New Bottoms

Stepping on the digital scale in a cardiology practice is the moment of truth: either you are closer to your optimal weight, and BMI, or you are farther from it. Chances are, if you are farther from it than last time, your blood pressure is also going to be higher than last time, maybe much higher than normal, and might cause the receiving nurse to ask a series of uncomfortable questions. After all, you had a heart attack last October and needed three stents to keep your blood flowing. You absolutely should NOT be gaining weight, losing exercise capacity, and tracking BPs that are 40 points above your average. But the last year was VERY rough, just a series of bottoms demanding new paths of recovery from lifelong, recurring illnesses.

Before William’s death, I was in strong routine. I was reading and writing four or five mornings a week, completing poems and drafting blog posts. My diet was solid, weight was dropping, and I was getting faster, and longer, in the lap pool. I had just passed 14 years of continuous sobriety and 5 years without nicotine in any form. I thought that I was finally becoming the person that God always intended me to be. But I wasn’t, at least not yet.

Less than three months after William’s funeral, I survived my second heart attack. While my blood work was historically excellent, and my treadmill testing was in very high percentiles, my arteries were slowly accumulating plaque, and I had gained 35 pounds since my “best” running days, just a few years prior. I was embarrassed and started obsessing over the many “exceptions” that I’d let slip into my diet and exercise routines. I also had to admit, to myself and to the cardiology team, that maybe I wasn’t “handling” William’s loss with as much balance and honesty as I’d thought. At the same time, we were moving my Father and his wife into Assisted Living, which was only the first step in a delicate, often frustrating, process to find them the care they need. I also had to admit that my work life was unsatisfactory, and that I was feeling like an unwanted and unwelcome professional. So, it wasn’t JUST William’s loss, but losing him was a tipping point, causing the cracked shell of my life to crumble and fall.

Since then, I’m trying everything I can think of to lose weight, lower my blood pressure, regain my optimal flexibility, and mobility, but the hits just keep coming. The first failure was with therapy: my insurance network is limited when it comes to mental health, so I took an appointment with the first counselor whose calendar matched mine. It was a bad fit, I knew it from the beginning, but tried for five or six sessions. At the same time, both my Father and his wife began a steady decline into dementia, and poor physical health, which forced additional hospital stays, rehabilitation stays, and moves to new facilities. Work only got worse, as sales prospects disappeared, and animosity crept into a very small team. I’ve had COVID, had another unnamed respiratory infection that took four weeks to fix, and hurt myself doing yoga. More weight gain, more missed workouts, more “only this weekend” meals; no therapy, except for 12 Step meetings and fellowship, and absolutely no progress on anything creative. Then, a few weeks ago, it was time for a cardiology check-up, and the red alert sounded.

Fifteen years ago, while I was hitting my alcoholic bottom, life felt like walking up the deep end of a swimming pool – full body pressure, lungs straining, feet slipping, eyes burning, desperate for nothing but relief, and release.

This time, the bottom feels like math and more math – how fast is my heart beating, my blood circulating; how many calories consumed and what are my macros, carbs vs. protein vs. cholesterol vs. fat, and how many calories burned; caffeine by the microgram. Everything about me and my life measured, logged, analyzed, and found sub-optimal. My new doctor seemed bewildered, like he didn’t understand why I was there, or what he was supposed to do with a recent survivor whose body math only got worse during cardiac rehab. I was so flummoxed that I couldn’t really communicate through the confusion and panic. I thanked him, promised to do better, and left.

I will never understand what happened in that office, with that equipment. My data was actually very good in cardiac rehab, and I had lost more than 10 lbs at one point. Before, during, and after exercise, my BP was excellent. I believed that I was making significant progress and dealing with considerable strain with patience and grace. Then, just a few weeks later, it felt like every indicator was pointing down, flashing red, and that everyone was staring at me, judging. I was too shaken to drive home immediately, thinking now about everything that I HAVE to do every day, and everything that I CANNOT do every day, just to stay alive, mobile, and coherent. I felt panic over every chemical, every metric, every calendar entry that I am required to ingest, eliminate, calculate, and perform every single day, including 12 Step routines and responsibilities. Too much.

Some days this is all just too much, and that day, that cardiology appointment, was the worst in a very long time. The worst since a series of days almost 15 years ago, when I wandered around the North Side drinking, paranoid that I was being followed, convinced that my wife was leaving me, my boss was firing me, and that my friends were all abandoning me. On that bottom, I spent time in a mental health facility, followed clinical advice into AA, and recovery, and initiated a series of intellectual, spiritual, and physical changes that keep me alive, married, employed, and able to function without crippling anxiety, frustration, and despair.

This time, the advice sounds confusing, often contradictory, and I find myself asking my Higher Power for daily guidance. We learn in The Program to “turn it over,” and I finally understand (one version) of what that means: I assume that my God made my body this way, and that they want me to do certain things, at certain times, every or most days, under the threat of embarrassment, poverty, ill health and/or death. Rather than grumbling about it, or looking for loopholes, or simply refusing to change, I am trying to surrender to this reality, this expression of God’s Will for me, every day. For the last few weeks, I’ve:

– Accepted insomnia as a wake-up call, often rising to exercise between 5 and 6am several days a week or attending early morning 12 Step meetings.
– Attempted to eliminate most caffeine, specifically morning coffee, replacing it with decaf tea or mushroom coffee, hoping it will help reset my natural blood pressure.
– Reinstituted a pre-work routine that includes readings, journaling, and sometimes blogging. I hope to make blogging a daily exercise but am not there yet.
– Begun the process of eliminating animal products from my diet, which also eliminates cholesterol, saturated fat, and other chemicals that encourage the formation of arterial plaque. Notice that I said “begun the process,” because this one is a family effort and going to take some time. Progress not perfection.
– Asked others for help, for encouragement, and for feedback, especially with my grieving for William. Left to my own devices, I will always isolate, and I am trying harder than ever to connect, reconnect, and stay connected to friends old and new.

Just like when I quit drinking, and then when I quit nicotine, I am 12 Stepping my health now. I am addicted to introversion, to reading instead of doing, to daydreaming instead of actuating. The list of Daily Things To Do sometimes seems WAY too long, and I do feel discouraged some days by the limitation and chronic needs of my body and mind; sometimes I want the ease and comfort that most people seem to achieve effortlessly, by birth and upbringing. When THE LIST seems too long, I skip some things, like the gym or journaling or calorie counting, to insure that I have the time and energy to attack recovery. I have faith, just like I did in my first AA meetings, that if I keep doing the work, my Higher Power will take away my defects, like laziness or fear, and will give me the power I need to keep moving forward.

My goal is to be at least 15lbs lighter for my next cardiology appointment, and to honestly report that I can again run a 5k without any walking. I am also committed to a cycle of poems that I started several months ago but have let sit. If God sees fit to give me another 25 years between heart attacks, I think I might eventually figure this out.