HAPPY NEW YEAR

I’m much more a New Year’s day  person than a New Year’s eve person. My wife Terry and I have done a few New Year’s eve parties in the past, but last year, for the first time ever, we went to bed before the big ball descended on 2010.

Up early the next morning to invite in the New Year, I was eager to paint my New Year’s resolution on the pristine canvass of 2011. I’ve always savoured  New Year’s Day for its prospect of new beginnings symbolized by the making of a resolution. Some I’ve kept successfully like running a marathon, reading the Bible from cover to cover or always pairing my socks before I toss them in the hamper. Others have been futile like not eating potato chips or spending less time watching TV. This year’s resolution was the most frivolous ever when I declared to my family that I wanted to meet Rick Mercer in 2011. The superficiality of my declaration masked the unease I felt standing at the threshold of a new year.

Terry and I had just completed an enchanting first year of retirement travelling to Florida, Manhattan and California, the perfect tourist trifecta of sun, skyscrapers and surf. And with our daughter Janice expecting her first child in February, we knew that we probably would not be using our passports much in 2011. In fact, in late February, baby Isla arrived on the scene and four proud new grandparents celebrated with smiles and hugs followed by an 8 km skate along the Rideau Canal (how Canadian is that, eh ).  By the end of March, I was getting a bit restless with a lack of plan for this new year and realized that meeting Rick Mercer would not fill the void I was feeling. My repeated prayers to God seemed to be ending in the dead letter box of heaven until the morning of June 10.

Terry was in Ottawa enjoying Isla while I was in Hamilton set to babysit grandkids Noah and Audrey, delightful three and one year olds. My son Derek had left for work and his wife Anne was just about out the door when I casually said , “ Gee, I’ve got a bit of a pain in my chest after I carried Audrey up the stairs a moment ago”. Anne, a nurse practitioner ,was horrified and declared , “ Mike, you’re having a heart attack”. Next thing I knew, Derek was back and we were on the way to North York General. I was whisked through Emergency and by nightfall, an intern who looked like the guy who had waited on me at Blockbuster a few days earlier had diagnosed my problem as fluid on my lung. He said he had never drained a lung before and that there was a small chance the lung might collapse during the procedure. What a confidence builder! Under the supervision of a senior doctor, he poked into my back with a three inch needle. I know because it took the doctors a few minutes to decide which of a macabre set of instruments to puncture me with. It hurt a lot and I jerked in pain.  My first thought was that the freezing they had administered must have been past its best before date. The supervising doctor exclaimed , “ You’ve hit a rib. You’ve got to go a bit higher”. “ That’s not just a rib!”, I wanted to scream, “You’ve hit my rib!”. The intern’s second stabbing was more successful and soon 1500 cc’s of a thick pinkish-white fluid filled two glass bottles. ( No more Creamsicles for me ! )

My mind wondered…..I guess I’m not having a heart attack after all but why the fluid on my lung ? 

Little did I know that fluid on my lung would be the least of my problems in three days time.