SO WHAT'S NEW?

Things going swimmingly for you are they?  Other than the little nuances of day to day living, it’s smooth sailing?  What could possibly go wrong?  Until last Saturday night, that was me. 

I had just stood on our porch and waved good-by to our last guests after a birthday party for Romy.  I tidied up the house a bit, no too much, but a bit, and then went to bed.  I had just watched the opening of Saturday Night Live and the introduction of Zach Galifianakis when I noticed a slight pain in the right side of my chest, near the chest bone.  I had earlier stuffed myself to the gills with Mexican food so I thought I was paying the price. 

 

Over the next 2 hours the pain had spread toward and into the right shoulder.  I was not overly alarmed thinking that all the typical warning signs of heart trouble are signaled by pain on the left side.  I was alarmed enough, however, that I took a full aspirin.  No relief. 

At 2 am I woke up Terry as the pain increased and we drove to Hoag Hospital.  Some 6 hours an EKG, chest x-ray, and cat scan later we were released.  Your heart is beautiful, whatever is causing the pain it isn’t the heart, we were told, “Give it some time”. 

 

It must have been hammered home in med school that doctors must ask everyone “On a scale of 1 to 10, what is the pain?”  I had told them 7-8 in the ER and it stayed that way all day Sunday and Sunday night.

During the day Sunday Forest called and I mentioned how our night had gone.  I mentioned that as long as the heart was fine I was going to ride it out.  He wasn’t buying it.  He called a cardiologist we both use named Dr. Jay Shapira, at Cedars Sinai Hospital in LA.  On a Sunday mind you, the doctor returns the call.  Forest explains things and the doctor said to call his office in the morning and he would see me right away.  Monday morning Terry calls Hoag Hospital to have our records sent to Dr. Schapira and we head for a quick trip to LA. 

 

The first test is another EKG.  Comparing that carefully with the records sent from Hoag, the good doctor noticed a slight difference.  Still a regular heart beat, but slightly different.  Next, a blood draw and then an echo cardiogram.  Everything is still fine.  Lastly, a chest x-ray was ordered.  We were told to go to lunch and come back for a pow-wow.

Gathered in his small office, Terry and I watched the Doctor intently study all the results.  He looked up, stared straight ahead, rubbing his chin, for several minutes.  Then he said, “OK, I want you to check into the hospital right now”. 

 

In hindsight I feel his gut instinct told him he must act.  He told us, however, all results were fine and pointing to something other than the heart but just to rule the heart out completely and then concentrate on what was causing the pain, he wanted to do an angiogram.  This is a lovely procedure where they make an incision in your groin and then run a dye through the heart to check for blockage.  He explained that he didn’t expect to find anything but with the high calcium levels I have had for a while he would rather be cautious.

After a wheel chair ride to our room, during which my pusher kept shouting “chest pains” to make people part like the Red Sea, another EKG was ordered.  Our wonderful nurse, named Ann, noticed the heart beat was now abnormal, A-Fib, as she called it (did I mention nurses are vastly underpaid).  She called Dr. Schapira to report her findings and the tone of everything changed. 

 

We were immediately transferred to another room more geared to heart issues.  A special drip was started to normalize the heart beat and all manner of stepped up blood tests, blood pressure monitoring and other procedures were begun.  Terry, Erin, Forest, Romy and Molly all gathered around my bed that evening giving me immense support.  

         

By mid-morning Tuesday the heart beat had returned to normal.  There was optimism as we were wheeled into the prep area.  The anesthesiologist and Dr. Schapira explained the procedure to us and we started.  Because they want to know if you are experiencing any heart discomfort during the procedure a local anesthetic is administered as well as a mask that puts you in la-la land but you are still awake.  An hour later the doctor walks up to me, leans down inches from my ear and says “We found a blood clot and an artery that was 95% blocked.  We removed the blood clot, the blockage and inserted a stent”.  Well, OK!!!   

