Out and A-boot

One of the fun things about getting older is that muscles and bones start to ache randomly. Such as the peroneal tendon in my left foot. (Don't know what that is? Neither did I.)

As a result, I get to wear this lovely boot for the next few weeks, which makes me look as if I'm about to administer corporal punishment in some far-off country.

While I Was Sleeping

After dealing with a sore shoulder all summer long, and after having tried both physical therapy and a cortisone shot to remedy it, my doctor and I made the decision to proceed with surgery. I ended up having torn labrum cartilage, so it's a good thing we did.

My surgeon said it would be a relatively simple surgery.

Narrator: 'It was not simple."

On Tuesday, September 3, I went in to the surgical center to get prepped and wheeled into the operating room. The last thing I remember before passing out from the anesthetic was JB leaving the room to go out into the lobby to wait.

I awoke two or more hours later in what I assumed was the recovery room at the surgical center. Instead, I learned that I was in the emergency room at Lakeview Hospital. JB was there by my side. I asked how the surgery went, and she replied that it was successful. There was one complication, however. She said three words that have forever changed my life:

"Your heart stopped."

Well ... that was humbling news. I missed all of the fun when I was asleep, apparently. I also missed my first-ever ride in an ambulance, because I was snoozing for that, too. In JB's words in a text message she sent out to family members, here is what happened:

"Jon went into cardiac arrest (not a heart attack) during his surgery this afternoon. His heart stopped beating for less than a minute, and they were able to quickly revive him. He was brought to the ER at Lakeview, and they ran tests to be sure everything was OK. All of the tests have come back positive, but he is being kept overnight for observation. His oxygen levels are a bit low, so he might come home on oxygen if that doesn't improve. At this point, they still aren't sure what caused the cardiac arrest. The hospital doc thinks the sleep apnea contributed, but the anesthesiologist from his surgery was just here and said Jon's heart rate just dropped rapidly, and he thinks it was a result of the anesthesia. There will probably be more tests down the road."

Up till now, my closest brushes with death, I believe, were a number of frightening taxi cab rides I somehow survived in the sprawling metropolis of Lima, Peru. I believe I had a guardian angel (or angels) looking out for me then, when I was a missionary. I believe I had at least one looking out for me on the day of my surgery.

As JB wrote, the tests (including a heart ultrasound and chest X-rays) conducted at the hospital fortunately came out positive. I spent the night in the hospital (also a first for me) for observation, and, thankfully, my vitals and all other signs looked good enough that I could go home to rest and recover the next day. Both my surgeon and the anesthesiologist visited me and caught me up to speed on what happened. According to the surgeon, he was "99 percent" done with everything he wanted to do during the operation when the cardiac arrest occurred, so at least the original goal of the surgery was accomplished in the process.

And in the two weeks since then, well ... honestly, I'm still dealing with a few emotions. I'm in a little bit of shock and awe at it all. I rested at home for eight days until returning to work last week. The most (physically) painful part of my recovery wasn't my shoulder but instead has been a great deal of bruising around my sternum, oddly almost in the shape of an Iron Man Arc reactor triangle, where CPR was administered. It has  gotten much better since, and I've mostly resumed my usual day-to-day activities.

Through that time, the overwhelming emotion has been gratitude. I'm grateful to be here still. I'm grateful to the surgical staff, EMTs, doctors, and nurses who took such good care of me. I'm grateful my patient, caring wife was there by my side and that she'll always be there, no matter what trials or health problems may befall me or us in this mortal existence, as long as I live worthy of the covenants I have made and we have made together. I'm grateful for a loving family who visited and prayed for me and for JB and our little family. I'm grateful for good neighbors and ward members who minstered to and watched out for JB while I was in the hospital, who prayed for us, and who were over in our home the first few nights back to bring dinner and well-wishes with genuine concern and fellowship.

To my Heavenly Father, I'm grateful for the very gift of life itself. Having been given this realization of just how fragile life can be, I am trying to be more appreciative of some of the simple things I used to take for granted: sunsets, sunrises, waking up each morning, and especially a heart that beats throughout the day and night.

