I'd like to thank Capschroud2000 for his continual help with my stories.
*
On February 18th, two months before my 51st birthday, the unthinkable happened. I had a heart attack.
I was on the pool deck having a Corona and waiting for the coals on my smoker to heat up. At first I thought my last swallow of beer had gone down the wrong way, but when it got worse, I knew something was terribly wrong. The pain was excruciating and growing more intense rapidly. It seemed as though someone was standing on my chest as I felt, and even heard, my heart beat out of control. I fell to my knees and then onto my back gasping for air.
Thank God for cell phones because that's the only thing that saved my life. I reached into my shorts pulled it out and hit 911. I don't remember if I said "help" or anything else only that within a couple of minutes there was a loud crash, and a whole lot of people were doing things to me. I must have blacked out because the next thing I remember I was in the hospital being told that I was being prepped for surgery.
"Mr. Moore, can you hear me?" a voice asked. "We need to do a heart bypass on you immediately, do you understand?"
I nodded that I did. They put a clipboard under my hand and I signed my name to some kind of release, or maybe it was an order for Girl Scout cookies. I hadn't a clue nor did I care. I just wanted the pain to stop.
"Is there anyone we should contact?" a nurse asked.
"My wife. My wife ... is she here?" I asked.
"No. You were the only one in the house when the paramedics arrived. I'll have someone check back as soon as possible," she told me. "Now try to relax. We're on the way to the operating room, and you should be fine."
At this point, I think I vaguely knew what was going on, but nothing was really registering in my brain as I was wheeled into an elevator and then into a large bright room.
"Breathe deeply, and when you wakeup, it'll all be over," the doctor told me.
My life didn't flash before my eyes. I didn't have any out of body experience, and thank God, I didn't see any bright light at the end of a tunnel. I just woke up in the recovery room to a middle age nurse standing over me, taking my pulse.
"How are you feeling?"
I tried to say something, but my mouth was too dry. Even though my mind was working, my body wasn't doing what I wanted it to do.
"Don't worry, you'll feel much better in a couple of hours. Just get some sleep."
She was right. The next time I awoke I felt a lot better yet worse all at the same time. There sitting next to my bed was my wife of twenty-eight years, Sandy.
"Are you alright? When I got home, the neighbors told me what happened. The doctors said you're going to be just fine," she said smiling.
My mouth was still very dry, so when I started to say something, I could barely get it out.
"Leave me alone," I started to say, but it came out softer than a whisper.
"What are you trying to say," Sandy said moving close to my mouth.
"Get out of my sight and leave me the hell alone," I said loud enough for her to hear this time.
"Honey, don't try to talk ... just lie back and rest. I'll be right here," She told me touching my cheek.
At that point my heart rate shot up, my face became flushed, and a nurse came running into my room to see what was going on.
"Leave me the fuck alone," I now shouted at her.
"Miss, you're going to have to leave. You're upsetting the patient and raising his vitals. Please leave, miss," she told Sandy.
"But I'm his wife," she stammered.
"Be that as it may, you're upsetting him, and I need you to leave right now."
"Hon, I'll be in the hallway if you need me," she said looking back at me as she was ushered from my room.
I motioned to the nurse, and she came close. "No visitors, please," I told her. "And only discuss my condition with me. No one else!"
"I understand, Mr. Moore. I'll put a sign on your door that says no visitors are allowed, and I'll make sure the doctor discusses your condition only with you. Will you be needing anything else?" she inquired. I nodded no. "Well, that being the case, please try to relax and get some sleep. The doctor will be in later to check on you."
You don't get any rest in a hospital. If they're not jabbing you, their taking blood or trying to give you some damn pill in the middle of the night. "Sleep, yeah sure, lady," I thought to myself.
The doctor came in and said everything had gone according to plan. They had done a triple bypass, and that when they'd gone in, they'd seen evidence of other damage, as they like to call it, from an earlier attack. I told him that it probably happened about three months earlier, but I had thought it was just a stress attack.
"You're very lucky, Mr. Moore. If you hadn't had your cell phone, you might not have made it," he explained. "You really need to get your weight and blood pressure under control, or you're going to end up seeing me again," he said while looking at my chart. "I want you out of the bed tomorrow morning. I need you to start walking at least ten minutes every hour, and after that, we'll see how it goes."
