A Bad Diagnosis

Okay, so maybe I am not fully recovered yet. After nine hours of sleep, I went back to bed yesterday morning and slept another two hours.

So not me.

I slept other full night last night and feel pretty good this morning. There is still a huge storm that is supposed to continue to blow through today, so we are staying on this side of the hill. Michael enjoyed the two football games yesterday and I am sure he will be watching the two featured games today. Somewhere in there, we are going to do a Safeway run together then go to the organic market to buy some little, healthful lunch to bring home to eat while watching the games.

My mind is bouncing around preparing for our tax appointment, the trip to see William, the orchestra concert and British Don. He was told that there was nothing more they could do after his procedure and that he would eventually need a heart transplant. This has shaken him to the core. He was totally blocked in two arteries in only one year since the quadruple bypass. My mom's university hospital is renown for their work with the heart, so I encouraged him to get a second opinion from them.

The real problem is British Don. I hope this has scared him a bit. After his bypass, we brought heart-healthy dinners to his home but noticed he was eating not only regular foods but super fatty foods. Bacon. Pork belly. My mom commented that he didn't have a wife to badger him to eat properly. She also thought that maybe he didn't want to concede that he had a serious medical problem. He did really well at the rehab place after the surgery, lost a lot of weight, worked out in their gym and was looking really good. He has gained all the weight back.

They gave him 3-5 years before they will need to do another major surgery or transplant. Funny, those were the same words and prognosis I was given in 2005. I told him that I quietly replied in my head back to the doctor, "I don't think so." I knew that it was up to me to extend my life. I changed how I ate (started an anti-inflammatory diet) and began pulmonary rehab. From that point forward, I worked out six days a week for years and years.

Now it is up to Don. It is about dealing with his diet and exercise everyday. Every meal. Every bite. I am puling for him.