My perspective on several things has also changed. I make sure to say "I love you" to those closest to me with more frequency, and I also am trying to do and say things that will show it.

A day will come, hopefully decades from now, when my heart will stop beating again and won't start back up this time. I'm keenly aware of it now. Until that day comes, I hope to keep these important lessons in heart and mind and to make my life worth saving.

Danny the Chiropractor

Steve hurt his back recently and has been ailing. Fortunately, Danny walked all over it to help make things feel better in his own way.

I kinda love this photo of my two-year-old nephew and needed to put it on the blog.

Things That Go Bump in the Night

I was minding my own business under an orange-colored sky this past Friday night when flash, bam, alakazam, I got rear-ended in traffic while driving to improv.

Doesn't look so bad, you say? Fortunately, I (meaning, my car, Muggsy) was pretty lucky to have only a dented bumper and a broken taillight. As for me, meaning myself (injuries to me), I suffered some whiplash, and I have endured, not to be too cliché, a real pain in the neck for the last few days. So, it's off to the chiropractor for me tomorrow to have some work done, and then over to the paint and body shop to have some work done on Muggsy.

Another thing that was very fortunate was a cop was driving right behind the driver who ran into me, so he witnessed the whole thing and cited the other driver.

It was kinda nice to have a little fuss made about me, albeit for a few minutes. I was amazed at how quickly both paramedics (the police officer assured me it was important to have them come and check me out to make sure I didn't have a concussion or something else) and a fire truck arrived within just a few short minutes. The EMTs took my blood pressure and pulse, and everything checked out fine, so all emergency personnel were on their within just another few short minutes.

When all is said and done, I'm rather lucky and am counting my blessings that things weren't any worse than that.

Timing

"Time travels in divers paces with divers persons."
 -William Shakespeare

It's been nearly a year now (and I feel like the time is right to finally mention) since one of the members of the bishopric of the Island of Misfit Toys approached me after our Sunday meetings had concluded and asked if I had a few minutes to meet with him. This got my Paco senses tingling, to borrow a phrase, and I immediately began wondering what would be coming my way.

He proceeded to issue me a new calling in the ward, which I expected. What I didn't expect was the calling itself; it was one for which I would need to pray about the selection of a couple of counselors and a secretary. This, in fact, was my first time dealing with these circumstances since I was called as deacons quorum president a long time ago and in a galaxy far, far away. So to speak.

At the same time this conversation took place, however, I was also dealing with some health challenges that were causing me a great deal of physical and mental distress. I do not need to go over those details again, but suffice me to say that, for the first time in my life, I could give only a qualified yes as an answer. Both physically and mentally, I was utterly drained and was hanging by the end of my rope, yet I I told him would accept the calling and desired with all of my heart to do a good job at it.

President J. Reuben Clark counseled: "In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, one takes the place to which one is duly called, which place one neither seeks nor declines."

I thought over the matter for several days, and some names came to mind. For the aforementioned reasons, though, it was an agonizing series of days that stretched into a week, and then two and three. This bishopric counselor regularly checked in with me over that time period, not pressuring me nor demanding an answer but following up with me with patience.

Ultimately, I reached a point at which the issues I faced my anxiety and its accompanying side effects outweighed the struggle of the physical problem both my doctor and a second opinion were unable to diagnose. I reached a point at which I could not sleep well nor could I eat much if anything, and when I awoke in the mornings, I was filled with dread.

While I was at a family function, this bishopric member called me up on my cell phone, and I went outside to talk with him. I knew that the time had come to make a decision.

"I don't think I can do it," I told him. Inside, I was in shambles. I had reached the end of my rope and fallen off of it, to boot. "I have never said no to a calling. But I just can't do this right now."

With all of the love of a shepherd for his flock, this wise man, I believe, responded perfectly. He assured me that I had no reason to worry nor to feel guilty about it, that he and the bishopric knew of my struggles and were praying for me by name, and he also responded with wisely chosen words that have stayed with me since: "You didn't turn anything down. The calling was always right. It just wasn't the right time."

