I felt my own trepidation. Holding the match close to the bottom of the test tube I was preparing myself for what was about to happen. We had heated wood inside the sealed test tube releasing hydrogen gas through sublimation. Quickly inverting the tube kept the lighter than air gas inside while the stopper was removed. In a moment the tube would make a loud bang as the hydrogen was ignited. I needn’t have been worried. It was more like a loud pop and in that instant my experiment was over and a got an A on my class project.
I watch the flame of the fire in the pit before me. Thanks to that class and others I know that the flame is not plasma, the temperature is too low to cause a reaction of much ion creation, but rather super-heated fuel or soot that is so hot it glows. If you know this too, thank a chemistry teacher. The flame yields the familiar red and orange glow, and the heat warms me on this beautiful spring evening. I’ve just come out to the fire to have my second or third of the year. The previous being very early in the season, just so I could say I had them. I’m also here to fix my soul. I’ve been feeling a little bad about how I’ve been doing with my workout regimen. Fireside thought will give me a chance to recenter and figure out who I’m supposed to be.
I told my wife I feel terrible and that I’ve been missing far too many targets. My goals have slipped, and I am afraid I won’t be in the shape I need and want to be in by the end of the month. I confided this to my wife, and she sent me out here. “You’re not failing. You have a ridiculous personality, and you attack and crush everything you attempt. You realize you’ve changed your work out routine twice in the last two months, right? All to change up what you’re doing. You have two very different goals this year and you’ve also added swimming. My God! You just got a membership at the YMCA so you can use the pool and swim laps. Are you forgetting that? Are you forgetting your private swim lessons with your coach? You’ve got plans on top of plans and little time to fit it all in and yet you’re doing it and then you think you’re failing because you have to take two days off to rest and heal your shoulder!”
She’s right. I am a grand pain in the neck to live with. I must drive her bananas. I’m thankful she doesn’t get emotional, although that too has its drawbacks.
I promised if they fixed my heart, I’d fix the rest of me. I’ve been striving to keep that promise since my third procedure, since I saw success and improvement in cardiac rehab. It was supposed to be a 5k, then my knee failed. Then it was supposed to be riding 15 miles. Then 25. Then 40. Then 100. Raising funds for the American Diabetes Association and Stop Soldier Suicide. That would have been enough, but then I got even better. I felt better. So, I’ve kept pushing.
It’s me. I’m a pain to live with. I know it. My wife is easy. She is levelheaded and doesn’t get emotional at all. I jokingly call her the robot. Her usual response to an issue is, “We will address that when it comes to a head. Right now, it’s not a problem.” Me? I’m the one who throws a wrench through the garage wall. My wife never gushes over gifts or anniversaries. Her standard response is, “Nice.”
On our second anniversary I gave my wife a woven cotton blanket. Simple. Off-white. Warm. She said, “Oh nice.” I looked for the disappointment and asked if she had any questions. She said, No. “It’s perfect. Sometimes the house gets chilly in the winter when we don’t have a fire in the woodstove so this will be great on those nights.”
“No. No.” I said, “You’re supposed to have questions as to why a stupid blanket. It’s our ‘cotton’ anniversary. Get it?” “Oh. Nice” she says.
“No. No. There’s more, “I say.
“You’re going to need that to keep warm…”
“On our horse drawn sleigh ride…”
“To our bonfire…”
“Wine tasting…”
“And fireside chocolate bar!!!”
My wife smiles and says, “Nice.” Yeah. That’s it.
On our seventh anniversary I had just had a conversation with a friend who told me a supplier of his could plate anything. Not just baby shoes, but anything. They were making a ton of money plating pot leaves! Oh, the wonders of modern technology. Later I struggled with what to get for my wedding anniversary. My wife has given up all her hobbies to become a mom and businesswoman. What do I get for our…? OMG! I called my friend, “Hey, I need a favor!” and gave my special request.
On that night, our “Copper Anniversary”, I would take my wife to the Copper Door restaurant. I’d give her a card made from tin, brass and copper. Then I presented her with a gift my friend helped me turn into a reality – an actual copper plated rose. A real rose. An actual freakin’ rose. Plated in gleaming copper. For real.
My wife smiles and says, “Nice.”
I can do nothing to sweep her off her feet. Maybe it’s because I’m so hard to live with. Maybe she really is a robot. The answer lies somewhere in between.
I think about this and other things as I stare into the fire.
“It has to come off,” says the nurse, looking at my wedding ring. It has now become a bone of contention. “It doesn’t come off,” I reply. “It never does. I’ve worked on very high voltage and very high current and it just doesn’t come off. Tape it up if you’re concerned about contamination in the operating theater, but it doesn’t come off.” She’s never had to deal with this before, I can tell. She gets the surgical team lead. I tell her it doesn’t come off. We argue. Now, don’t get upset if your husband takes his off every day. This is my own neurotic thing. It doesn’t make me any better or any worse than anyone else’s husband. It’s just the way I like it, but it became a fight. The surgical nurse is at the foot of my bed and says plainly, “It has to come off. There’s no taping up in this one. All metal off.”
