Storage and Simplification - Marfan Medicine Drawer

Ugh.  More stuff.

Marfan Syndrome and Simplification

If you have been following my 'Project 100' you know I have been trying to simplify.  I want to pare down the number of things I own.  Over the past how ever many years or so the accumulation bug has happily lived and flourished in my body, embedded under my skull.  I suppose it got into my brain through the ear canal, listening to all those TV and radio commercials telling me 'I just had to have'!

Uh-oh.  Just like with the Marfan Syndrome challenge, the hoarding of stuff comes back with a vengeance when it appears progress is being made.

So I thought I was doing good.  The garage had been cleaned.  That was about another 100,000 things told to go their own way; nuts, bolts, nails and other junkets that predictabily ended up in a couple of my neighbor's sheds.

I used to love to go through trash piles heaped up beside the road down our neighborhood street.  The thrill of discovering a shower head that could be possibly repaired or an old turn table with potential was always more than I could bear.  One day when the kids were small we were all walking around the neighborhood and I spied a fabulously gigantic pile of 'stuff' someone who was simplifying (they had it figured out long before I did) had tossed out by the road for the garbage people to pick up.  After grabbing a couple of plastic five gallon pails I noticed one of the kids fleeing across the street and jumping into the roadside ditch.  Apparently some of her friends were playing outside a few yards down from us.  I do not understand tweens' fear of their friends laughing at them for dragging home perfectly good reusables.

And I still wonder if the trash people fill the area behind the truck cab's seats with goodies salvaged from their daily pick ups.  Bet their houses are decked out like none others.

Back to the topic at hand - the bathroom medicine drawers.

My stay on topic attention capability has suffered greatly since the open heart surgeries.  I know I've already written about this many times.  But people forget!  Just the other day I was over at someone's house who knows me very well and she was telling me something.  If there are more than ten or twelve words in a sentence I get lost and stop following whatever the person is rambling on about.  I mean I can not keep up and by the time they are saying word number twenty my brain is just processing word number four.

It really gets bad when the first twenty or twenty five word sentence quickly turns into two or three or more twenty five word sentences.  Grrrrrr!  I want to slap them or tell them to put s-p-a-c-e-s  b-e-t-w-e-e-n their words.  I am dealing with a serious cognitive pathway traffic jam and people just don't get it!  Honk! Honk! Honkkkkkkkkkk!

Mostly my response so far to date has just been a smile.  But this time I interrupted her and it felt good!  It felt really good to just blurt out, 'I can't understand what you are saying!'

She was immediately taken aback and frowned and shook her head from side to side in disbelief.

'I don't get it!  I did not understand anything of what you were saying,' I repeated myself just to hear the words once more.

She sighed, speechless.

I smiled.  I felt like I'd won the lottery or a national election or the Nobel Peace Prize even.

Alas, off track again.  Back to the bathroom medicine drawers.  When I emptied two small drawers in the bathroom today my estimated count of 'stuff' I owned easily doubled.  It was hard enough trying to understand the jumble of words the other day.  But the bathroom drawer jumble of pill holders, tubes, plastic this and thats, and all the other 'stuff' shocked me.  My Project 100 had just encountered another setback.  Just like those mornings when I know I've got Marfan whipped and I roll off my floor sleeping mat to stand up and my ankle or knee or back decides to side with the Marfan for some obnoxious reason, the clutter of bathroom drawer stuff totally and cruelly short circuited my brain.

What was I going to do with all that stuff?  How did I fit that much stuff in those small drawers?

Ended up I threw most of it away and put everything else in a cotton bag that is now hanging on my side of the closet.

Now we have two cleaned out drawers, a home for more 'stuff'.

What did I learn from this?  Not much that I can remember now.

Perhaps dementia's curse is compounded by being a slave to stuff that will end up in the landfill.

But every time I get rid of something else I feel a little bit more free.

And I really like freedom from complexity and from long sentences without spaces between the words.