Over the next several days, one of my doctors, in what I believe was a direct answer to prayer, sent me to the hospital for a test that diagnosed my problem, and within a few days, my physical symptoms abated as my anxiety dissipated. Life got back to "normal," or at least the sense of normal I had at the time. With immense gratitude, I thanked the Lord for guiding me out of the darkness.

In the coming weeks, I watched in sacrament meeting as another was sustained to the calling I had initially been given, and I raised my hand in support of him and the new presidency. And I meant it. Through it all, I actually retained the elders quorum instructor calling, which I have now held for nearly three years (first given to me when the ward was in its infancy). It has been a tremendous blessing and has given me an opportunity to serve. If the lesson is not lost on me, hopefully it has also given me empathy to understand better the burdens others carry.

My point in sharing this experience is twofold. First, I testify from personal experience that issues with anxiety and/or depression, which can reach a point where they feel out of our control, do get better. Secondly, my experience taught me that the time is not always right for some things, even though our desires are righteous or we give our full effort.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell taught: "Since the Lord wants a people 'tried in all things' (D&C 136:31), how specifically will we be tried? He tells us, I will try the faith and the patience of my people (see Mosiah 23:21). Since faith in the timing of the Lord may be tried, let us learn to say not only, 'Thy will be done,' but patiently also, 'Thy timing be done.'"

The issues for which timing plays a part are myriad, be they work opportunities, health challenges, any number of crises of faith, and even (dare I say it?) dating. Believe you me, those of us who inhabit the Island of Misfit Toys, which by rule consists of single adults age 31 and older, know the struggle as well as anybody.

Sometimes, the answer is even that the timing is right now and things should happen as speedily as possible. I believe this is the case when spiritual promptings are given; often, the urging is to do that very thing right away, or it will be too late.

D&C 111:11 reads: "I will order all things for your good, as fast as ye are able to receive them" (emphasis added).

I heard these words clearly in my mind one night years ago when a sister I home taught in the YSA ward approached me for a blessing. At the time, she was sought for confirmation and peace of mind as she moved ahead with a romantic relationship. I know those words did not come from me. In the weeks that followed, I was amazed at just how quickly things moved forward for her.

In summation, just because things haven't happened yet doesn't mean that the Lord doesn't have great blessings in store. His timing is known to Him only. But I believe a day will come when we will look back on our lives and we will see the pattern of things that unfolded and, in it, His infinite wisdom and His endless love.

Another Birthday and Matters of the Heart

It's actually my niece's birthday today, though more will be coming about her soon, as a landmark event is taking place in her life in the next few days, and we have yet to make our annual birthday excursion together. Assuming she's not too busy . . . unlike some people.

Ahem! I share a birthday week with my niece, and due to circumstances I was unable to prevent, I turned another year older Monday.

I think age 11 or 12 was approximately the last time I fully expected people to make a big deal about my birthday, or at least it should have been. Still, it's wonderful to see people still try to make a fuss, each in their own way.

My caring, faithful Aunt Marilyn, for example, has never missed a single birthday . . . ever. Not even while I was overseas in Peru as a missionary. A letter, birthday card, and some money arrived over the weekend:

. . . and, as was requested, I purchased some ice cream with it:

It's really great to have people send you ice cream money during everything's-pumpkin-flavored season. I do not say sarcastically that this is perhaps one of the Lord's thousands, possibly tens of thousands, of little tender mercies that perhaps I do not always pay attention to, happening all around me daily.

I began the Big Day Itself Monday by conversing with Mom, who had suffered through a terrible weekend of sleeplessness, shortness of breath, and overall exhaustion. Though she had a doctor's appointment scheduled that afternoon, she looked even worse Monday. Her lips had turned blue, and she said, "I feel like I'm having a heart attack."

Off we went to the ER, where it was determined that she was suffering from congestive heart failure. No wonder she couldn't sleep for the past few weeks. The biggest, strongest heart I've ever known was in serious trouble.

With respect to her privacy, I won't go into any more details at this time, except to say that we've been worried, we've prayed, and we've tried to comfort those who stand in need of comfort. We're in the middle of that struggle as I type these words. We don't know exactly what's going to happen at this point, though we are grateful for the dedicated medical personnel seeing to her every need.

