It's my birthday, again--the annual trip through the calendar has been completed, and starts again all in on moment. I am now 42 year old--nothing spectacular about that number; I'm not aware of anyone who did anything history changing at 42--there probably is, I'm just not aware of it.
I'm beyond "over the hill" for the younger crowd, and still just a young guy for the retired crowd. In terms of life-expectancy, maybe I'm halfway--maybe not even halfway if medical advances continue--or maybe less than half my lifetime left if the Cairo pollution gets the better of my my lungs, or the traffic gets me as a part of the 20+ per day who die on Egypt roads & rails. You never know--I'm not trying to be morbid or fatalistic--I'm very grateful for every day and every amazing bit of wonderful health and strength I get to enjoy (& take for granted).
I learned a long time ago that this life is fragile and precious.
And ten years ago, I got a reminder.
After a routine birthday celebrating my 32nd year, I felt like my warranty had run out. All day long, I had an increasing chest pain and pressure that seemed to be radiating outward. I had enough sense and pastoral experience at the hospital beds of parishioners to know I shouldn't take it lightly, but I was only 32, and I continued to ignore it all day long.
I went to bed, but couldn't get comfortable. In fact, the pressure seemed to only grow worse. I woke Keli up in the middle of the night after I had gotten my self dressed; I told her I was going a couple blocks away to the small, local hospital's ER. Let me pause here to say what I know: that you shouldn't drive yourself to the ER while having chest pains--and the pain I was feeling was nothing compared to the agony I put Keli through by not fully waking her and giving her a chance to object.
Anyway, I drove myself to the ER, and what they say is true: if you complain of chest pains, they get you inside quickly. There wasn't really too many others there on that night; as they hooked me up to the EKG and heart monitors, they nurse typed in all my information to the computer. When she asked my age, I asked what time was it. She was confused when she answered sometime after midnight; I replied that I just turned 32, yesterday.
When the blood work came back with positives for the enzymes that are present when your body has a blood clot, I was given my first nitro patch, and told I would need to undress and put on a gown. I was hooked up to an IV and taken to the cardiac unit. When we got to the room, they told me to lay down, and I asked for a moment to sit down. They were concerned that lying down hurt me, but I assured them I was fine--I explained that I just needed a minute to wrap my head around what was happening.
Keli came in shortly after, as she was as shell-shocked as I was. More tests and lots of observation followed. I was surprised by the swift decision from the church council to give me the upcoming Sunday "off"--without my consent, as I objected that it was days away and I would be out in no time. They wisely, and with care not critique, stood by their decision. Hospital visitors--church members, family, Tony Wieger as state pastor, and fellow pastors called or came by--it was strange to be on that side of the bed.
I was released after a few days without further incident, except the continuous insult of "heart healthy" food and Satan's own invention, Sanka, every morning. The doctors were scratching their heads as much as we were trying to understand what had led to my mysterious, brief condition. The questions continued as I went through routine follow up--stress tests and blood work confirmed that I was indeed healthy, despite this anomaly.
And that was it.
And that's been it since then.
No baby aspirins. No changes to diet. No prescription for exercise. And thank the Lord God Almighty, not a sip more of Sanka.
Just the relief that my warranty did not run out. And the continuing day to day joy of the life and loves of which I have been so richly blessed.
I can hardly remember my life then, and I know I could never have imagined my life now. Ten years is a long time; I am thankful and privileged to have lived these ten, just as I have been to live all 42.
I'm working on eating better--though I'm not really good at it. And more exercise, too because I know I need it--not because I'm preparing for any marathons, but because it's good preventative medicine.
But more than those things, what do I want more in the next ten years?
In ten years time, all our kids will likely be out of or completing college. Our time of influence in shaping their lives before adulthood is rapidly decreasing. I am extremely proud of each of our kids, and even more hopeful for the young woman and men Grace, Titus, & Zeke are daily becoming. I want more special memories with each of them individually, and together--and, of course, with my beloved wife Keli, who makes my life so much more than ordinary.
On the flip side of that equation, I hope our parents know how much we love and value all their care and investment in our lives. Opportunities with both sets of our parents are fewer now, but all the more precious.
I hope the Lord grants me many more years than ten--there is so much more we want and think we can do to help make this world a better place. At 42, I like to think I'm just getting started--but if all I get is 42, I'll still be the most blessed guy I know.
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