This morning, just outside the window I sleep under, a bird was singing a most beautiful, sweet and melodious song.  The sun was coming up and warm golden colors had started to blanket the saw palmetto fronds out back.  A cool, refreshing breeze softly wrapped around my face as I sat up and leaned against the windowsill.  The first deep breath, really deep breath and slow exhale never felt so good.

I couldn't fit any of those things in the bathroom drawers.  Nor in my cotton bag.

My Distal Aortic Dissection, NIH Treatment Discussion

I added a photo of my existing dissected distal aorta to the upper right hand corner of my Marfan blog here, to remind me everyday is an important day in the battle against hypertension.

My dissected distal aorta - existing unrepaired

If you look closely at the above photo you will see two ovals in the center of the echocardiography.  There should only be one oval.

The top oval is the false lumen, or dead end ripped out channel.  The bottom oval is the true lumen or open channel in the aorta.

The line between the two channels is the intima tear - of inner lining of my aorta, ripped out from the aorta wall and 'floating' in the middle of the aorta.  This phenomena is know as a 'dissected aorta'.

The vessel walls are much weaker than a normal, non-torn aorta and are subject to rupture or aneurysm.  As stated in the article published in the U.S. National Library of Medicine's National Institutes of Health, aggressive hypertension treatment is about the only non-surgical treatment option for this condition.

Surgical replacement of the distal aorta is highly risky.  Stents are not accepted as a treatment option at this time.  My cardiologist says 'we don't want to open a can of worms', and one of my Facebook Marfan Syndrome friends recently did not make it through her descending dissection repair in Denver this last month.

I am placing this photo here to remind me of not stressing, of remaining calm, not worrying, not picking up anything over two or so pounds as my doctor recommends.

Our body is amazing.  And it continues to function sometimes even when the 'experts' shake their head and wonder how.

Living with a Dissected Aorta, Good and Bad News, Depression and Hope.

I am so confused and can't figure much of this Marfan challenge out.

Some days I could care less about my dissected aorta.  Usually on those days the sun is shining and I go for a bike ride, keeping my physical exertion to a minimum but distracting my mind from the torn vessel from inside my chest.

Other days, like today are rainy and generally blah.

Yes, this is all perspective, I remind myself.  I could have been born in a much poorer place of the world and be dead now because of a lack of access to hospitals.  I could have been born during the Inquisition period too, or any other horrid point in history.  Instead I am here today with hot water, electricity, Facebook and grocery store food.  So I should be thankful instead of gloomy.

But I am gloomy.  And it didn't help that I awoke this morning to an article in my email inbox about the FDA approving Medtronic's thoracic stent graft system for people like me living with a dissected descending aorta.

Ugh.  The article starts out in the first couple sentences stating, "Expand Treatment Options for Patients with Dangerous Tears in Upper Segment of Body's Main Aorta".  Hey, my tear goes all the way to my feet so is that dangerous times three for me? Ugh again.

Then the article talks about my condition as a "serious cardiovascular condition associated with high morbidity and mortality in which the upper segment  of the body's main artery has become torn along the innermost layer of the vessel wall."

Using the words, 'morbidity' and 'mortality' is such an endearing writing strategy for those of us living with dissections.

I am so glad the medical profession is working to find solutions.  Without such I'd be dead now of a ruptured ascending aorta.  And I am not wanting to live like an ostrich with my head stuck underground so I won't see or hear (or read) the 'fear' out there.

Yes too I am so thankful for all the blessings in my life.

But chronic pain is real and so is fear of dying way too early in life from a dissected aorta.

I know I am not alone in this struggle.

Hopefully by writing these brief words, someone else out there suffering in a similar fashion will too know they are not alone.

O.K., now that I have had my pity party I will finish reading the article.  Maybe it ends in a note of hope.

Living in the Moment, Family Life and Aortic Dissection

Life is predictably arbitrary.

