I’ve survived now, from hot summer to the first big snow.  I’m a week and some days shy of the six month mark.  I’m down 40 lbs now, having surpassed my initial “final” weight goal.

Today is Thanksgiving, and I’ve seen an overabundance of beautiful sentiment from friends, family, and general people of the online world.

And I guess I should be thankful I’m still alive and kicking and that, of the many worse outcomes there could have been, I’m physically relatively good.  I have a great family and some really good friends, a girlfriend that still puts up with my idiosyncrasies, a job, a roof over my head…

And so on.

But I’ll be damned if I can conjure up any genuine feeling of being truly thankful for any of it lately.

I had a moment tonight where I felt really wearied by taking all these pills every day, and fuck it, I’m not going to do it anymore.

That moment was shortly followed by oh yeah, I’d like to continue to live a bit longer.

So, yeah.  Rebel me.  Damn the man and all that.  But still taking a million pills a day for the foreseeable future.

There’s a jokey story about me that still comes up in conversation occasionally.  I was with some new friends and was the lone gothy guy amongst a group of dirty metal dudes.  Someone suggested I do something–I don’t recall what–and I declined.  “Why not?”  “Because I’m too dark and tormented for that.” was the reply.  Not super funny ha-ha, really, but illustrates me fairly well.  While I’ve always been described as aloof, I’ve also always worn my emotions on my sleeve, while being to joke about them at the same time.

Something I’ve struggled with a lot lately is this weird inner churn; a darkness that feels like it composes more of me than anything else.  The weird thing is I’ve found this increased stillness and general appreciation of things I’d forgotten to appreciate in the hustle and bustle of existing and aging.  This forms a strange dichotomy in my head and heart.  As I was driving earlier I had the windows down.  I enjoyed the view, the wind over my face and arms, the beautiful and atmospheric/moody music I was playing–perfect for a stormy day.  At one point my inner monologue went something like ‘This is so beautiful..such a perfect moment.  Why does that make me so fucking sad?’  My chin quivered a bit reflexively and I breathed deep and reigned myself in.  Gotta be all manly and stuff…right?

One a side-note, my younger studies in meditation have proven invaluable lately.  Focused breathing is the only thing that kept me from losing my shit from the moment i heard ‘You’ve had a heart attack’ to the moment the sedatives hit me minutes, halls, floors later in the terrifying future-torture-lab-thing.  It keeps me together when the gym is killing me and keeps me sane when I start road-rage-ing (I’m a commuter..it happens).

The same moment struck me again not too long ago.  I walked out of my house, golden leaves parted in a light breeze, and the smell of fall hit my brain.  It’s my favorite type of moment and it was honestly quite sublime.  I filled my lungs, smiled a little half smile, took a step or two down the stairs, and was immediately and crushingly destroyed by a wave of melancholy.  But why?  The moment was perfect and I was actively enjoying it.  Nothing bad happened.  There’s no reason I should’ve experienced anything but bliss.

And yet, I did.  Quite the opposite, frankly.

I guess the point of the intro to this ramble was to explain that I’m no stranger to gloom and doom.  There’s been a shadow over me as far back as I can recall being aware of emotions.  My mom has mentioned I was a bubbly baby until I broke my femur and spent a few days in the hospital.  After that I was quiet and moody.  So I’m kind of a pro at this and over the years I’ve gotten better and better at managing it, often to the degree that it becomes almost non-existent.  I say almost because there’s always that little nag, that quiet throb in the back of your mind that serves to let you know you’re never completely in the clear.

I’m fine with all of this, really.  I’ve always let my sadness drive me, whether it’s writing, painting, music, film, etc, I’ve always been able to channel and divert.  And it works, and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.  But this feels new somehow; less driving force, more tragic loss.  And maybe that’s exactly what it is.  Maybe I’m past the confused what the fuck? why? how? phase, past the angry I just got fucked by insurance phase, and into mourning?

Sounds so ‘boo-hoo, get over it.’

But I do grieve.  I’ve lost a lot, some of it quantifiable and some not.

So is that it?  Am I just in constant lament now?  It fits the color scheme of my wardrobe, if nothing else.