"How long will I be laid up doc?"
"If you're asking me when can you go back to work, the answer is not for at least two months. When you go home, you'll need someone there at all times, at least for the first couple of weeks. After that, we'll play it by ear depending on how you feel."
"Doc, I won't be rehabbing at home, so can you recommend a good facility?"
"Well, there is a pretty good one about three miles from here that has a great workout area and a dietitian on staff." he told me. "All you need to do is have our business office call and set it up for you. Let me warn you though, it is kind of pricy, but it's got an excellent reputation. By the way, you've had a lot of visitors, and a few of them became a little irate when they were informed that you'd requested no visitors or phone calls," he said with a puzzled smile. "I guess you had your reasons, but I'd hate to be in your shoes when you go home," he said walking out the door.
"Who said I was going home," I thought.
*******************
A week later, I was sitting in a private room in the rehabilitation center. It overlooked the outdoor pond and was more like a hotel suite than a hospital room. I was given a full physical screening and asked how long I planned on staying.
"Let's plan for two months and go from there," I told the coordinator.
"Mr. Wilson, you're about sixty five pounds over your ideal weight and not in the greatest physical shape. We need to get you in the gym and set you up with an exercise routine. But first of all, we're going to get you on a good nutritional program to get your weight more in line. It's not going to be easy, but if you follow the staff's instructions, you'll see results. So with that said, I'll take you down to the gym, so you can get started."
"Well, you've got me for the next two months, so do with me as you wish," I said with a laugh as we proceeded to put a recovery program in place.
*************
You're probably wondering how I got myself into this condition; the reasons simple. I'm too good at what I do for a living. I'm not bragging or saying that to pump up my ego. It's a fact. I have a certain knack for finding the best people for the job, making sure they're fully trained, and finally letting them do what I've hired them to do. I learned a long time ago that I couldn't do it all. I tried for a while, but it almost killed me. Now I sit back and let others do their jobs. I give them a project, tell them what results the customer is looking for, and then turn them loose to do what they do best. Life is now good.
You see I'm the sales manager for a marketing firm. I've been with the company for 26 years, and a couple of years ago I became a silent partner. No one, and I do mean no one, including my wife knows this. Five years ago I took a twenty-five percent cut in pay to buy into the company. I've got five more years left, and I'll be a fifty percent owner with my buddy Ken. Sound like I've got it together? Well, I do when it comes to my business life, however my personal life is another matter.
I've got two spoiled kids and a social climbing wife. My youngest, John, made it through college by the skin of his teeth and was more than a little upset when I didn't offer him a position in the company. I just told him, family and business don't mix. Between you and me though, I didn't want to have be the one to fire his lazy ass when he didn't work out. He did find a nice girl and got married, but he still hits me up for money about every other month. I guess I never learned how to say no to him, but no more.
Tina, who is two years older than John, is a professional student. I think she's on the six-year graduation plan. She's changed her major three times, and I haven't a clue what it is at the moment, but no matter. At the start of this school year I told her she had one semester left to finish, and after that she was on her own. She went to her mother and complained, and when Sandy approached me, I just told her enough was enough.
You kind of see where I'm going with this don't you? I'm done being the nice guy with the open checkbook. At 25 and 27 years old, I shouldn't have to support them any longer, and I'm not going to. They are now officially off my payroll.
As for my wife, Sandy, that's a whole other story. About three months ago, I was feeling a little frisky one night. Our sex life had gone down a lot over the last year, and I was trying to jump start it to where it should be. I'm not looking for sex five times a week, but three would be nice.
Well, where was I? Oh yeah, after dinner I gave her a glass of wine and asked her if she was in the mood.
"For what?"
"You know. How about you and I go upstairs and have a little fun," I said with my sexiest smile.
"I'm a little tired tonight, and you know I have that party to plan for," was her reply.
"Come on, hon. It's not like I'm asking for a kidney ... just a little loving."
I should have known it wasn't going to go as I'd planned since Sandy looked about as interested as someone sitting in a dentist chair awaiting a root canal. We undressed, got into bed, and that's when the complaints started. I was taking up too much room; she was hot; I was sweating; and finally, she didn't want me lying on top of her because I'd gained too much weight.
"Why don't you climb on top babes and ride me like you used to," I suggested.
"You know I have a hard time getting off that way," Sandy wined.
