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Sunday, June 28, 2009
My Life Did Not Pass Before My Eyes
It's been kind of an interesting weekend around here. I had a heart attack Friday morning. Really.
Everybody else is freaking out, and I can't still get my head around the idea. Well, as Tina Turner once said," listen
to the story now."
I was having a very quiet Thursday evening at home; I was holed up in my recliner with a thick book, and the cat was
dozing on the love seat. It had been a hideously hot and humid week, and in additon to that I had been feeling
tired and rather out of sorts for days. Stress, I told myself. It's just stress. And indeed,
to say that my life has been stressful these past few months is an understatement. So when I started feeling discomfort in
my chest I was convinced I had an anxiety attack coming on.
I couldn't get to sleep that evening. A thunderstorm rolled through around midnight, turning an already muggy Hoosier
night into a steaming, breathless horror. The pain kept getting worse and I kept getting more irritated with it.
It was an endless night. Finally around 5:30 I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to do something to get some relief.
So -- and here's the part that amazes everyone -- I staggered out into the miserable morning, got in my car, and drove myself
to the emergency room. ("You drove yourself to the hospital while you were having a heart attack?" They
keep asking. "Yeah," I keep responding. "I didn't know I was having a heart attack!")
I left the car in the parking garage and stumbled to the Emergency entrance, briefly distracted by a newspaper box
featuring a headline that said something about King of Pop 1958-2009. Huh, I blearily wondered?
Michael Jackson is dead? How can that be? Later, when an attendant put me in a wheelchair and hauled
me to an examining room, I asked him if it was true. Yeah, he told me, Michael Jackson had died the day before.
"What a weird week this has been," I mumbled. It was about to get weirder.
I won't go into all of the details of what happened next as it's a little hazy in memory. At some point they shot me
up with a strong sedative, and the thing I remember most is making a joke about Karen Ann Quinlan and the people working on
me were too young to know who she was. Anyway, they told me one of my blood enzymes wasn't right, and they were admitting
me.
Once upstairs I just wanted to sleep, but people continued to barge into the room all morning, including a chaplain who
wanted to know if I wanted to pray. No, I wearily, told him. I think God got the message during all the hollering
I did at Him earlier this morning. Around 1pm my former housemate and friend Blake showed up with stuff I'd asking
him to get me from the house, along with the assurance that the cat had been fed. The cardiologist showed up right after
and told me my enzymes were going even higher, and I was been taking right downstairs for a heart cath. At that point
two of my co-workers showed up (I had called in sick to work from the ER) and they almost fell over the gurney that was
wheeled into the small room to rush me to the heart cath room. "Geez," I mumbled as the tech pushed me in my bed on
wheels through the halls. "This is like being in Pine Valley hospital on All My Children. Where's Dr.
Joe Martin?" I was genuinely kidding, but I gotta admit I wouldn't have minded seeing ole Joe at that point for
some reassurance.
The next thing I remember is being hauled under some machine. Dr. Lopez wandered in, cracking bad Michael
Jackson jokes with the nurses. "Oh, brother," I moaned, "has that started already?" He shot something
into the right side of my groin, and as I lay there feeling totally zoned out he explored my heart. I felt some terrible
pressure in my chest at one point and began to moan about it hurting, and he cheerfully told me we were almost done.
Then I remember him taking his gloves off and asking me if he go tell my "brother" (Blake under false identity) that one
of my coronary arterties was ninety percent blocked, and he had put in a stint to correct it. "Oh sure, go," I said,
not comprehending any of it. "Thanks, doctor."
A few minutes later the nurse was preparing me to go to ICU and it hit me. "He said he put a whattey in whoey?"
I groaned, and she explained what had happened. "Well, I'll be damned," I croaked, quickly finding myself
in ICU with Blake, a new nurse, and a new bed.
I was released late the next morning. The whole ordeal, from first pain to walking out the door took a
little more than thirty-six hours. Go figure.
Dr. Lopez came to see me and officially release me on Saturday morning. He told me I had indeed suffered a minor
heart attack, and that getting myself to the hospital when I did stopped a process that could have done irreversible
damage to my heart. As it was, he said, I was all fixed and ready to get back to life, and could go to work on
Monday. (Woo Hoo, I thought.) He brightly told me to quit smoking, eat right and get some exercise,
and that he'd see me in his office in about a week. Then he bounced out. Really, he's a very cheerful doctor,
and that's a good thing, considering he has apparently become a new part of my life.
