The Age of Miracles

My father had a heart attack on Sunday.

There was a time in my life when a heart attack or a diagnosis of cancer was the same as a death sentence.

But, in my lifetime, I have seen so many conditions that conventional wisdom once regarded as terminal reduced to survivable by the march of medical science.

My father is a prime example of that.

He had his heart attack on Sunday. On Tuesday, he had bypass surgery, after which he was taken to intensive care, which is SOP. Tonight, he is in his room — apparently, he's been sleeping all day — and his doctor has said he could be released and sent home as soon as Saturday.

It really wasn't so long ago that even if a person had what was considered a mild heart attack, he or she could expect to spend weeks in the hospital before being allowed to go home.

The thought that my father could be home a week to the day after his heart attack astonishes me. For that matter, it astonished me when I listened to Dad's surgeon talking to him about his upcoming bypass surgery on Monday night. He was so nonchalant about it — as if he was talking about taking out Dad's tonsils.

It is truly a miraculous time in which we live.

When I was a child, I used to watch The Jetsons on Saturday mornings. There was a time when it was probably my very favorite cartoon, the one I absolutely would never miss, and much of the attraction, I suppose, was the glimpse into the future that it supposedly offered.

We haven't achieved most of the things The Jetsons told us were in our future. There are no flying cars yet, and the household appliances I saw on The Jetsons still are far more impressive than anything in the 21st century — so far.

I don't recall if The Jetsons ever mentioned medical advances, but it's hard to imagine their world being more advanced than our own. (In fact, I believe the show was set in the year 2062.)

For that matter, I have heard of miracles in biblical times all my life. If they happened, though, it was way before my time.

But I have borne witness to all the medical miracles of our time.

And I have a lot of gratitude for that right now.

A Simple Twist of Fate

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Randy (right) and me standing in front of
a beer garden in St. Louis in 1987.

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Lately, it seems, this blog has been more devoted to personal matters than I would prefer, but I guess it's part of my nature to write about things when they happen. And I am reminded these days of how much is beyond my control.

This is my default position, I suppose.

Anyway, I received word that my best friend since high school, Randy, is in the hospital. He had a heart attack.

His ex–wife tells me his condition is stable, and the doctors haven't decided on his treatment yet.

It is a time of great awareness for me, I guess. The economy has already made me aware — along with millions of others — of my vulnerability. So many of life's events, most of which seemed, for so long, to be the domain of people in my parents' generation, have become part of my life and the lives of the people with whom I grew up.

People in my age group have been married, had kids, been divorced, lost parents. Some have lost siblings. Some have lost children.

And now, although I tend to associate heart attacks with people who are much older than Randy and I, my best friend has had one. Proof, perhaps, that anything can happen to anyone at any time, and preconceived notions mean little — if anything.

My thoughts keep returning to the days when Randy and I were in high school, working on a college campus maintenance crew in the summers. We've had many laughs together over the years, reminiscing about some of the things we had to do when we were 16 and 17. There were many things that we did for $2/hour in those days that we wouldn't dream of doing today, we assured each other — and, if we were coerced into doing those things now, we certainly would not do them for $2/hour!

In those days, our work shifts began at 7 a.m. I had access to a car, so I picked Randy up around 6:50, and we would drive to work. After work, Randy and I would go to his house or to mine. We would listen to the popular music of the day, and we would talk about the kinds of things that teenagers talk about — girls and cars, mostly.

Randy used to accompany me on my weekly visits to an elderly friend of mine, Aunt Bess, of whom I wrote last fall on the 20th anniversary of her death. She always got a kick out of us — two young men about to embark on an uncertain journey into adulthood.

In hindsight, I guess we were like most kids. We didn't think much about the future. We were focused on the here and now. That, I guess, is the great thing about being a teenager. It's all in front of you. You can still be anything.

But, when you get older, you become things — spouse, parent, employee. Choices are fewer. Responsibilities are greater. So are the pressures.

I hope this heart attack will not be debilitating, that it can serve as a second chance for Randy. I hope it inspires him to make wise choices. A couple of decades ago, Randy and his wife made me the godfather to their daughter. She now has a child of her own. I hope he will live to dance at his grandson's wedding — and, if his grandson follows the family tradition, Randy will still be in his 60s when that day comes.

Perhaps adjustments in Randy's lifestyle will make the difference. I don't know. But I hope so.

I still feel too young to lose my best friend.