It wasn’t until we were being wheeled back to my room and my family was at my side that I found out the doctor had told them that had they not done this procedure that I would have had a massive heart attack on Wednesday.  This was on Tuesday. 

That night, in a darkened hospital room with Terry and my kids, who we call our gang, gathered around my bed, life was starting over.  I have much unfinished business and it’s time to get started. 

After the kids had left and late into the night a nurse wakes me up yet again for another test of some kind or other.  I glance over the side of my bed and there is my soul mate Terry asleep on a rock hard mat on the floor.  In the darkness I can see her beautiful blond bun on top of her head, peaking out beneath her blanket.  From the first day I met her among the gazillion reasons I fell hopelessly in love with her, right at the top of the list would be her beautiful smiling face topped by her beautiful blond bun.

 

Last night I said good night to Terry then sat in my tilt-back lounge chair.  I was thinking how lucky I was.  Terry and each one of our gang had played huge roles in the last few days.  I was lucky for that and I was lucky for them beyond any meager words I can write.  I was also lucky for a series of events that began during Saturday Night Live that could only have been orchestrated by a higher power.  There is no other explanation.  God is good.

Feeling the need to give Terry another hug or, if she was asleep, just to look at her, I went back to our bedroom.  There Terry was, kneeling down beside our bed saying the Rosary with a beautiful crystal Rosary blessed by the Pope that Molly gave her.  That said it all. 



RED BULL

You know that kid that grew up down the block that you thought would never amount to anything.  Guess what?  He, she, did grow up to be something.  In fact I saw that kid on TV this past weekend.  I didn’t actually see THAT kid but a bunch of kids just like him or her. 

There were a bunch of them running amuck in Brazil on the X GAMES sponsored by Red Bull.  As I tuned in they were interviewing a girl skateboarder from the United States.  She was excitedly thanking everyone she has known since birth for helping her on her path to victory.  As she was talking they cut away to highlights of her performance.  There we see this cute, blond, girl-next-door flying through the air on her skateboard, wearing Van’s type sneakers, baggy pants and oversized double layer tee shirts down to her knee’s.  Arms flailing as she skids sideways down a rail while flipping her board over with her feet and plunging into a swimming pool with cement lumps in it made to enhance her performance. 

In what must be an orthopedic surgeons dream the X GAMES stages one event after another featuring the kid down the block.  Gangsta style hat on sideways or backwards, hair sticking out every which way, lots of plaid oversized shirts with droopy pants and attitude galore.  They look into the camera with this kind of FU, I don’t give a bleep look any person of authority knows well from having asked the kid down the block to tone it down a bit. 

These tatted up kids are now the envy of those that wish they had the stuff to do whatever they enjoy without any concern for what others think.  They are performing on TV, own their own surf, skate and snow board companies and clothing lines, endorse products and benefit in many ways open to free thinkers.  One of the top Red Bull motorcycle riders is a girl Vogue model who is deaf.    

Capitalizing on all this in one of the more genius advertising blitzes ever is Red Bull.  They have brilliantly created a glamorous, living-on-the-edge aura from a huge jolt of caffeine.  Funny, I had not previously related jumping off skyscrapers, hang gliding, surfing monstrous waves or driving a Formula I car to walking around all jittery from a caffeine fix.  Somehow Red Bull has made the world think there is a relationship. 

Frankly, if I’m about to attempt one of these death defying feats I would want ice water in my veins.  It would never occur to me in my adrenaline hyped state that I should, just for good measure, toss down a can of Red Bull containing 3 million grams of caffeine. 

If you doubt me, pick up a copy of the Red Bull magazine called The Red Bulletin some time.  It is aptly named “A Beyond the Ordinary Magazine”.  There are fascinating, edgy, quick, easy-to-read stories on most anything with risk involved, including, believe it or not, food and music.  A recent issue had a fascinating report on the Red Bull Startos, the Red Bull sponsored balloon.  In what is my candidate for the gutsiest human undertaking ever, a man jumps from a balloon 128,100 above earth, free falls for 119,846 feet at 833.9 mph before opening his chute for a safe landing.  Again, marketing genius.