I’ve also found myself gravitating toward things of comfort or solace lately.  It’s possible these things are tied to the same root.  I did yoga for the first time in a decade the other day.  While it felt like I had Parkinson’s during some of the poses, I felt undeniably great during and after.  I’m looking into adding a weekly class to my workout regimen.  Similarly, I accompanied a friend who is having some faith issues to his first buddhist temple experience.  This is something I used to do often in HS and a few years out.  Sadly, I was unimpressed by this particular experience.  It was presented in a very western-christian format…shitty hymns and all.  Nothing like the ceremonies and sessions I attended oh-so many years ago.  This motivated me to get out some of my old Zen books and try meditation a bit more seriously again.  It helps a bit, but the feeling has, thus far, been very transitory.

I started reading Kerouac again.  He’s always been my favorite and a go-to in good times–and bad.  The downside is I started with Desolation Angels, which is old, jaded and depressed Kerouac, mostly given-up and weary of the way his life ended up.  His solace–and eventual death–came from a bottle.  I don’t have that option anymore…at least not on a long-term scale.  Drinking myself to death would be a night or two process, rather than a noble, traditional, and extended end.  And I think there’s something worth saying on that note:  I’ve always been fairly heavily defined by my vices.  Over the years I’ve weaned myself from them one by one, but now with drinking off the menu, my last way of getting artificially out of my head for a time is gone.
That totally reads like something an alcoholic would say so let me be clear…I’ve never been an alcoholic.  I stopped drinking immediately after my hospital stay and had been slowly cutting back anyway.  I’ve had two (oh my god so glorious) beers and what wouldn’t even qualify as a ‘sip’ of scotch in the last five months.  That hasn’t been hard, exactly, because I didn’t ever need it.  But I sure as hell liked it.  I’m a very regulated person in my natural state and alcohol helped me let that go for a time.  It took away my anxiety, my self-consciousness, and..let’s be honest here, being drunk feels pretty awesome most of the time.  And then there’s the ambience.  Picture a scene:  The beachfront in Seattle, late summer, a picnic with a small group of friends.  Now picture the same scene and add a few bottles of wine if it’s evening, or a six of Fat Tire if the sun is beating down.  The quality of the scene has improved tenfold.

And now that whole world is closed to me.  Now I’m the gloomy guy sitting 20 yards off, writing about those jerks over there who look like they’re having soooo much fuuuunnn.

I’m going to take that trip in real life in a few weeks, and I’ve been part of that group before.  I’m going to sit on that sand and hopefully I can find something that makes me smile instead of being that gloomy gothy guy.

…Which brings me to another thing weighing on me lately.
While I was in the hospital dying, one of the many things that raced through my mind was that I was going to die having lived in Utah my entire life…something I swore I’d never do.  I’m the guy who swore he was going to move the day he turned 18…and then never did.

My life is full of a lot of those things now.  Those moments I swore I’d experience and haven’t.

I thought I’d lived a pretty fulfilled life to this point.  As it turns out there’s still so much shit that needs doing.

And here it is five months later and I haven’t done any of it.

And some of it can’t ever be done now.

Awesome.

I had my cardio followup the other day.  My doc listened and looked at some things, and said the results on my blood testing all looked great.  He gave me the all clear again, but said that I should wait until I’d survived a year to skydive, as altitude can sometimes have a negative effect.  I also can’t take up boxing while I’m on the thinners…I already bruise like an old lady now, sometimes even for no reason at all.

So finally some good news.  The hard work seems to be paying off and the meds seem to be doing their job and haven’t killed me so far.  I’m down to 213 (212 yesterday post-workout) and the pants I started wearing that were previously too small are now too loose.  I’m going to need to buy some new ones very soon now if this keeps up, which is good and bad.

And then last night, and today.

I’ve said before that there’s a trust that’s lost between my body and my self.  I have to say, again, if needs be that, after your body betrays you in such a spectacular fashion, you will never just have a cold again.  I woke up feeling sick yesterday and by night felt like total garbage.  Called in sick today and rested and I’m feeling slightly better right now but not a ton.

But at night, laying in bed alone in the dark…you try to tell yourself it’s just a minor illness, a 24 hour ill of some sort.  But if you’re me, you lay awake all night wondering if your heart is about to fuck up again or if, even though you tested twice that night, somehow your blood sugar is sky high like when you were in the ER that fateful day.

