Whatever

On Friday October 10th mid-morning, cubicle neighbor and buddy Mark got the call, his Mom had been in hospice in Greenwood for the last week and the end was near. She passed away that evening. I never did get to give him my condolences because I was leaving for Florida for a week the next morning to help Donna take care of her sister.

On my way into work on Monday the 20th, while walking through the parking lot, I was met by the Tool Crib Attendant, Angie, who asked if I had heard about Mark. I said, “Sure, his Mom passed away last week.” “Nooo!,” she said, “Mark had a heart attack.” “%*&!#, when?” “Saturday.”

After his Mom’s funeral, his Dad really didn’t want to be alone in the house, so Mark took the rest of the week off to be with him and help him transition. On Saturday Mark told his Dad he was going to go deer hunting. He shot a deer and as he was dragging it out of the woods he became very short of breath, so much so that he had to sit down. Realizing he was in trouble he called his wife on his cell phone. While on the line with Mark she used the house phone to call his Dad to get him to call 911 because he knew where Mark was.

When they got Mark to the hospital it was determined that he had a blockage in the proximal left anterior descending coronary artery (AKA, the Widow Maker.) When the doctors tried to place a stent there, it tried to live up to its name. They had to shock Mark 10 times to get his heart beating on its own again. The next three days were spent in ICU. We were getting daily updates from his wife Susan via text and he was moved to a regular room, but she asked that we not visit because he was still so weak.

The following week we were told he was improving, but he had a damage heart valve, that they were hopeful would heal over time. There was some fluid on his lungs, but he might get to go home on Thursday. Then, Mark was coming home on Friday. Then it got moved to Saturday, but Saturday was the day Donna and I were headed to Florida, so we would have to wait until we got back before we could go see him.

Midweek in Florida we texted for an update from a coworker and were informed that Mark had gone home from the hospital on Sunday the 2nd. On our way back from Florida the following Saturday, Donna texted Susan and said we’d be practically driving right by their house in the afternoon, could we stop in briefly to say hello? She texted back, “We’re at SELF.” (the hospital in Greenwood.) Donna texted back, “We’ll visit tomorrow.”

Donna and I drove up and spent around an hour visiting. He was watching the Buffalo-Miami football game with the fantasy football app open on his tablet. Mark told us about the Saturday of the heart attack. We got the story about how he did get to go home last Sunday, the covering cardiologist turned him lose, but at the follow up appointment on Wednesday his primary cardiologist put him right back in the hospital. Mark was still getting winded walking 25 feet; there was still fluid in his lungs. They were giving him inhalable steroids to help clear his lungs and they were hopeful that he would get to go home this week. As we left we said see you later then.

We never did. Tuesday Mark was back in the ICU and he died there on Thursday morning. A week ago today, twenty-five days after rearing her ugly head, the widow maker won.

Maybe he retired here, or maybe he is in town visiting friends, because I saw his car in the local Publix parking lot earlier tonight.

Every Thursday for the last few months Donna’s sister Sandy, her husband Paul and Paul’s mother Dottie have had a masseuse come to their house to give each one of them a massage. Because Sandy & Paul are in Miami right now leaving Donna and I to “babysit” 99-year old Dottie, Donna took Sandy’s place and I got Paul’s spot.

Back in the day when I was cycling a lot, a few of the guys in the bicycle club swore that after doing a long ride a massage was just the ticket to work out the kinks. After every Aiken Bicycle Club’s yearly century rides and at most other 100 mile fund raiser rides offered by other cycling clubs there was a masseuse available. I was only mildly curious as to what a massage would accomplish, plus I’m kinda cheap, so I never took advantage of the offer.

As payment for our “babysitting”, Dottie offered to pay, so I was finally getting that massage and I wouldn’t have to ride a bicycle 100 miles to get it. This was nothing like the 20 minute long concentrate on the legs post century massage though, but a full 1-hour deep tissue massage. Well, what did I think? It was not unpleasant. It was not the be all to end all in muscle relaxation either.

It is eight hours later and I still feel a little beat up in a few places. Maybe it is because Kelly used the same amount of pressure on me, a classic ectomorph that she uses on Paul, who is more of a mesomorph and 30 pounds heavier. Or maybe I am just like Mac from that old Charles Atlas body building ad that was on the inside back cover of the comic books of my youth.