I got a little off the subject there but the point is, next time you see one of those kids that look like they got a little carried away with the grunge look, smile to yourself.  I think it is safe to say some of our more creative thinkers come from their lot.            

    

PHONE CALLS

Few things make my heart flutter more than a phone call from one of our kids.  We have 4, a girl, a boy and then 2 more girls.  They cover a span of 7 years.  They are well along into leading their own lives.  The 2 oldest have blessed us with 5 heaven sent granddaughters while the 2 youngest are zeroing in on that part of their lives. 

As any parent can tell you, the flight from the nest is really a beginning.  Up to that point life has consisted of being in survival mode while preparing your kids for their lives.   In our case each of them took flight at varying stages of their lives.  All returned for spurts and eventually, well into our senior years, Terry and I had our first night alone in our house.

From that point on we observe from a distance, thankful for every family get together and fascinated by the growth of what were once our little guys wrapped in a pink or blue blanket.  The caring only intensifies. 

Thankfully they all live close by and we see them often.  But as they lead their own lives and deal with their own versions of survival mode, contact is not as frequent.  That’s why I treasure the phone calls.

There are phone calls and then there are phone calls.  I am thankful for all of them but I particularly treasure the calls that are made for no other reason than at that time they wanted talk to me about something in their life. 

Case in point:  One early morning recently I got a call from our son Forest.  I knew he and his family were In Cabo San Lucas for a short 4 day Easter week vacation.   He was calling from a fishing boat.  His wife Lina and their daughters Jordan and Kelly had balked at a pre-dawn departure but his life-long friend Dave, son of my life-long friend Richard (may he rest in peace), was with him.  It was 85 degrees and flat calm.  They had seen a few marlin.  Check with you later. 

Shortly after lunch Dave calls.  He is out of breath as he tells me they had just caught and released a 200 pound marlin.  He gives me a blow by blow and then thanks me for taking him fishing when he was a little kid.  I melt.  Then Forest gets on the line and excitedly details everything from strike to release.  In that moment, in my mind, it was he and I fishing together as we had countless times, a while back.  Later, he texted a picture of Dave fighting the fish.  My day was made.

I have also received calls from Forest as he is driving to or from an airport somewhere in the country, often in the middle of the night.  He tells me how things are going with his business, his wife Lina and daughters Jordan and Kelly.  We discuss many things and invariably end up talking USC football.  Quite often the conversation ends as he is sitting in a gas station or returning his rental car. 

A call from Erin proudly talking about her kids and their accomplishments is special.  I get to hear about band practice, a flirting boy or a mean teacher.  I love it.  Erin has had great success in her business career.  As she has progressed along the way she has called many times to see what I thought about a dilemma she had or a tough decision she had to make.  Facing the economy we have had the last few years she has been faced with decisions that dramatically affect people’s lives.  Hearing her thoughts and being included in the journey is priceless to me.    

Romy and I have spent countless hours discussing things.  I consider myself very lucky that she often shares the ride with me during a phone call.  I have called her so often her pet parrot Rico says “Hi Dad” when she answers the phone, before Romy has said “Hi Dad”.  We have talked about everything from a dog named Thatch she fell in love with but couldn’t keep, Rico attacking her, bands she loves and dealing with work related dilemma’s.  Perhaps the most special Romy call of all was recently when Kevinn proposed to her on bended knee, on the beach.  She called to tell us and it was several minutes before I could understand a word she said.  The inflection in her voice when she says “Hi Dad” or “Bye Dad” is heaven sent.

Molly and I have had some of my longest conversations.  Mostly because we are often dissecting a complicated business problem she is faced with.  Usually we start in the early evening and go to very late at night.  She is light years ahead of me when it comes to SAP, which is an accounting program she specializes in as an independent consultant.  I usually don’t have a clue what she is talking about but I feel there is value in the thought process that comes from explaining what the problem is to someone willing to listen.   We have literally talked right up to a midnight deadline for Molly to make a decision affecting many, many people and involving huge dollars.  I once talked with her for hours one night from a job I was on in Las Vegas about a career move she felt she had mistakenly made and wanted to correct.  She had to make a decision that night.