Dolphin swimming with the current, Mantanzas River

Just when we think we've have mastered our existing set of challenges, other issues capriciously appear out of nowhere, either 'upsetting the apple-cart' or broadening our wisdom, depending on how we want to view these unexpected chapters of our lives.

Yesterday four kids and a dolphin swimmingly through the Mantanzas River's swift currents taught me more about life.

Most days it is all I can do to ponder how I am going to make it through another day with this Marfan Syndrome painted body.  Will my damaged aorta hold out another moon's orbit?    It is so easy for me to become totally absorbed in my own personal health drama.

Don't get me wrong!  Each heartbeat is a gift for me and I know I must be very careful with everything I do from lifting anything over a couple pounds to coping with low pressure weather systems that wreck havoc on my bionic heart parts.

But it is easy to think; me, me, me; my problems.

Compound that with my wife Judy's serious and chronic health issues and I quickly think I am in 'cope ability' overload.

This past month Judy's second eldest daughter suffered a brain hemorrhage, a very serious aneurysm leaving her almost blind.  She is a single mother of two high powered teenagers.  But then again, most all teenagers are 'high powered'.

Judy spent the entire last month sleeping in a hospital room chair, by her daughter's side, every night guiding her through immense periods of pain, helping her daughter navigate the unknown of cerebral bleeding.

I spent the month tending to our two teens, cooking, cleaning, and all the things two parents normally do.

I always say, "my doctor tells me my number one job is to stay alive".  I love this mantra because it allows me to hide inside myself; a place I am familiar with, a place I mostly control and a place where I can placate my self absorbedness.

"It's difficult!" I would proudly and without humility tell those who ask how Judy and I are holding up as we extended ourselves out past our comfort zone.  I loved the attention and I was truly looking forward to her finally coming back to our home once the doctors had stabilized her daughter's bleeding and rehabilitation had begun.

Our two teens are tough enough for two relatively healthy parents to properly raise.  But parenting them all by myself for a short time was taking its toll and I was ready for my wife to come back home from out of town.

Judy's daughter is now recuperating and working with rehabilitation.  Her vision has been seriously impacted, however we are so glad she is alive.  She has a very long road ahead of her with respect to being able to take care of herself again.

Her two teens coming to live with Judy and I, their 'Nana' and 'Papa K', is the best solution until their mom's healing is complete.  Now we have four teens, two teens of our own and two grandchildren teens.

Just the physical logistics of this family integration seemed complicated and overwhelming at first.  But in fact it was a blessing.

Yes the laundry requirements have jumped, as did the amount of food to prepare and the energy output on our part as parents.

But I am learning so much about life from all four teens and also from the dolphin we saw yesterday while out on a picnic down by the beach.

Yes, there are strong currents.  The waters in Mantanzas Inlet are swift.  But if you learn not to fight them, you can go so many new places.  So it is with the many unexpected challenges we face from time to time.

There may be lots more work but there is also lots more laughter, smiles and insights and understanding about our human spirits, like when Dylan ran up to Judy the other day and gave her a really big joyful hug.   Perhaps at the end of the day that is all life is really about.

Yesterday, taking the four teens to Mantanzas National Monument we rode the ferry boat across the river to the fort.  Dolphins swam playfully alongside the craft.  In the middle of the swift flowing potentially treacherous waters, one dolphin rolled up across a wave's crest and loudly pulled in a deep breath.  Our two grandchildren exclaimed loudly pointing, smiling, exclaiming, exuding a sense of wonder and amazement for life in the midst of their deep fear and concern for their mother.

Mantanzas River, Kayaker and Dolphin

Breathing deeply, swimming with the currents, laughing, hugging and living in the moment despite whatever comes our way sure beats that depressing mantra "your number one job is to stay alive".

I think it is time for me to adapt a new mantra.  I am not sure how to word it yet but the thoughts of 'love', 'hope', 'swimming with the currents' and 'living and breathing in the moment' will be what it is based upon.

Maybe my number one job is to breathe deeply, live in the moment and show love and be loved, despite whatever swift currents may drag and pull.  I'll swim with the flow.

