season jacket but unless they are excluding summer I would think you could wear this year round.

Last time I rode to work in sub-zero weather I had a fuel line freeze by the end of the day and I was fearing the same this time. But the day warmed and there were no problems. Since having the fuel pump replaced the scooter has run like a champ again and I’m thinking of bigger trips. The ride home was pleasant and I was able to be on the road before sunset when it becomes harder to spot stray ice spots. Generally the road is clear but you can never be sure which requires major adjustments in riding style. After dark is an even bigger challenge.

I’m not mad as hell anymore. Life is good. A few miles on a scooter can serve multiple roles — an attitude adjustor, or an interventionist.

Are you needing to ride about now?

Courage or Insanity

January 3, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 14 Comments

The morning brought central Pennsylvania’s dreaded “wintry mix” — a combination of rain, sleet, snow and freezing rain in a constantly changing mix. During my walk with Junior the road surface changed from dry to wet to the amalgam in the above photo. Definitely not the kind of weather I venture out into on the Vespa and certainly not on Aleta’s relatively pristine Yamaha Vino.

Running errands had the tires continually spinning on the Honda Fit with the traction control and ABS lights flashing repeatedly. Traffic was light to non-existent as those not wishing to succumb to any Darwinian adjustments stayed home by the fire.

My last errand brought me to Rite-Aid Pharmacy and to my surprise there was a dripping, Bintelli Sprint 49cc scooter parked on the sidewalk. “Cool” was my first thought while wondering who inside would claim ownership. A closer look revealed a handicapped license plate which led second thoughts of courage or insanity.

Inside the owner was approaching, bright red 3/4 helmet on and one of those frightening, demonic skull masks covering the lower part of the face. An eclectic combination of a big, hooded parka, blaze orange vest, camouflage gloves, jeans, and black boots hinted that the rider used their scooter for utilitarian transport with little thought about the style and convention of the riding fashionista companies that consume a lot of us. The jury was still out on courage or insanity.

After an initial comment, “Quite a day to be on a scooter,” a conversation ensued that was both intriguing and frightening. Allow me to begin…

It was a dark and icy day. All the riders were home snug in their caves. But one rider was on the road, using his scooter to retrieve required medications, and take care of a friend’s dog. He had already ridden twelve miles in the icy mess and had displayed the soaking wet pants from knees down due to the constant out-rigging of his boots to stay upright. I know the technique and it’s tedious and tiring. At this point I was leaning towards the courageous side of courage or insanity.

But there was the matter of the handicapped plate. The rider shared his conversion from four-wheels to two which hinted at financial need. The scooter was his daily transportation. He also related the incredulity he faces when people try and balance a handicap with a two-wheeled scooter. Listening I was saying to myself “emotional or mental handicap of some sort,” though the conversation did not reveal any hints of this. Then the facts emerged.

Nerve damage affecting both arms to the point they could not reliably be used unless a surgical intervention took place. Current status has several vertebrate fused and a titanium plate and rod keeping the neck together. “Nerves are like bare wires,” made me cringe as he discussed how sudden jerks and movements could impair movement or cause permanent damage. I’m now moving towards the insanity side of the courage or insanity balance.

And then he becomes quiet for a moment and says, “I want to live my life.”

The statement hangs in the air like a slowly fading smoke ring until I reply, “I understand.”

And then he went outside and was gone. When I left a few minutes later I could see his single track across the parking lot with his boot marks dragging along side.

And I’m still wondering now if it’s courage or insanity.

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