I look at her with what I’m certain was the face of a wide-eyed kid. “You’re going to kill me. Oh my God. You’re going to kill me. You have to restart my heart and you’re afraid I’ll arc through my ring to the bedframe. Holy crap! I thought you were holding me down with a fork and sewing my heart. You’re going to kill me!” She replies, “You still have brain activity.”
“YOU’RE NOT MAKING IT BETTER!”, I shout. I am a pain in the rear. I know it. My poor wife.
I am promised it will be put aside. In the drawer of the table beside me when I wake or else at the nurses’ station in Surgical ICU. Either way it’s coming off, but they will have it kept safe for me. The drugs take effect, but the argument continues. These foolish people think I’m giving in, but they don’t know what they’re in for. My wife pleads with me. I won’t give in.
It’s not gold. I was married before. This time I vowed to do better. My ring is better. It’s made from some of the coolest material on earth. Titanium and carbon fiber. Aerospace. Land speed record. Top Fuel Dragster. Formula One racing. They all beg for titanium and carbon fiber. It warps itself around my finger with its combination of amazing properties. It’s awesome. It doesn’t come off.
Twenty-four hours later I awaken to take my 1st walk down the hall. I ask where my ring is. My nurse has no idea what I’m taking about. They check the drawer and the nurses’ station. No one knows what I’m talking about. I’m upset, furious, and full of “I told you so.” I walk the halls toward the entrance. I’m told my wife is here and I can hit the button to let her in and surprise her. I turn left. I turn right. I turn left again. I ask my nurse, “Where the hell are we going? Is this a hospital or a clown car? When do the halls end?” I was sore, thus ten feet felt like ten miles, but I finally reached the doors and the big green button. Funny. I thought it would be red. Maybe that’s just in Batman movies. I hit the button. The doors open. “Tada!” I say in a wheezy post intubation voice. My wife is aghast that I am walking and walking so far.
“They lost my ring.” That’s not really what I said. What I said contained the term ‘Mother’ and something else, but it meant the same. Just with more anger and disappointment.
Liz stops me. “No. Honey. You don’t remember. You were so sedated. You kept fighting with them until just before you went in. You don’t remember. Listen. I stuck my finger to yours. It had to happen. Just before you went in, I slid your ring onto my finger.” She holds her hand up, and there, above her engagement and wedding ring, sits titanium and carbon fiber brilliance. She says, “Do you see? Your ring left you, but it never left us.”
I glance up and say what I’ve wanted to say for the longest time: “Nice.”
My robot smiles at me. She knows what just happened. We laugh as we start the long road that that lies before us.
The temp has dropped to 43 deg F (6 C for everyone else). I’m reaching out to the fire to warm cold fingertips as I type this. An owl sings out from a tree top nearby, and I hear the cry of a baby, but it’s really a fisher cat making its presence known. My face is warm, but my back is cold. The darkness brings cold spring air that sinks to the ground and transgresses the layers of my sweatshirt and sport shirt. Time has slipped past faster than I thought. I should head in soon, but my wife told me to enjoy my time at the fire, so I stay a bit longer and reflect on how fortunate I am. I’ve read the stories of those who go it alone through OHS and the requisite recovery. I’ve read the stories of those with partners who provide no support and yet others who have partners who demand they return to normalcy within weeks or even days. I’ve been blessed with understanding. I’m not bragging. I’m grateful and appreciative because I know the struggle that some face is far harder than what I have been given. I beat myself up for failure to make goals or because I pushed myself into muscle and soft tissue strain. As I fight in the ring and I land each blow, I’ve got a combination coach/medic in my corner. Ready to tape my cuts, sooth my pain, and guide and reassure me. She never sheds tears of joy when I do stupid romantic things and she never gets overly excited about anything. I’ll just keep doing the silly things I do and know I’ll be greeted with, “Nice.”
Sitting by the fire I recall those first waking moments after OHS and how grateful I was to be on this side. I express my gratitude for all who saved me, coached me, guided me by keeping my promise. I don’t want a single doctor nurse technician or therapist to think they wasted their time saving me. So today I push a little harder.
Photons are emitted from the high temperature particles. They dazzle with their beauty as the night sky morphs into dark blue. Flames climb high as if reaching toward the darkness above and as I gaze upward, I’m rewarded with the glimmer of the first stars of the evening. Fireside brings me peace and comfort and the time to think. My thoughts wander and I know I must give thanks for all I have. I am a royal pain to live with. It would probably be easier on my wife to have someone who would sit in the rocking chair eating bacon after OHS. The problem is, I made that promise. If they fixed my heart, I’d fix the rest of me. I still have a long way to go. I’ll continue to work out but find a way to make this fit more easily. Anything worth doing is worth doing well, so I’ll figure it out. I owe that to my family.
Battle on Warriors. You’ve fought hard thus far, and others fought hard for you. Make them glad they saved you.