Port Townsend, WA, 26-May-2023 – We bought tickets to go to Anchorage. We’ll fly up on the 26th of June and return in early September.
Jennifer will fly up the same day as me, which didn’t really click until I spoke to an old high school friend, Roberta Guzzone. Jennifer is flying up with me on those dates, she’ll be with me for two weeks while I get the boat ready to go into the water because she wants to be around me in case something happens. It’s an odd feeling.
I did a teleconference with a nurse practitioner at Harborview Medical Center. The nurse practitioner is from the stroke facility. I am, it seems, completely recovered from the stroke. I know that’s not completely true because I have a slight lisp when I say certain words that have an S in them. It’s not anything anyone else notices but I can.
We inadvertently wandered into how long I’m going to live. There is this uncle of mine, my mother’s brother, Charlie, who had arrhythmia. He never had a stroke, never had any of the other things, but he had arrhythmia.
Two of my brothers have it, and me. I was betting that I would live into my 90s. It seems unlikely now, and like a bit of a child’s fantasy when I think back on envisioning it. My brother Chris seems to be the one who will have that long future. My sister Linda as well, though she has had lung cancer, so I don’t know what her future is. I always envisioned me as the one to live and become the patriarch – ignoring that I have no children.
The NP tells me I have wonderful cholesterol, the blood pressure of a teenager, and a couple of other amazingly wonderful things for my age, but I have this heart that doesn’t quite know how to beat properly. I’m on two drugs, which should somehow protect me and give me a long life, but there it is. What does a long life mean in this context?
For the boat, everything is settled. I still have another month before we leave and I need to figure out what to do with the month. I have things around the house that I’m starting on. I’m continuing to scan photographs. There are still probably a couple thousand to do, and I am transcribing Caro Babbo’s ship’s logs.
Jennifer is a wonderful writer and I will have a book for her once these are transcribed and edited.
There is the feeling that the boat should be tossed, this part of my life is over, but, I can’t see any reason to do that other than if the stroke happened where I could not be gotten to a hospital fast enough I wouldn’t be able to do what I’m doing right now: I wouldn’t be able to write, I wouldn’t be able to scan, I wouldn’t be able to sail. It’s a matter of trust. How much do I trust that these medicines to work as well as they say they do? How much do I trust that I wouldn’t have another stroke while I’m far away from a hospital? How much do I want to sail?
It’s an interesting question.
The medical staff I’ve been talking with, and these are the MDs, tell me there’s no reason that I would ever have another stroke. The medicines I am on will protect me, and I should just live the life I intend to live and live a long and successful life. I want to believe this, and see no reason why it shouldn’t…
My beliefs will change and wobble as the months pass. I was fairly certain until I spoke with the NP yesterday; I’m sure I will be as the days progress.
It’s only in the last four or five days that the days have returned to being the days that I’ve lived. Now, with the boat all provisioned as best it can be from 2000 miles away, I am at a loss as to what to do with my time. This will fill in in the coming days.
In the two weeks after the stroke, the days passed by in a smooth smear of mayonnaise. I know they went by. I think I know the work I did, but they lost the integral-ness of days. The days are back. The urge to complete things has returned. And I am now reluctantly realizing that the things that I will work on are the things that I have said I’d work on for years but never found the time.
There is humor in that.
Take care John and keep sailing . I am recovering from Cancer and the thought of getting out on the water keeps me going . The chap who bought PeggyRose has now made it down to Greece ,
Rob
Thanks, Rob. I seems that we all will have crosses to bear, but it seems different when it is our own.
I’m pleased you’re doing well.
Best.
Hang in there John. Enjoy life’s every moment. Live it to the fullest.
Thanks, Don. You are a model for me.
We weigh risk and benefit with everything we do. You may be more deliberate about it now. The risk may be greater, making the benefit sweeter.
Thank you, Jennie. You’re has it own battles. Thank you for letting me learn about them.
Dear John, I want you to live live live until you die! I think sailing is a brilliant idea
Love, Roberta
I’m trying. and doing, I hope. You’ll learn how we do as we do it. Love to you and Bob.
John, I am so thankful for your recovery and positive prognosis. You are a great blessing to all of us who are fortunate enough to be your friend. We often live vicariously through your bravery and adventure. We are thrilled by your stories, overjoyed by your presence and soothed by your voice. We wish you and Jennifer continued happiness and pray you visit us when you are in the area. Got your back pal whatever you need. Love, John and Annacarin
Thank you, John. I think you make me out to be more than I am, but I am very pleased to have you as friend.
We will see each other one of these days.
Interesting John, I have never put a number on my mortality. I have always thought that as long as I have a quality of life I am happy to keep living. My friend who had a stroke is now lame all down his right side. For him his life is taking a new direction.
I would say taking medication daily is so common now that it hardly rates a mention.
Good luck and looking forward to hearing more of your sailing adventures.
Cheers
Your friend sounds like what almost happened to me. I’m sorry to hear that.
Yes, medication isn’t unusual and it is common. But, it is a shift in my life and a new way of seeing myself. Not a difficult way, but a new way. We all go on, and so will I.
Thank you, Drew.
John- Ah mortality! And all the questions and concerns attached! One of the comments said ‘ live until you die’ , which I think is great advice. I believe we should live our lives In integrity with our beliefs, which gives us the best chances for happiness- it seems to me that sailing is part of your well-lived life, and I would be sad if you had to give it up. Anyway, I am just wishing you well, as one aging craft to another, and appreciating the questions and quandaries this life brings…
Thank you, Pedar.
Hard to believe that my childhood friend is talking about this – I think we both thought we would live forever.
Alan is going in Tuesday for a minimally invasive bypass which we have been waiting patiently for. He made a very interesting statement when he was told of his diagnosis – he said that the reality of his mortality really shook him up. I can see both the physical and mental stress this has created for him, and I imagine you have experienced the same.
I am very glad to hear that you are okay, please keep taking good care of yourself but, more importantly, keep living life to the fullest.
Hard to think of you as a patriarch since I still see us as 5 year olds, lol !!
Safe travels, my friend, and sending hugs just because xoxo
Give Alan my best wishes.
Yes, It is the mortality. I can’t do anything to subvert this, that is the frustrating part. It just is what it is. So, we take the cultural remedies that are out there, and live the life we are able to grab.
Sixty-four years ago… when we were new and so were our parents.
Your feelings of being acutely aware of your mortality seem very understandable. I have to tell you though, when you two left on your sail to Hawaii, I felt very aware of your mortality!
I hope you find your comfort level and enjoy the next twenty years or so. You have had a blessing of finding out about your ticking time bomb in port, and now will ho on, as you had before. Without the crystal ball. And with renewed love for you life, family and friends.
My best wishes to you and Jennifer.
Wow John, you’re an amazing writer. The relationship you and Jennifer have… partners and support. I won’t or can’t miss a post. Clarity, gravitas and transparency; advice, in a way, on how to live.
Safe travels and fair winds, just keep taking the pills. I am looking forward to more adventures from you. Cheers, Ray
Wow ! This occurred after you got back from Europe ? Glad your docs think you’re gonna be fine. Be careful but live the life you want. Memories are sustaining, regrets are the opposite. Best to Jennifer.
JS
I must have skipped a post – I totally missed news of your stroke.
I am grateful to drop in to your wonderful life log to hear your wonderful calm, wise voice sharing an ever deeper, informed and hopeful summer adventure…writing and speaking and planning for all the happy tomorrows.
And I am hopeful for a personal sighting and a sit down celebration across a table somehere , here or there – soon.
It is a joy to know you & Jennifer. I can’t wait for a real hug. Big Love to you both.