Marfan Syndrome Parenting of Teens, My Fears

Being a Marfan parent is hard not only because of the day to day pain of connective tissue problems but also because of the emotional and physical intensity required to mitigate fear of an untimely dissection or other serious health issue in affected children.

Surfer swim-out tribute to Tommy Tant - Marfan Syndrome

I know I am not supposed to worry, but as someone who has a Type A personality I not only worry about my existing dissection, I also worry about what could go wrong in my children's already compromised arterial systems.

My mom underwent aortic valve replacement and has a Dacron ascending aorta.  She had her replacement one month after mine, though unlike mine her procedure was planned.

Over the past two years since both of our surgeries I have talked to her and dad almost every afternoon on the phone.  When I worried about what a loud racket my valve was making, she could relate.  When she fought vertigo, I knew my dizzy spells were not unique to me.  I found much needed inspiration and hope in watching her slow but steady progress with recovery.   She reminds me to check my INR regularly, tells me to avoid grapefruit and checks on new food I mention with respect to blood clotting interactions.

Those days when my St. Jude valve is clicking louder than ever and I worry about it blowing out of my chest, hearing her tell me she is experiencing the same loud aortic noises works better than any medication at calming my fears.

So I want to be the same bastion of security for my children. I don't want them to feel alone in this fight for life against connective tissue health issues.  But learning to be a wise Marfan parent has not been easy for me.

Judy and I do make sure the teens have annual aortic echocardiograms and other health checkups.  The teens are also involved in local community events raising awareness of Marfan Syndrome and aortic dissection and aneurysm issues.  As with any potentially life threatening challenge, awareness has its upside but also can lead to worry in youth.  Finding the right balance with the teens is hard on them and also very hard on us.

There are those who knew of Marfan issues before they had children and decided against raising kids and there are those who made the decision to go ahead and raise children regardless.  I found out about Marfan after Judy and I already had a boy and girl challenged with connective tissue issues.  So now we must make the best of what is and what we are dealt with.  And as most any proud parent would be, I am so very thankful for the our two wonderful teenagers, regardless of Marfan challenges we now face.

But there is a delicate balancing act we must participate in, one with life and death implications.

The awareness activities we encourage our teens to participate in do help them realize the importance of understanding and proper routine medical vigilance.  All this focus on what could happen also sometimes promotes certain fears in both them and in us as parents.

However dealing with fear but having children who are alive is so much better than not knowing about connective tissue issues and loosing a child to a dissection or aneurysm.  My heart cries out for all the parents who have lost children this way.

This past November our teens worked in the Marfan Foundation booth at the Tommy Tant Classic, a national surfing event sponsored to raise awareness of Marfan and aortic dissection.  Tommy Tant died in his sleep at the age of 24 from an aortic aneurysm.  Tommy's mother, Mrs. Tant and his brother Will, and others sponsoring the event have made a huge, positive and important impact on both Ruairi and Jincy, our teens.

The entire event is really a celebration of life and one of the most moving, emotional moments of the event occurs when all the surfers, professional and amateur alike paddle out past the breakers and form a circle in the ocean.

I have been there, done that with the dissection thing and know that even though my descending aorta is still ripped deep down into my kidneys and legs, I am living another day.  However to Ruairi and Jincy the awareness of what could happen has created unnerving uncertainty.

They now come to me periodically, but on a regular enough basis, holding their chest and telling me they hurt.  Yes both are strongly self-contained however try as they may they cannot hide the fear in their eyes.  This always scares me.

"OK", I say.  "Where does it hurt?  Tell me more about how you feel."   I am not a doctor but I am a dissection survivor.  I remember in detail how the tear felt.

Even though I feel I've developed a personal sense of what is cardiovascular related and what is not, I take each complaint of chest pain very, very seriously.  But I do not take them to the emergency room each time these chest pain incidents occur.

