Well, I shared my news with some close friends as well as on here. I don’t know what my expectations were regarding reactions, but it’s out of the bag nonetheless. As my goal is always selflessness, I’m glad nobody is making a fuss. My family and friends are there for me and that’s all that matters. They’re processing it just fine. They are all offering their help and I’m doing what I always do: downplaying it. It’s not that I’m outright refusing help. I just don’t know what to do or say because I haven’t processed it yet.
I have vowed to be brutally honest in this space. I have gained a readership because I do not hold back. I put my vulnerabilities out there for consumption. That won’t end or change today. Here it is, at first I was scared. That’s natural, I think. I don’t embrace it, but I can accept it. I worry more about people seeing me scared than anything. It’s the reputation that follows me; I’m known for resilience. For taking every punch life has thrown at me and getting up each time. It’s all I have going for me.
But when I was told that I needed open-heart surgery, I was enduring a Cancer Scare. It occurred to me that I have met an opponent that I couldn’t overcome. All I could think about was the same 2 words, Four years.
4 years of uninterrupted good health. 4 years of getting back to living my life. 4 years of not being the “sick guy”. That’s the one that gets me, the “sick guy”. I was hoping that guy was gone forever. You know the sick guy. He’s the one who, whenever someone sees him, automatically gets the obligatory, “how are you feeling?” Now, don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with people inquiring about my health. It’s kindness, awareness, sometimes sympathy but more often empathetic, all rolled into one. It exemplifies the best in people and I’m a staunch believer that people are good. But after a while, it stops being warm and fuzzy and begins to overshadow recovery. Since I was 42 years old, I have been the sick guy. I had a brief respite in 2011. During this time, I had my first transplant. I bounced back most spectacularly. I was back at work in 33 days. I was exercising, socially active, excelling at work, and truly enjoying my new life of saying YES. I almost got to the point where the “how are you feeling’s” stopped. Then the kidney failed and I was that guy again. 5 years later I got another shot. It was a great kidney. My body adapted to it so well. It was clear to all that it was not necessary to ask me how I felt. Anyone could see that I was doing great.
When the prostate issue arose, I was nervous but kept going. The news of the heart surgery, not so much. It’s a big surgery and a long recovery. It shook me a bit. After all, I can hope for but cannot have guarantees that I will be 100% after the surgery. And I’m sorry, but I’m trying to make up for much lost time. And I don’t want to break the run that I am on.
Despite not giving myself permission, I felt bad for myself for a few days. I feel compelled to go into detail, to fully convey the extent of my angst. It lasted days as I battled an increasingly common enemy, the urge to give up. I am/was/will continue to be very troubled that this enemy has established a foothold in my psyche. I can only attribute his presence to one simple fact, part of me just doesn’t want to do it anymore.
I am asked at every Physician appointment if A)I feel safe, and B)If I have suicidal ideations. I have been answering “YES” to part B. It leads to a conversation, of course. I am forced to explain that I don’t want to actively end my life. I just don’t care if something else does. As I said, it stems from just plain being done. My mind was allowing me to entertain a notion I have fought with every fiber in my body, giving up. The news that I received last week could have easily given more weight to the notion. In fact, it almost did.
Then I remembered who I was.
I’m the guy who has always smiled and given a thumbs-up for the camera when things were grim. I have a collection of photos taken in hospitals after my many surgeries. In every one of them, I am clearly thumbing my nose at what could have been. I am openly defying it. I’m the guy who reacts to recovery times like I do to GPS arrival times. I scoff and say, “I can beat that.” I’m the guy that says, “I’m good”, even when it is very clear that I am not.
Well, one week later, that guy is back. That pussy worried about surviving? Fuck that guy. I spoke to my dear friend Pedro recently. I told him that I am no longer scared. I am going to fight this as I have been, stubborn and confident. He calls me C Brown, named lovingly after my hero Charlie Brown. He knows and remembers when I don’t, that I got this. And I do. There really is only one choice here, to get through it. I’ve survived 100% of my worst days, my money is on me.
Now, where the hell is that football?
The Tao of Bill 