And I’m here still, home, breathing.  So hopefully those fears are unfounded.

But damned if it isn’t awful to feel such vulnerability; such fragility in a body that’s been put through hell and never seemed much worse for the wear.

Yeah.  So after that last post I was a bit embarrassed and decided to stay away from posting for a while; at least until I could post something positive and not whiney.

The problem is I haven’t really had a day where that would happen since.

But I’m still alive at the moment so, small victories I guess?

My plan is to update this more, like I mentioned last time I posted (forever ago).  I’ve been working on some recipes and stuff that would fall under both heart-friendly, and diabetic-friendly.  I hate to say it, but aside from having to *add* carbs to everything to get my blood sugar where it needs to be, my diet is looking fairly paleo.

But let me put this out there right now.  I think the ‘paleo diet’, as a thing, is ridiculous.  It just happens to have a few good ideas that I find myself, in the search for a balanced and healthy diet, borrowing or adapting.

Moving on:  To explain a bit why I had my tantrum, and the ongoing shitshow that my life (and that of those around me) has apparently become, I’ve decided to recap my year.  Hopefully it makes the whining, both past and ongoing, a bit more palatable.

1.  January 2, I post on Facebook about how I’ve finally had a year I could call really awesome.  It was personally and financially very rewarding and for the first time I was looking ahead to the future with plans and, most importantly, hope.  The kicker here is that as soon as I hit ‘post’ I think to myself ‘damn, I just jinxed myself.  It’s going to be an awful year now.’  Boy was I prescient in that moment.
2. January 15, I get a huge bill for a root canal I had in the last week of December.  The first in a long series of financially devastating happenings for a year in which I am hemorrhaging money.
3. April 1, I fulfill the obsession I’ve had since I saw them announced and buy my first brand-new car.  My new baby is a 2015 Mustang GT.  My plan is to turbo or supercharge her next year.  There are people running 9 second quarter miles with only that mod and slicks.  It’s sick.  Every time I drive it I smile.  My previous car was fast, but it’s a different kind of fast.  The v8..so shiny and chrome.  I comment to my girlfriend and a few different friends on multiple occasions that I like the car too much and have become convinced that something is going to happen to take it away from me.
4. When I got the Mustang I didn’t trade in my previous car, a badass 2010 WRX.  It was clean, well taken care of, and well modified.  I figured on the private market I’d be able to get a decent amount of $ for it.  Subarus go like hotcakes around here, especially WRX’s.  I did some research and saw models older than mine, with higher mileage and rebuilt titles going for a few thousand more than I was asking for mine.  No biggie, right?  Apparently not.  While I watched all the others listed on my forums sell for crazy high amounts I got almost no feedback on mine.  There were a few test-drives that went nowhere.  For whatever reason, I wasn’t able to sell it until two weeks before #9 on this list which, if you read it, you might understand even more how immensely frustrating this is.  It was also pretty financially heavy, as I was carrying two full car payments and full-coverage insurance on both.
5. June 4, 4 AM I have a heart attack.  The same day I am diagnosed with diabetes.
6. Two days later my girlfriend gets the results back from some genetic testing she had done the previous month.  She is positive for a genetic mutation common in her family.  Many of the women in her family die young from various cancers, from brain, to bladder, to colon, etc.  She will now have to be tested on a very regular basis.
7. A week after I get home from the hospital my dad cuts his thumb almost in half on his band-saw.
8. A week after that my sister’s husband, who has bankrupted them and lost their home and cars due to his drug addiction, comes into her room with a knife.  He tries to lure one of my nieces out in a really muder-y way.  She gets out and moves in with my folks and I…and her two young girls.
9. July 20, I get the first in a series of bills that add up to, post-insurance and out of pocket, almost 30 thousand dollars.  At minimum this adds $500 a month to my bills for the next 5 years.  On top of this I have 7 monthly prescriptions, test strips for my glucose, and regular follow-up with my cardiologist, and primary care dr.  This news is absolutely devastating to me.
10. A month ago my other sister’s husband shoots himself, leaving her behind with the two kids they were raising.
11. A week ago my mom goes in for major surgery.  She is recovering well so far, thankfully.
12. In three days time, I will be trading my Mustang in, just like I thought I’d have to.  Even though my bills are in arbitration now, I’m not confident there will be any kind of significant reduction to the now almost $30,000 bill.  Between the new car, and selling some of my other most prized possessions I hope to reduce the tangible impact on a month to month basis.  Remember earlier when I mentioned I felt like something would take it from me?  Yeah.  That happened.
13. In this time I’ve also had one of my (former now) teammates at work flip out, hold his family hostage with a gun, and get arrested after threatening to kill the cops that showed up.  Another flipped out and had to be taken to the hospital under watch.  He’s now in mandatory therapy.