Having to make health decisions that the life or death of their children could potentially pivot upon is not easy for a parent.  In fact, it is not something I signed up for.  However it is something now I will without hesitation take on.

I wish on no one the path I went down during my dissection and subsequent heart infection.  I hate the thought that my kids may have to walk the surgery path that my mom and I have both walked.

This Marfan journey has been surreal to say the least and for those of you who have read previous posts here on this blog know of my 'encounters' with this surreal. From guardian angels and near death out of body experience to stunningly vivid, colorful and wildly animated dreams, my life is filled with events I constantly question with respect to levels of reality.

Regardless of just how real some of what I see, hear or perceive is, my world view and my love for the two teens here are inextricably woven together.

Like this morning, when I woke early and wanted to write, first thing I did was clean the grounds out the glass coffee press.  So I carried the carafe out the front door at four A.M. to empty those grounds around the rosemary bushes.  To the left of the herbs there was a little wren holding on to the screen outside Jincy's window, singing a soft,  beautiful song.  I froze. The wren kept singing.  I walked closer and the wren didn't fly away; it kept singing and singing.   The pretty little bird sang for me for until I walked back into the house.  I turned and walked back out to see if the bird was still there.  It was, and singing even louder.

I turned and went back inside.  Shivering from the early morning chill I headed straight for Jin's room.  I know she thinks I am an overly cautious parent because I am always checking on her and her brother while they sleep but I could not see the rise and fall of her chest so I reached and turned on the hall light.  The glare prompted a wince from her sleepy eyes and an "I'm O.K., Dad" half whisper.

I sighed heavily, turned down the light, closed her door and shuffled back into the kitchen to grind dark roast coffee beans.

This morning I fought the fear that the little bird may really have be the spirit of my child singing, leaving her body.  The fear was real, very, very real.  Being a parent is so hard sometimes.

Now, when my son or daughter come to me with a look of concern on their face and hands over their stomach or chest, we do the 'checklist' diagnosis routine.

"Dad, my chest hurts really bad."

I pause, look them in the eyes and ask, "O.K.  Where exactly does it hurt?"

"Here in my chest."  They usually run their fingers up from their stomach to their neck and back down.

First question I come back with is, "Does your jaw hurt?  What about your back?"

"No, it is not my jaw or back," they respond.

"O.K., good", I tell myself.  The thing I remember most about my dissection was jaw and back pain, though caution is appropriate here as these may not be symptoms presented during a dissection or aneurysm.

"Just really hurts deep in my chest," they usually continue.

"What have you eaten today?" We then go talk about the types of foods they've ingested recently.  I key in on any sugary or acidic foods. "Could you have acid reflux?" I may ask.  "What about exercise or sports?"  Sometimes a strenuous activity may be the trigger.  "Could it be a pulled muscle?"

If we cannot quickly pinpoint a food or activity as a potential cause I will take their blood pressure.  Caution is appropriate again here too because unusual blood pressure is not usually an indicator of dissection or aneurysm.  My blood pressure actually dropped during my dissection.  Yet I still like to keep track of their blood pressure and pulse when they start complaining of chest pains.

I'm mostly encouraged when I see systolic and diastolic values of  around 95/60.  Dissection can be, though not always, aggravated by high blood pressure or adrenalin surges.  Knowledge that their aortas are only moderately dilated combined with a low blood pressure reading is somewhat statistically reassuring but still dreadfully disconcerting.

One can never be sure with this connective tissue health problem.

Usually the teen's pain will subside over time.  So far to date, I've not actually taken them to the emergency room for chest pain issues.  And I hope I never have to.  But when all this happens I am participating in a calculated risk with my children's health and lives.

There have been those days where the pain lingered longer than normal.  The teens then expect me to check on them more than once during the night.  And when I do the rise and fall of the sheet tells me they are O.K. for the moment.

The wren outside my daughter's window may really be just a wayward singing bird.  But I still worry and need to make sure Jincy is in her room, sleeping, breathing, and alive.

