I Miss Myself
You know, every one finds humor in old people forgetting stuff or misplacing stuff.
Not funny, jackasses!
Well, forgetting what you did with the car keys or where you hid you glasses from yourself are just natural, everyday, run of the mill things that even young folks also do.
As most of you know, a year ago I had a heart attack. My heart's fine now as far as I can tell. At least I spend no time worrying about it.
However, for some reason, I've lost track of something more important to me than my car keys or my glasses. I'm having trouble finding my old self.
I liked my old self. My old self had his stuff together. This new self leaves a lot to be desired.
Let me try to explain.
About fifteen years ago, my thyroid decided to try to kill me with hyperthyroidism. I run into folks who say, “Oh, I have a thyroid problem.” No, you don't. You have an thyroid irritation. My thyroid tried to kill me. I finally got to the right doctor and after thirteen years of medication, he declared me cured. It's about time.
About four years ago I developed a doozy of a case of pleural effusion. My pleural cavity decided it wanted to kill me. Great. By the way, let me just say at this point, lung doctors have degrees in guessing---not science. Anyway, after thirteen months of draining my pleural cavity, it decided not to kill me and just stopped producing excess fluid. Go figure.
As I was coming out of the operating room where I had had my drainage tube removed, I stopped the parade long enough to comment, “Who knows what horrors await me on the other side of this door?”
Now I know: a friggin' heart attack. Although my mother's family all seemed to have serious heart problems, I figured I was exempt. After all, almost all of them are dead and I'm not.
I got through the hyperthyroidism and the pleural effusion and the heart attack just fine…however, the effects of that three weeks in hospitals is still kicking my butt.
On top of all this, a couple of eye doctors destroyed the vision in my left eye…thanks.
As a result of all this, I'm not sure I'm even me anymore.
I seem to have misplaced myself. I was funny. I was smart. I was abrasive.
I know what you're thinking: “You're still
abrasive.” Ha. I'm faking it.
I haven't recognized myself except for the first fifteen minutes I was home from the heart attack hospital trip and a few times when I first awake.
I'm getting a little desparate about this situation. I'm even beginning to think that I need to do something about my minor defects: my hearing is ridiculously poor; it's getting hard to even fake my hearing.
Of course, my breathing has been bad for some time. Well, I've quit smoking (two to three packs a day for sixty years), and I've had several physical therapy rounds.
Like my old cars through the years, I've been hesitant to pour money into the old jalopies; however, it looks as though this old jalopy might have a few more miles on it.
I liked my old self.
If you see my old self wandering around, stop him and give him a ride home.
I miss him.
enough