Yeah, I get a bit whiney.  I apologize, and don’t.  (to the 0 people who read this).

So here’s where I’m at, after the stack of shit above.

The bad:  
I can’t sleep.  I toss and turn and think all night.  This, in itself, is nothing new, but it’s worse than it has been in a long time.

Pretty much everything that I was passionate about or really enjoyed has been taken or changed in some way.  Food is slowly  becoming purely utilitarian.  I can’t drink.  I don’t bake bread on Sundays anymore.  I won’t be able to finance another movie this year, or expand my filming gear at all like I wanted to.  I’m selling (have sold) some of my favorite music-making gear.  I’m selling my favorite gun.  I can’t afford to upgrade my bike in fall like I’d planned to all year.

I feel flat, or low now.  I have a hard time really enjoying anything or, at least, getting very invested in it.  Movies just pass time.  Video games I know I should enjoy just kind of happen while my hands move.  I play my guitar listlessly because I don’t feel anything.  I smile and talk like normal Matt would, but there’s nothing going on behind the scenes that’s of any real value lately.  Even when I try to disappear into a book I’m only half paying attention.

The good:

I’m down to 213 from my post-hospital weight of 235.  I really wish they would’ve weighed me there before I lived on fluids for 3 days.  I think I was closer to 240 or higher.  Anyway, the cool thing about this is the first ‘big’ weight goal I set myself was 215. I haven’t seen below 215 on a scale since 2006.  Goal 2, the final one I think, is 199.  In my adult life I’ve only been below 200 once.  I had a weird summer where my weight dropped suddenly to about 265.  I’m not sure what happened and I look like a crack addict in all the pictures from that year.  After I had my tonsils, uvula, and part of my soft palate removed in 2005/6 I lost 25lbs in the month I was unable to eat solid food.  It put me right at 200, hence the 199 goal.  If I lose 14 more lbs I’ll be the lowest weight of my life since I was around 14, excepting that freak summer.  At this point I’ve thrown away a ton of pants and the ones I’d saved or bought too small accidentally are loose on me.  At this rate I’ll have to buy all new clothes soon.  I’ve always told myself if I got skinny I’d wear nice suits all the time.  We’ll see if that happens.  At very least I will stop wearing hoodies every day.

I’ve moved from solely cardio to a weight routine the owner of my gym showed me.  It’s nice to see some definition start returning where it’d all melted away after the hospital and diet changes, etc.  I’m jogging more too.  I still have a hard time maintaining more than a 4-1 ratio or so, but I’m doing them more often than not now.  I still want to do a Ragnar, but my first stated goal for next year is to do the Echo Triathlon with friends I’d done the biking part on about 10 years ago.  This time we’ll each do all three segments on our own.  I think I can do this.  I’ve been killing it on the bike and I’ve always been a pretty strong swimmer.  Plus I heard my SLC gym is opening up a location in Ogden with a pool.  So I should be able to get some good practice in over then next 10 or so months.

My replacement car is pretty cool.  I went to the dealership to look at a 2008 wrx with 110k miles, and they somehow worked a deal where a 2016 with 0 miles is cheaper.  Still can’t figure it out, but whatever.  I’ll take it.  I do feel like a giant asshole though.  Because I’m super depressed about getting a brand new WRX.

Poor me, right?

Thursday is my first follow up with my cardiologist.  I guess I get to find out how dying or not I am.  A few weeks after that I have my first follow up with my regular doc as well.

So who knows.  Maybe some happy posts?