No matter what happens in our connective tissue torn lives I will be grateful for the friends within the Marfan support community I've found over the past several years.  There are those who have already lost children, spouses, parents, family and friends.  There are those who are presently fighting for their lives and those who have survived the worst.  Groups like The Marfan Foundation offer resources and serve as a much needed safe haven of knowledge from fear of not-knowing how, when or why this serious health issue manifests itself.

But even with all the family, friends and community support, it is still hard to know just what to do when someone who is Marfan challenged, especially when that person is a child comes to you and complains of a hurt in their chest.

I love the mystical beauty of the wren singing on my daughter's window in early morning hours.  I'm sure I'd enjoy the sweet bird call more though if I wasn't so worried about my daughter's Marfan issues.

Personal Marfan challenges are tough enough to deal with.  But I've momentarily beat my dissection.  Being a parent of a Marfan child, though, well that is a whole different song…..

Dissected Aorta, Connected Tissue Disorders and 2014

It has been an entire month since I last published a blog post.

Dissected aorta or not, must keep going!

Pain and depression I've battled lately have discouraged me from writing. However I know that I need to keep pushing my partially functioning brain.  Last thing I want is to end up with moss and fungus growing all over and inside my head.

The memory loss and recall issues is so very frustrating. My conversations are sometimes filled with nonsensical terms as I reach into once word filled but now empty grey matter chasms.

And my body hurts so bad.  Last night I had promised others I'd show up for New Year's eve fun.  However after taking the teens out for pizza I felt the imminent crash of pain and exhaustion and had to have Jincy take me home.  Stumbling into the bedroom I fell on the floor and passed out into unaware oblivion until the midnight neighborhood fireworks rocked the house.

There are no words to truly describe the feeling of muscles shredding, pulling apart, unraveling, burning with uncoolable heat.  Curling into a fetal position I lay still for hours, until I fell asleep once more, the rest a gift of mercy from my guardian angel and from God.

It is so easy to feel sorry for myself.  With a dissected aorta, an obnoxiously loud aortic valve, chronic fatigue, the worry and pressures of living life as a disabled person without a driver's license, watching my wife nurse her second oldest daughter laying in the hospital with a cerebral hemorrhage, two teenage additions to our family (who are truly blessings) experiencing the turmoil of their sick mother and having to be transferred to a different school midyear, the physical demands of keeping up with the parenting and energy input requirements of four teens, and all the other 'stuff' that happens to us all, well....it is easy to become self-absorbed in pity.

I can say I will choose the higher path, one with love, care and concern for others above myself.  That sounds so good.  But I know I am only human and will soon fall back into the narrowly focused pit of pain and hurt, because I really do hurt!

But I am going to try.  I will fight off the ... (I cannot think of the appropriate word for the state of being where depression and pain are so friggin bad - maybe - monumental BLAHS) and commit to trying, at least for a day.

So I will be once more posting diet and blood pressure and Marfan Syndrome - Dissected Aorta life notes here on the blog.

Maybe if I can get through today I will do the same again tomorrow.

Yes, I am thankful too.  I do have a wonderful family, wife and children.  That loud aortic valve means I am alive.  My friends are so encouraging.  My guardian angel sits faithfully outside my window and follows me wherever I go.  There is a marvelous organic garden outside.  Sidewalks bring beautiful and adventurous pathways for miles along most of the roads here.  Wildlife and wildflowers inspire haiku and poetry and life's beauty is inspiring.

But the depression of hurt sucks.  I am not going to lie to myself about this.

Just going to focus on making it through today.

It is going to be a good one.  Despite.  Hallelujah, right?

My Near Death Experience and Angel Acquaintenances, #Marfan Syndrome, Death and Life

I'd been asked a couple times lately about my thoughts on 'angels'.  Since my Florida Drivers License has already been medically revoked I am not in any danger of loosing any more privileges from being assessed mentally unfit.