As the years have gone by and they become more enmeshed in their own lives, the calls have diminished, which only enhances my joy when hearing from them.  Each time, when I hang up, my day has gotten a little bit better.  Whether they have called for their benefit or mine I feel good.         

      

   

DEJA VU

I have run out of daughters.  Let me explain.  I have three.  One has been married long enough to provide us with three “this is what life is all about” granddaughters.  One has exhibited patience beyond belief in her pursuit of Mr. Right and the other has been in a kind of happy, go-with-the-flow holding pattern.  Seemingly circling the airport but in no hurry to land. 

A few weeks ago, documented in a blog called The Secret, the patient one, Romy,  got the down-on-one-knee, moon lit beach, proposal treatment from Mr. Right, Kevinn.  A proposal known to me 2 days in advance but, sworn to secrecy, I could not say anything.  I spent the 2 days avoiding phone calls and not making eye contact with loved ones.  It was torture.  Even though the request for secrecy was over the phone it was the equivalent of a firm handshake, look-me-in-the-eye commitment that no man worth his salt violates.  One of these in a life time is enough, right.  NOT!!

A scant few weeks later the holding pattern one, Molly, was coming by our house for dinner after work.  Her partner in the holding pattern, Marc, was meeting her at our house and had arrived early.  I was sitting in my TV chair cheering on one of my bracket picks in the March Madness pool.  Marc was sitting on the couch.  I noticed he was texting someone.  This is not uncommon in his line of never-off-the-clock work.  After seemingly enough time to write a novel he turned his phone to me to read the text.  Here is what I read:

     I've been wanting to ask you for your blessing on asking Molly for her hand in marriage but everyone is always around. It would be a honor to have your blessing. I don't want anyone else knowing please once again another secret.

Thanks

 

Marc Denny

Before I could get to the part about “another secret” I jumped up, gave Marc a fist bump and a hug, then turned to tell Terry, who was nearby preparing dinner.  Before I could get out a word Marc held his finger to his lips in the universal sign to keep quiet.  Marc whispered that two days hence, on Easter Sunday, they would make a formal announcement. 

Shortly thereafter Molly arrived, my team won and we had a delightful dinner.  All the time I am looking my life partner and my own flesh and blood in the eye and not divulging my secret.  And there are 2 more days to go.  This is inhumane. 

Flash forward to Easter Sunday.  Following a spirited Easter egg hunt we all sit down for a spectacular dinner hosted by Molly’s sister Erin and her husband, our resident chef James.  Someone asked me to say a blessing before dinner.  Immediately after I finished Marc, spoke up.  Being across the room I could not hear what he said but suddenly everyone was cheering and screaming with excitement.  Hugs and kisses followed.  Once free, Molly worked her way over to me and we hugged.  She was as radiant, content and happy as I have ever seen her.  Life is good.  No more secrets.    

THE MAKEOVER

I am thinking of getting a makeover.  The idea came to me as I was lying on the floor doing my daily back stretching exercises while watching the Today Show with Hoda and Kathy Lee.  As you may or may not know Hoda and Kathy have a regular segment where family members write in and make a plug for a loved one to be selected for a makeover on their show.  They provide a picture and a written pitch as to why their candidate should be chosen. 

If chosen they are flown to New York with the one who nominated them, fawned over by a bevy of beauty experts, pampered from head to toe, dressed in clothes designed by some Frenchman, then, after showing the national TV audience a “before” picture, comes out from behind door #1 to reveal herself.  You can almost hear the collective gasp of the national TV audience as the nominator stares in disbelief at the “after” version.

At this time the “after” person says she has never been happier, her life has changed wishes she had made the move years ago and thanks her nominator, who by now has collected herself enough to speak. 