Then again, the way this shit’s been going for me, they’ll probably tell me I’m dying in some other weird, stupid, way.
Until next time…

Another bill, for $2k.  This time in a different account for some reason.  I’m already overdrawn trying to cover the meds and the bills I already paid and caught up on.  My total’s now up over 25k.

This is just unreal.  It’s all I can think about.  I’ve lost any feeling of joy or enjoyment in my life lately because all I can think about is this massive fucking bill looming over my head.

And the fact that, since I self-finance my films I probably won’t be doing any of them for the next few years.  And if I get too deep I’ll have to pawn my music gear.  I can’t travel now, like I told myself I would when I survived.  And I already can’t go out to eat anymore.

I’ve busted my ass my entire adult career and finally, in the last year, had gotten to the point where I was financially comfortable.  Money has always been a huge stressor to me and it was so nice for that short time to not even have to worry about it anymore.  And now it’s all gone.  And the stress is all back.

So what’s the fucking point?  Seriously.  I’m out of words.

I came here with something to say but it seems I’ve forgotten what that may have been.

In the haven’t-slept-all-week haze of depression and disappointment I find myself distant.

I have an alarm set for early tomorrow so I can start the whole process again.

Wake.  Grieve.  Move.  Live a little, die a little more.

Rinse.  Repeat.

Maybe I’ll have something better to say tomorrow.

I just called and paid more than I have free to pay on my medical bills.  Then I called about the huge one.  The $23,000 one.  I’d spoken to my benefits advocate at work and she asked me to see if they would waive or significantly reduce the charge, as it was for an emergency service.  I was told right away, no, we do not do that.

Every time I look at this bill, or think about the dollar amount I literally get a little bit dizzy.  I have a car payment, a recent purchase (pre-attack), regular bills, a regimen of monthly meds, followup doctor visits with cardiologist and regular practitioner, and god knows what other health issues and expenses may pop up in the mean-time.  I wanted to get a place by the end of the year, and wanted to do some traveling, which I’ve been neglecting.  Even if I split the payments out to the furthest they’ll allow me I’m still adding an additional $500 a month for the next five fucking years of my life.

Say what you will about the healthcare act, or politics, etc, but I’ve always been a believer in the idea of socialized medicine.  I pay taxes and allow myself to be governed.  In exchange for that I should have safety, education, and health taken care of for me.  It’s basic needs.  Yeah, I’m alive but how the fuck can anyone justify 3 days in a room and what is essentially a minor procedure to insert the stent totaling FIFTY-TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS, and then insurance bugging out and fucking me, leaving me to pay almost 50% of it, where emergency procedures should be covered at least 80%.  Is that what the American dream is?  Capitalism at it’s finest?  Free-market success?  If so count me out.  This should be criminal…and I can’t even imagine what kind of bill I’d be looking at if I had to have had, say, open heart surgery, a bypass or something.
What then?  You live, and then spend the rest of your shortened life paying all your money to the people who run the business of saving lives, rather than spending that time with freedom and liquidity enough to enjoy it?

And I’m no moocher.  I’ve worked a ‘professional’ job since shortly after turning 18.  I make a decent wage.  I pay my taxes and have ALWAYS had insurance.  I’ve paid a lot into the system that is now fucking me.

I don’t know what to do.

I could probably sell everything of value that I own and still not even be close to a payoff, and then be unable to play music, or make movies, or take photos, etc.

My head is swimming and I can’t decide which I want to do more:  Cry, punch something, or just go to bed and stay there for a few days.  Or all three.  I don’t know.  I really just have no clue.

So I reached back out to my advocate.  I guess my fate is up to whatever magic she may or may not be able to work.

I keep meaning to make posting here a regular thing.  Maybe daily or 3x a week, etc.  So far that hasn’t happened though.  My new responsibilities keep me plenty busy, distracted, and just plain beat.

So at very least I think I’m going to post a track or long-play from my workout soundtrack.

Tonight, I present to you, the master himself.

I finally got my bill today, for the hospital stay, stent, ER visit, etc.

$22,870.52.

I wish I had a blood pressure cuff to measure right now.  I’m sure it’s through the roof.

In retrospect, maybe would’ve been better if I’d have gone to work that day instead…because I sure as hell don’t have that kind of scratch just laying around.