So here I am, Sunday evening, not feeling a whole lot different except for the soreness in my groan at the point
of the procedure entry. Honestly? My mind is still on a tape loop that's saying, What the hell happened?
It still hasn't sunk in. Not at all. My friends and family are all telling me how glad they are that I'm still
alive, and I keep telling them I'm glad they are thankful, 'cause I still haven't gotten used to the idea. I'm sure
it will hit me one of these days, and oh boy, I suspect I really will have an anxiety attack of epic proportions. Right
now I'm just taking all the new pills I have, and wondering what is the best way to try and break my thirty-year-old smoking
habit. That, I think, is gonna be tough.
Anyway, while I ponder that I'll share a few funny moments from the weekend.
1) As I said, everyone has been amazed that I drove myself to the hospital, but they'd be even more freaked out
if they knew what I went through at home just before I left. I hated leaving a mess behind, and almost made the bed,
and I fretted terribly over my clothes. I've been reading The Great Deluge: Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans,
and the Mississippi Gulf Coast by Douglas Brinkley this week. I came across a marvelous anecdote while I was in
the hospital about a woman who was being evacuated from a flooding nursing home insisting that if she was going on a bus she
had to put her good dress on first. Thanks to Clinton Kelly and Stacy London, I totally understood. (I met Clinton
Kelly a few months ago in person, and he terrified me, clotheswise, as much as I had feared.) They have me
so brainwashed I'd never leave the house in pajama bottoms, even for a heart attack. Therefore, I settled for
a salmon-pink T shirt from Old Navy, some black gym shorts, and my Keno sandals from Key West. Still, it didn't
feel right, and I apologized to the nurse when I got dressed again Saturday morning. Geez, how Mrs. Howell can
one person get?
2) At one point Saturday morning I was in bed, struggling with a urinal, when a respiratory tech came barging in.
"Excuse me," I said, trying to wave him away. Undaunted he said he was here to check my oxygen, saw I wasn't on oxygen,
and commented that I must be going home that day. "Yeah, " I retorted, "I am going home where I can pee without witnesses!"
3) My friend Scotty was so distraught by the news of my illness that he drove up here from Indianapolis Saturday
and stayed over so I wouldn't be alone last night. I really appreciated not being alone for the first night, but
I realized this morning about how worthless he would have been had I had a relapse. I was very gingerly pulling the
bandage off the wound on my groin before I got in the shower. Really, the whole area, between shaved hair, horrible
bruising, and an ugly scab, DID make me look like a victim of a sex crime, as I had told my friend Murray on the
phone the day before. Once I finally got the bandage off and got myself into the shower I began to feel dizzy
and I thought I was gonna pass out, right there in the tub. I'm such a weenie when it comes to the sight of blood.
After my shower I told Scotty what had just happened and he started waving his arms shouting, "oh, God! Oh God!
I'm glad nothing happened. I wouldn't have known what to do!" Honestly, are we a couple of girly-men or what?
And there was one very solemn moment from the weekend. While I was waiting for the doctor on Saturday morning I
carefully pulled myself out of bed with my medical leashes and managed to get my Ipod from the counter. I dialed it
up and sat in bed and listened to "The Love You Save" and "Off The Wall." Michael Jackson is dead, I thought,
and here I am still alive after a near miss. Say what you want about the guy, but he left behind some damn
good records.
So now what? Well, Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, and (as of this weekend) Billy Mays are all dead,
and I'm still here. The world's still spinning, time is moving forward, and I'm due back at work at 11am tomorrow.
That's about as profound as I can get at the moment. If I have any deeper thoughts on the matter, I'll let you know.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Everwood Again
If you dig back through these blogs you will find one dated June 21, 2006. I wrote about the demise of a wonderful
television show named Everwood. I expressed some hope that at some point Warner Brothers would get off their
collective asses and release more of the show on DVD. Well, much to my shock, Season Two just appeared on the market.
(By the way, reading that old blog might give a new reader some perspective on the following paragraphs.)