This last part is what gets me to thinking.  Why can’t guys have a makeover?  If it does all that for someone, sign me up.  Of course I will have to sign myself up because no one I know will nominate me.  The first anyone from my family will know is when I wave to them on TV. 

I would call the show Stud Re-Do.  The premise being that we are not starting with a blank canvas but merely trying to freshen the paint a little bit.  Maybe we get Justin Timberlake to be the MC and work it into his appearances on Saturday Night Live. 

The first show in New York would have to be a knockout.  Maybe we go with Gary Busey and Mel Gibson.  One needs some cosmetic help and the other a new image, and then me.  Before the show we would meet with our team and discuss what we envision for the “after” version of us. 

First, the hair.  I have always wanted hair like Rod Stewart but then again I’m partial to the spiky Colin Farrell look.  Since the whole idea is to come up with a fresh outlook I would probably go with the Colin Farrell look.  He is more contemporary plus he’s Irish, a huge plus.  I like the whole bad ass thing he has going on. 

The ensemble might require a casual or day time look and an evening look.  At night I go with the James Bond look.  It’s suave and cool.  Because I need a little help in that department it is any easy decision. 

The casual day time attire might be a hodge podge.  Unlike most clothing fads that come and go Quiksilver has not and remains my favorite.  I love the surfing vibe.  But with the goal here being something new I must make some hard decisions.  The tight legged pants popular now make you look like a pear with legs so that’s a no go for me.  The same with the whole European thing.  It makes you look like all your clothes shrunk 3 sizes.  And a white belt, hell no.               

So, with show time approaching I am forced to make a decision.  I settle on a pair of Black Nike’s.  Comfy, slightly baggy, bleached Lucky jeans.  A Keith Urban style T-shirt with an eagle or something on the front.  It being winter now I would want a zip up sweater/hooded sweat shirt combo of a mix between Boss and Tommy Bahama in muted Bob Marley colors.  I would love to top it off with a lavender pork pie hat but then my Colin Farrell do would not show.  No hat.

As I step out from behind door #3 and wave to my family back in California I can hear them saying to each other “Dad’s lost it.”

  

   

   

THE SECRET

I was sitting at my desk this rainy Friday afternoon going through some e-mails when my cell phone rang.  Glancing at it as I flipped it open I noticed the name Kevinn. 

Kevinn is my daughter Romy’s boy friend.  My mind whirling at warp speed, several thoughts came to mind.  He needed to know what Romy might want for her birthday.  Her birthday is 4 months away so that’s out.  He needed a loan.  Not likely, he is a Captain with the Fire Department so I doubt he is short of cash.  Something was wrong with Romy.  I instantly knew by the tone of his voice that was not the case. 

There were a couple of other options but before I could think further Kevinn asked “What are you guys doing?”  I explained that Terry was out previewing some homes and I was working in my office.  Then we spent an exorbitantly long time discussing the weather, a sure sign something was up.  Don’t quote me on this because what was said next was kind of a blur but after an exorbitantly long pause, Kevinn said something that sounded like “I was just wondering what you would think if I asked Romy to marry me?” 

I went into a stammer before I answered “I think it’s fantastic.”

Kevinn said all the right things.  His kids, Kody and Jordin adored Romy.  He had felt everything was perfect from the first but wanted to be patient.  All the things that make a Dad misty eyed.  I told him how special Romy was to me and Terry and that we had never seen her happier.  I also told him that, being old fashioned, it meant a great deal to me that he asked what we thought of his proposing to Romy.  Does that even happen anymore?

I said “I’ll pass the word to everyone on our end.”  Kevinn said “Not yet, I haven’t asked her yet.  I will soon but you can’t say anything now”.  I’m thinking to myself, what is soon?  Like tonight, next week?  I promised him I wouldn’t say a word to anyone. 