My sketch of Heidi, our granddaughter who passed away last year

 Maybe someone could try and have me committed however I am betting that process would be significantly more difficult than revoking a drivers license, especially considering I am a pretty smart lawyer too. 

However just the fear of having freedoms taken away is a strange concept for some of us in the United States to even begin to comprehend. 

This post is about seeing angels.  If you don't believe in angels, that is ok.  Over the last two years though I've had a substantial number of encounters with angels.   Some of these spirits were good and some were not good, at least from my perspective.  And I bet most would agree that perspective is reality.

Enough other people have shared similar experiences with me.  If I am crazy then there are others crazy too.  If I am not crazy as I believe and have actually had real encounters with angels then I am confident that there are quite a few others who have interacted with these and other spirits too.

First of all as I've strongly suggested before, words are too inadequate to describe true reality.  Words are a starting point.   But trying to label those self-aware beings I've come to not be surprised at their presence anymore, is difficult to accurately do limited to dictionary nouns and adjectives.

Cherub, archangel, guardian, seraph, sprite, celestial, supernatural, holy and a myriad of other words exist to pick from in describing those others ('I know a  phrase like 'those others' sounds a lot like the television show, LOST but I can not think of a better term tonight).

I first became acquainted with the 'those others' during my first open heart surgery.  As my heart and body were separated during bypass I woke up floating just below the operating room ceiling.  Before I'd only seen the operating room in a highly medicated state as I was being wheeled in on the gurney.

Now though, I could see every detail of me on the table with a team of doctors and nurses working on my body, talking, moving and doing whatever doctors and nurses do during a major surgery.  My heart was clearly visible inside my open chest.  I remember asking myself if I was dreaming.  I was lucid and everything was incredulously clear.

Off in the distance I could see throngs of people I knew and others did not know.  They were all sending me good thoughts and praying fervently.  I did not have any feelings of fear but rather a sensation of curiosity.  I knew my wife Judy was in the waiting room and I knew she was going to be OK no matter what.  There was no sense of panic or helplessness.  In fact I felt very much at peace, relaxed and filled or covered with a bright feeling of love.

Looking up I could see through the ceiling.  Beyond the roof lay another world, one filled with what I can only describe as an immense, thick essence of love.  Everything was real, very real.  There were many beings, all very, very happy to see me, all just as real as the doctors and nurses in the room below.

But then the bumping started.  I tried to move towards 'those others' but for some reason was stuck below the ceiling.  Every time I would literally float up I'd bump into the ceiling and bounce back down into the air above the operating table.  At first I was frustrated at being able to see and hear the others but not being able to join them.

A calm voice informed me I was not going to leave my body permanently yet, that it was not my time to die that night.  'OK' I thought, 'this is really amazing'.  Before the dissection I had always worried about dying and what happened afterwards.  But the actual experience was not one of dread, not one of missing my wife and children, not one of regret of having to leave, but instead was one of excitement and anticipation.  And I had other beings to be there with me through it all.

Bright lights, unbelievable landscapes, colors, senses I've never experienced or imagined before and a warm, all encompassing love clothed and lay before me even as I bounced back down from the operating room ceiling.

I am a scientist trained in formal, demonstrable proof and have always questioned near-death accounts like mine, that is until it happened to me. I also flatly reject any suggestion that experience was imagined and I really don't care if the reader believes it or not.  This is my experience, one no one can take from me.

After my surgeon woke me hours later and as I began a very long recovery path, the out of body event stayed in my memory with startling detail, and continues to do so even today.

Subsequently there had to be a second open heart operation to clear a thick mass of fungal growth around my heart from complications arising out of the first surgery.  Months later I was finally home.

Death then lie in waiting close by.  I cried the first time Judy and I went for a very short walk under a five hundred year old live oak in Bulow Plantation State Park, thinking I'd not live to see my teens grow into adults.  But that night, lying in bed and looking out the window across the swimming pool into the saw palmetto flatwoods I saw the first of 'those others'.