I just watched the first episode of Season Two on my new LCD flat screen TV. Wow. I hadn't seen it since
September of 2003, and watching it again, knowing what I know now, brought the tears to my eyes even faster than the
first time. I tell ya, Everwood is, without a doubt, one of the absolute best TV shows of this decade.
I'd like to think that a novelist should not have any shame in this day and age about admitting that a good deal of their
inspiration came from television and the movies. It has been so for me. I can't say that the fictional town
of Everwood has anything to do with my own fictional setting of Porterfield, but I do know that some of the best writing in
the past forty or fifty years has been on television.
The bottom line of this brief blog is this: Go buy seasons One and Two of Everwood and watch them. If
you have enjoyed the HANDYMAN books, I promise you will enjoy this TV series as well. Oh, but be warned: If you
do watch them you will end up like me -- pining for the remaining two seasons, and wondering why the hell Everwood
only ran four years.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A Quiet Moment in June
I can't believe how hectic my life has been this spring. I sat down last weekend and wrote an email to some friends
trying to update them on everything that had been happening. After several very long paragraphs chock-full of news I
wrote "and that's pretty much just the tip of the iceberg."
I won't get into all of that nonsense here. That sort of day-to-day chatter is best served with Twitter and Facebook.
Instead I'll just apologize to folks who rountinely check in here on the lack of new content or updates of any kind.
And I'll happily reassure everyone that I'm alive and well, aside from some nagging middle-age problems with my back and my
usual sinus miseries. In addition to everything else it's been a tough spring in northeast Indiana for those of us poor
saps with allergy aggravations as well.
Things are almost calming down. They must be, as this is the first Sunday I've had in quite some time where
I'm just puttering around the house. It's a wonderful day and time for puttering. I've always had a sincere
fondness for early June.
I don't know what it is about early June, but I think it is one of the most peaceful times of the year. Now,
folks who are graduating or folks who are attending a ton of graduations and parties at this time won't agree with me, but
I don't seem to have any graduations in my datebook this year. And anyway, the peace I'm referring to has to do with
nature as opposed to human activities.
Spring's a great season, but it's a noisy one. When the world comes back to life after a long winter it stirs
up a lot of activity. The weather is unsettled, people get busy in their yards, and the noise folks have blocked out
all winter with windows shut tight suddenly penetrates their homes again. The trees, bushes, and flowers all get
busy leafing and blooming. To me, it all seems to lead up to the unofficial beginning of summer, Memorial Weekend.
Then June begins. People seem reassured that warm weather is here to stay and they calm down a bit.
The trees are filled-out, and the bushes have flowered and are now content to sit back and be admired. Spring's annual
battle to kick winter to the curb is complete, and a feeling I can only describe as contentment seems to settle over the land.
Even though I was crazy-busy this spring I had fleeting moments to enjoy all of the spring flowers. Today, June
14th, the peonies and rhododendrons are finished for the year and the hydrangeas are taking their time, but I have some
other lovely bushes in bloom in the yard. I'm ashamed to admit I don't know the name of them, but they look good. The
weather is sunny and peaceful today -- a nice change from the constant rain and gloom we've had this spring. The cat
and I spent some time in the backyard earlier just enjoying the day. Abner, of course, was busy investigating the birds
and the squirrels, but those critters as usual ignored him. They've learned that Abner isn't much of a climber; indeed,
Abner is the first cat I've known who seems to genuinely dislike heights. The chipmunks, however, wisely stayed
well-hidden.
The backyard here at Old Spruce is small but extremely lovely and quiet. Sometimes when I am sitting on the deck
or on the bench in the yard I have to remind myself that I'm in the middle of a city teeming with people and activity.
Life just seems to slow down here, and after the crazy past two months or so, that's a blessing.
I truly do believe that's one of the main attractions of the HANDYMAN books. I envision life in Porterfield, Indiana,
to be a little slower than the hectic pace of the world in 2009. My wonderful Old Spruce cottage and its yard are,
I guess, my little slice of make-believe Porterfield brought to life. I've learned enough from my readers to know that
they also relish a chance to curl with the books and spend some time in a place where time seems to move with a good
deal more tranquility, and the frantic pace of modern day life seems unnecessary.