If you Google the United States Census Bureau you see the current estimate of the world’s population is 7.012 billion.  If you ranked the ability of everyone in the world to keep a secret, my wife Terry would rank 7.012.  So here I am the bearer of earth shaking family news and I can’t tell anyone.  Not Romy’s Mom, not her sisters, both of whom I talked to on the phone that evening and not her brother, whom I had exchanged several e-mails with that day.

Terry came home that evening and, as she always does, asks “What’s new?”  I would rather be water boarded than go through that again.  “Soon” could not come soon enough.

Some 31 excruciating hours later I’m thinking Kevinn better get off his ass and do something because I don’t know if I can keep quiet much longer.  We are having dinner with Romy’s sister Molly, her man friend Marc and watching a Jeff Foxworthy “You Know You Are A Redneck”  Special when my cell phone rings.  It’s Romy but she is sobbing so hard I can’t understand most of what she said except “I said yes”. 

Kevinn had asked Romy to go for a little Saturday evening drive to her favorite beach called Wood’s Cove.  Sitting on the sand they watched the waves crash against the rocks on a beautiful, moon lit night.   Romy got up to leave but Kevinn hesitated for a moment and then, while on one knee, held out a ring and asked Romy if she would marry him.  What happened next is a little fuzzy but eventually I got The Call. 

They came by our house, Romy still sobbing, and we all hugged and kissed.  Phone calls, photos and texts went back and forth to those not there.  One of Kevinn’s brothers (reportedly a jokester) texted “Does she know you are gay?” 

Terry and I stood on our porch waving goodbye to all of them. It was, at the same time, the end to a very, very special day and an enormous relief that I no longer had to look my family in the eye and keep a secret from them.   

SU2C

Everyone who was lucky enough to have watched Stand Up To Cancer the other night I am sure were greatly moved.  You have your thoughts.  I do as well and I felt compelled to write about mine.  Partially out of guilt because even though I have been close to a few who have been in the fight I have been reminded often that I did not really respect what they were going through at the time.   I thought I did, but I didn’t.  I feel Stand Up to Cancer portrayed as well as is humanely possible, what those in the fight are going through.

The show managed to showcase the cause with low key, sincere words from many stars with their own stories to tell, heartfelt songs beautifully sung, reports of progress on the research front and right-between-the-eyes comments from patients, survivors, care givers and loved ones. 

There were many stories that particularly tugged at my heart.   One was of a little boy that loved to play with his legos’.  He said if I die I will take my legos’ with me.  Another was a young girl talking with her caregiver about her dreams for the future.  When asked how much time she would like to have in her dreams, she said “A year”.  The no frills response was “That might not be possible”.   Both of these kids were at the gala.  Both were introduced and applauded.  The girl so beautiful, bald head and all and the boy, smiling with his Mom next to him, chin quivering and striving with all her might to keep her composure.

When the television camera slowly panned the audience I was struck by one thing.  Facial close ups revealed there was no joy.  There was clearly a sense that these people had been pushed to the max.  They were experiencing the ultimate gut check.  Some were in the throes of their battle and would become survivors and some would not.  No amount of courage could fake a sparkle in their eyes.

I was reminded of Peggy, a young woman in the prime of her life.   Peggy complained of headaches.  She knew she was in trouble when she woke up after tests with no tubes attached.  She had stage 4 glioblastoma, a particularly nasty type of brain tumor. 

Several months of treatment were followed by months of clinical trials that offer hope but no promises.  All Peggy wanted was hope. 

For many months I was honored to take Peggy to a brain tumor support group meeting the first and third Thursday evenings at the hospital.  In these meeting the group of 12 to 15 would sit in a circle and one by one, tell of their ordeals and their fears.  Peggy, sitting in her wheel chair, was always brutally honest. 

Due to the terrible consequences of contracting glioblastoma various members of the group would be missing at the next meeting as was the case when I had to tell the group that Peggy would not be returning.

Stand Up To Cancer brought home to me once again that those involved are facing such horrendous personal terror that they need all the help, hope and understanding their loved ones can muster.  We have the rest of our lives.  They may not.