Yet during the week, I've also seen my family rally around the cause, sacrificing and giving of themselves freely to help out where help has been needed. I've seen neighbors come over with dinner, which may be one of the most cliché things about Mormon culture, yet it amounts to manna from heaven at times like these.

During general conference over the weekend, President Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught:

"Life is filled with detours and dead ends, trials and challenges of every kind. Each of us has likely had times when distress, anguish, and despair almost consumed us. Yet we are here to have joy? . . ."

"Just as the Savior offers peace that 'passeth all understanding,' He also offers an intensity, depth, and breadth of joy that defy human logic or mortal comprehension. . . . His joy is constant, assuring us that our 'afflictions shall be but a small moment' and be consecrated to our gain."

And so, my Big Day was not really about me (nor did it have to be), but yet in a way it was; for I was surrounded all day by the people I cherish most, and whom love me most. I heard from literally hundreds of friends through social media, texts, e-mails, and phone calls.

Though as a family we lamented the circumstances that brought us together, we had each other, and through the Lord's promises, we will have each other for a long, long time, come heck or high water. And that was and is enough. To me, it is the most important of all of His tender mercies.

Trials or Consequences

Moral agency was the theme of the messages delivered yesterday on the Island of Misfit Toys.

Incidentally, our speakers did a great job. It's a topic I often ponder about, because the gospel teaches two immutable truths: Moral agency brings with it both blessings for choosing the right and consequences for choosing poorly. And I think sometimes people mistake trials when they are actually consequences.

An example from natural law recently reemphasized the notion of consequences for me: If you drop something heavy on your foot, it will hurt a great deal.

I learned this the hard way a few weeks ago, when I accidentally knocked my laptop over onto my right foot. Fortunately, nothing was broken, though X-rays revealed a "deep bone bruise," and I had to wear the boot (pictured) for a couple of weeks, as well as deal with a great deal of pain and swelling.

Do not mess with gravity. You will lose.

When it comes to spiritual laws and consequences, I see a lot of misery around me generated from one key misunderstanding: That we can choose whatever we want and to act however we wish without suffering the consequences that will result of those choices. It is one of Satan's favorite lies, and he is having a lot of success in blinding minds with it in our day and age. Certainly, I, too, have fallen victim to this false ideology when I've made poor choices and then suffered the consequences that followed. Sooner or later, they always come.

Trials, on the other hand, often come as a result of things out of our control, such as a number of health issues, some financial problems, natural disasters, etc., or they can come from the poor choices made by other people.

I had a talk about this same matter with a very wise member of my bishopric, and he pointed out that, sometimes, our consequences, in turn, become our trials.

Point taken.

"Control what you can control" is an idea that has been running through my mind over the past several months. As long as I do that, or try to do that as often as I can, I can avoid a number of unpleasant consequences.

With my penchant for clutzyness, though, I can make no guarantees.

Nevertheless, as Elder Dale G. Renlund taught in the April 2015 general conference, quoting Nelson Mandela:

"A saint is a sinner who keeps on trying."

Nose Jobs, the Universe, and Everything

Three months ago today, I went under the knife for a nose job.

No, really. It's true. My particular procedure is called a septoplasty, aka the fixing of a deviated septum. This is when your nasal passages are crooked, not letting air pass through the right way. It was a problem I'd known about for years, and it had finally reached a point, with constant sinus pressure and pain, that multiple ENTs (ear, nose, and throat doctors) recommended the surgery. In addition, I had a turbinate reduction, in which my turbinates were reduced (as far as I know) to improve my ability to breathe.

Which, it turns out, is a really important part of staying alive.

The surgery was a successful one. I left the hospital woozy, nauseated, and generally bewildered, doing things that I never, ever do, like taking selfies:

I was sent home with a roll of gauze like you see in the photo and had to change my gauze "mustache" every 45 minutes to an hour, because my nose kept bleeding throughout the day and kept saturating the gauze, giving me red mustaches.

Good times, huh?