So today is my day to slow down and just enjoy. Abner is happy to have me home all day to pester, and I'm
happy to let the rest of the world carry on in the fast lane. Every now and again you get lucky and that old saying
"God's in His Heaven and all is right with the world" slips over your shoulders like a comfortable old shirt. That's
true here today. So rather than share the noise of my life I decided to share a nice dose of quiet.
Here's wishing that everyone else can relax and breath a few contented sighs at this time when Mother Nature sits back
with a benign smile and allows us to just enjoy.
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When I'm Not Writing...
UPDATE: If you are on Facebook I hope you'll join the NICK POFF Author of
the HANDYMAN series group for discussions, updates, and more.
The sad but honest truth is that most writers need to supplement their income with something other than writing.
I've worked in the radio industry since the tender age of sixteen, and for the same two radio stations for the past fourteen
years. We call it The Hotel California -- you can check out but you can never leave! It's amazing how people go,
but then seem to come back at some time, including me. Radio has been good to me, and although there are still times
I regret not sticking with the writing thing at an earlier age, it's been an interesting ride.
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Things I'm Enjoying....
In The Handyman's Dream Ed and Rick spend time at a cabin on a small lake in southern Michigan.
In a weird fiction-meets-non-fiction kind of way, John Sellers writes about just such a place in his latest
book, The Old Man and the Swamp. It is a must-read for anyone who, like me, has been intrigued by that strange part
of the world at the borders of Indiana, Michigan, and Ohio; fears and respects snakes, and has enitrely too much
memory space dedicated to the 70's & 80's.
I enjoyed Joyce Maynard's latest, The Good Daughters.
I still can't believe All My Children is leaving ABC this September. I was a SLAVE to this
soap opera for 27 years. Even though I stopped watching every day back in '01, I've checked in occasionally, and talked with
co-workers about what was going on in Pine Valley. I mean......a world without Erica Kane? That, to me, is scarier
than facing the end of the Mayan calendar! I have, of course, read Susan Lucci's recent memoir, All My Life.
It's a nice, breezy read, but for diehard AMC fans only. Still...Ms. Lucci is on my list of people I hope to meet someday,
if only to say "THANKS!"
The wonderful thing about "All My Children" is that it was, for many years, more than "just a soap
opera." It was a second family of sorts to its most loyal fans. We can thank the amazing Agnes Nixon, the show's creator for
that, but I also think thanks must be given to the entire production staff, and those incredible actors who made those characters
so special to us. Did I learn some basic facts about life from watching this daytime drama? Yes. Did I learn how to write
a good story from watching "All My Children?" You betcha. Anyone who reads and enjoys the HANDYMAN books can be grateful
for the hours I spent in front of the TV, absorbing the finest writing in daytime television.
Just below is the link to the YouTube video from the intro of the 20th
Anniversary special from 1990. It contains some brief clips from the first 20 years of the show. Although AMC soared wonderfully
into the 21st Century, I gotta admit the best stories were from the first 20 years.
This show ain't dead yet, but it will be in September. Yeah, I'll probably be watching those
final episodes. In the meantime, I want to celebrate some of the best creative writing classes I ever attended. Thanks,
"All My Children!"
And I'm truly finding a great deal of joy in producing and broadcasting my little internet radio
show on www.live365.com. I hope you'll tune in some Wednesday evening for some wonderful old music and chat.
It's all RETRO here at the House of Nick. I also love the occasional old game show clip on YouTube.
I'm all about the retro fun stuff. I'd like to think it reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously in the here
and now. I celebrate old pop music on my internet radio show, NICK POFF RADIO 45.
As most writers do, I love word games, so I always enjoyed the game shows dealing with words. I loved the
$10,000 Pyramid (and the $20,000 and the $25,000 Pyramid, etc.). For those with a short attention span, here's Billy Crystal's
record-breaking trip to the top.
"I can't even watch The New Treasure Hunt anymore because you give me so much shit about it!"
(The above line of dialogue was deleted from the final draft of The Handyman's Dream. Ed's enjoyment
of game shows and Rick's dislike of them would continue to be a source of irritation.)
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Meet two potential victims of global warming.
If you want to save the bears as much as I do, vote wisely in each and every election, and check out the link
on my Favorite Links page.
Nick Poff
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