It really looked like Gandalf, only about fifteen feet (five meters) tall and bright white, and it knew I was looking at it.  I feel bad for calling it an it, but I am at lost with available words to use in discussing this topic.  Anyway the Gandalf other knows how much I appreciate being looked after and over for many days and nights, giving me security, guarding me from what what I should be guarded from, bringing me peace, allowing me to close my eyes without fear.  I would tell Judy and a some close friends about these angels or those others.

Some nights two or three would appear on the lanai just outside the bedroom window.  On a rare occasion they would come into the bedroom.  I knew why they were there -  to protect and look after me - even though these never spoke out loud.  These 'those others' wore long silk-like robes.

Those others, those angels who came, walked a long, dark and lonely path of recovery with me, watching over me, there to make sure my wife, Judy, children and I were OK at all times.

They still come to visit after two years though not as often anymore.  I called these angels the 'guardians'.  They were there to protect me and from what I was soon to find out.

As my body strengthened bit by bit each day I began to walk.  Walking helped move the lymph and blood up out of my ankles and back through my organs for cleansing and processing.  The first day on my feet I walked five steps with help.  Each subsequent day I'd add another step or two.  After a couple months I could walk to the mailbox and back.

Today I walk and ride my bike, but with a heart output function of twenty to twenty five percent I tire very quickly.  Yet I believe walking keeps me alive so I walk and walk and walk some more.

One place I like to walk is along the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway here in Palm Coast.  There is a nice wide paved walkway on the banks of the waterway, several nice parks, restroom facilities and a Children's Memorial Garden where I've hung a set of windchimes for little Heidi, our granddaughter who passed away last year.

Those others followed me faithfully on my walks.  Sometimes they would walk out of the bushes along the path, smile, nod and then disappear.  It never fails that when an angel appears I do a double take.  The being is always there the second time I look, but never stays long.

Some of 'those others' even have a sense of humor.  I've had one drop out of the sky riding a bicycle and land on the paved path next to me, laugh, tell me, and I quote, 'just checking on you' then take off and ride off down the path, laughing even louder as they rode away. 

One day I literally jumped, dropping my crutch-cane when a very dark, greyish spirit came charging out of the bushes towards me.  But almost as instantly, just behind the charging thing I'd call a 'demon', came one of the guardian spirits.  The protector grabbed the greyish demon and threw it violently down into the earth, turned and was gone.  Shaken I picked up my cane and returned to the park area.

Several people walking close by stopped out of curiosity to stare at me when I jumped as the grey spirit charged. 

I believe this grey spirit was something bad, something that wanted to harm me.  However the guardian angel stopped it.

Yes, even after two years they still let me know they are there.  Last week there was one in an animal form, brilliant white, persistent even with the double and triple head turns and eye rubs.

Some are very lovely, with long flowing hair.  Others are the epitome of strength and security.  Some are small, some large.   They all come to me when I am awake.

Yes, I have had what my neurologist calls "embolistic events" or small strokes as a result of the dissection, surgery and recovery.  I drool, stutter and have extensive short term memory loss.  I take beta blockers, clot prevention medications, aspirin, statins and ARBs for blood pressure.  My dreams are quite vivid every night.

But 'those others' come to me in the day, when I am awake and well aware of what is actually happening around me.

There is no doubt in my mind what I experienced the night of my dissection and the intense out of body excursion was real.  I saw other beings, angels for lack of a better descriptive term and my self-awareness existed outside my earthly body.

These others had a job.  They watched over me and still do.  I see them, hear them and know they are around me.

Some may try and take what I saw and continue to see and pass it off as my mind playing seemingly real but actually illusory tricks. I feel like I don't have to defend what I see and hear to anyone.

To me these angels are real.  I believe that once one walks that fine line between life and death daily as I and others do we are privileged to witness part of eternity here and now.

Before my dissection I'd smile and shake my head to hear this.

Reality is primarily perspective.

I know angels are real.  I now know there is so much we here on earth are really clueless about.  They say seeing is believing.

I've seen and I believe.