To make a long story even longer, recuperation went about like I was told it would be. In some ways. I had a few sleepless nights. I ate only a little bit and only soft foods for a week, losing 14 pounds total that week. I missed about about six days of work. But after a couple of weeks of a stuffy nose, I started to realize that I was actually, truly breathing better and that the surgery had done me a lot of good.

In other ways, recuperation was nothing like I could have possibly imagined. My throat was sore for weeks due to the tube that had been inserted for surgery, as I was told might happen, except it continued for additional weeks, which became months. As one prone to depression and anxiety, those issues were affected to a great deal. My brother graciously answered the phone and drove me to the E.R. at 3 a.m. and stayed there with me till 5 a.m. on one troublesome night. Another brother drove me to a different ENT for an emergency visit to have my nose splints removed a day earlier than planned when I learned my surgeon was out of town and couldn't do it right then. In fact, multiple family members stepped up and either let me vent what I was going through or sat with me to give me moral support or priesthood blessings. My sleeping habits were interrupted for a number of weeks, and other issues, such as work, improv, social life, etc., were thrown topsy-turvy for a time. Until tonight, I have also not posted an actual blog post (other than photos of family goings-on and whatnot) for nearly three months for these same reasons.

Without boring you with any of the other sordid details, I had a tough time. A much tougher time than I expected. It really put me through the ringer in ways I never imagined. This is not to dissuade anyone out there contemplating going through a septoplasty procedure for yourself, because it has done a lot of good for my sinuses and my breathing, as I was told it would, and most people who undergo this surgery do not go through the same complications I have faced. I also don't pretend that my difficult few months are or were any more difficult than anyone else's challenges or trials over the same period of time, only that they were quite difficult for me.

Upon my fifth or sixth follow-up visit to my surgeon, he commented: "I've never seen any of my patients go through this before" (reassuring, huh?). He also said, "You've really been through it these few months, haven't you?" After these six (or seven?) visits, consulting with and getting a second opinion from another ENT, as well, the good news is that we finally (knock on wood!) seem to have nailed the problem, and I've been feeling much better lately.

I don't know if the feeling will continue, but I am optimistic it will. All told, I am figuring out this mortal life thing one day at a time, just like the rest of you. I read something the other day in which an LDS general authority (I forget which one) compared life to an ocean wave; that it has highs and lows, and the hard times (the "lows") eventually pass.

A life lesson I've been reminded of multiple times these past several weeks has been that everyone is going through something tough. Often, these challenges are unseen or unspoken. The tough times test us to the very core. They test us physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and in every other way, shape, and form. And yet, how very reassuring it is that the Savior descended below all and knows how we feel and can comfort and guide us through His Holy Spirit. If these lessons are not lost on us, we gain empathy and sympathy for those around us carrying heavy burdens and pick up some glimpse into what He feels for us as the Savior of all.

I've "ponderized" and have written down several impressions that have occurred to me over the last little while, and I hope to give this blogging thing another try and may just share a few of these ideas with you. I also plan to be a bit more open in the future on my struggles with both depression/anxiety/OCD (they're all interrelated in one big ball of goo), as well as chronic pain, in the hopes that it will both give me an outlet for these issues and also give hope to others who may be going through similar challenges. Stay tuned.

As Tom Hanks's character says in Cast Away, "Tomorrow, the sun will rise, and who knows what the tide will bring?"

I pray I may never take another sunrise for granted. Each and every one is a wonderful blessing, come rain or shine.

Atrophy and the Heart

Years ago, I suffered one of the worst injuries of my life: tearing one of my pectoral muscles. Unless you're unusually or morbidly curious about what that feels like and want to try it out, please take my word for it: It is not something you want to experience for yourself. Ever.

In sports, tearing your pectoral muscle is considered to be a "season-ending injury." It was a long and a painful rehabilitation, just as it would be for any athlete, taking several months before I felt close to "normal" again or before I could resume some of the activities I had previously enjoyed taking part in, such as sports or dancing.

Never having experienced anything like this before, I wasn't entirely sure how to proceed with my day-to-day life in the meantime. Since my right muscle had been injured, I ended up doing a lot of simple tasks by using my left hand, arm, and shoulder only. Often, these were rather basic daily tasks like holding onto the steering wheel of my car and shifting gears or picking up dishes in the kitchen.

After going on like this for some time, both my orthopedic doctor and a friend who was studying medicine talked to me about a word I had heard but had not understood the meaning of before: atrophy.

Atrophy, they told me, means that a muscle will weaken and will become harder to rehabilitate the longer it goes unused. Sooner or later, I would have to use it again and exercise, no matter how scary this prospect was nor how much pain I was in. Otherwise, I would either make the healing process even more difficult, or I would lose the use of it altogether.

Physical therapy was hard work. Anyone who has had to go through it for any injury knows exactly what I am talking about. At first, it felt strange to perform exercises with a muscle I hadn't used for anything other than combing my hair or shaving for months. I can't do this, I thought more than once. It hurts way too much. It was, indeed, painful, albeit a new kind of painful, and a different kind of painful than my injury had been.

The more I went to physical therapy, however, and the more I completed all of my therapist's instructions, I got better. It was painful, as I mentioned, and it took a great deal of effort on my part. It also took time and required a great deal of patience. It was subtle, but it happened. Eventually, I could do the things I once had enjoyed doing before my injury.

Now, I move on to where I'm going with this with an analogy. I think that the heart, the body's strongest muscle, can atrophy, as well. And not being a cardiologist, I can speak only figuratively. But many of the same principles apply.

In matters of dating, the heart, too, can be injured. Sometimes, the injury hurts way more than we ever imagined it possibly could. We wonder what we could have possibly done to feel the amount of pain that we feel, and we even stop using it altogether. Not only that, but, whether by choice or inadvertently, we numb ourselves to anyone or anything that could make us even begin to feel those emotions again.

The longer we go on this way, the harder it is to heal. Some even close themselves off to that mere possibility completely. I once dated a girl whose particular heart injury was grieving over the death of someone in her immediate family. Now don't get me wrong; I'm not saying in any way that she wasn't right to feel this way nor is it important to grieve and to deal with loss, and I understand that everyone heals in their own way. But this wound, years in the past, had completely consumed her past as well as her present and future. When this family member was buried, her heart was buried in the ground along with it. To the best of my knowledge, it is still there.

I hope and pray that she will, someday, open her heart again to loving another human being as she had loved this family member. I really do. I could not be the person to reawaken that desire in her. But as I wrote about my aforementioned injury, opening up the heart again, a little at a time, is the only way for healing to take place.

Consider Miss Havisham, she of Charles Dickens's book Great Expectations. Jilted on her wedding day as a young bride, her entire life figuratively ended on that day, too, as she became a recluse and a shut-in and a despiser of all men and mankind. In the end, it destroyed her—both spiritually as well as physically. I was reminded of her sad story when I recently watched a recent BBC adaptation of the tale. Hopefully, it is a lesson to us all about the negative consequences of harboring ill will, anger, spite, and remorse.

I don't pretend to be an expert on this subject nor to possess any special insight. I know only my own experience, thoughts, and intentions. Likewise, I can't judge anyone else, and I don't know their experiences, thoughts, and intentions; I can only share what I have observed and, consequently, how those things have made me feel or how impacted me personally.

Very recently, my heart was again injured deeply. So was hers. When I met and began dating this person, the thought occurred to me: This is either going to be wonderful, or it's going to hurt like the Dickens. (No pun intended.)

Both possibilities occurred. For a time, it was wonderful. Right now, though, it hurts a lot. People aren't perfect, and I have made my mistakes. I have challenges I still need to overcome, although some, particularly physical challenges, I have no control over, and the only thing that remains in my power of agency is to deal with them the only way I know how—one difficult day at a time.

Rather than pointing fingers or casting blame, however, I choose to take a moment, albeit a brief one, to grieve—and then I will move on. My prayers will be only to let in forgiveness and healing, in all of their forms. I will take the positive things I have learned from this person, my mistakes and the lessons I have learned from them, and I will use them to make myself a better person, too. I will keep my eyes, my ears, and, above all, my heart open to the possibility of good things and of good people to come. Were I to keep them closed, I could miss out on something good. And that would be a tragedy easily preventable.

It's the only way to heal.