Act now! Live to reap the rewards of your success or failure

Sometimes thinking about something and chewing over every detail during the planning process is essential to a project's chances of success. But don't forget, success can also be counted in degrees of failure and in a person's measure of bounced-backedness, a.k.a. resilience.

After all. "Action is the foundational key to all success," according to Picasso. And he was a genius of sorts apparently. 😛

When entering a dark portal of grief, cling to hope

Yesterday when I woke up, I was struck with a depression unlike any I have felt in years. It had no single culprit to blame. I was simply struck by a full on mélange of melancholy out of nowhere.

Cling to hope; there are brighter days to come

I felt older, sure. And I have been worried about my dad's health, more so lately since he had to postpone my birthday dinner to take care of himself. Plus, I have been contemplating a huge life change while at the same time addressing a plethora of my own unchecked health issues.

And of course, I am feeling now and will forever feel a constant tinge of sadness regarding the loss of my mom.

This is me at 40, hanging on to hope

In spite of all this, though, I couldn't pinpoint a single source to match the incredible sea of blah I found myself drowning in all day.

Last night, though, I got a good night's sleep, and I am happy to report that I'm back to my "normal" self, for lack of a better word. What a difference a day makes!

I guess it was a door I had to go through, to move on to whatever is coming next. They say it's always darkest before the dawn. Well, good. I made it through the portal and I'm back, once again ready to take on the world!

GenX meets GenZ in a cafe and it goes something like this

Can you even believe that I’m 53 years old today? I don't look as old as I am, though. I mean, look at my face. See? Not a day over 32. (See pic below and laugh.)

Sure, I’m bald and gray, and my crow’s feet have crow’s feet. But with this baby face I can pull 30's.

Not. Nope. Not even in fantasy land.

Don't worry. I'm not as delusional as all that. I look at least my age if not older. But anyway...

Had a scone, but came in for a muffin;

I went to a local café today for a birthday muffin, and it was quiet, so I thought I’d ask the person behind the counter a few questions. Here’s how it went. I’m the GenXer, so I’m pretty sure that’s what I said, obviously. The lines of the GenZeder, though, are fictionalized to protect all involved. 

GenXer: Hello, are you the manager?

GenZeder: No, just work here.

GenXer: But you’re over there and look like you’re managing things. I mean to me you’re doing all the merchandising and stuff, so you’re definitely essential here.

GenZeder: I’m doing the inventory and the inventory, well, it’s not adding up.

GenXer: Aren’t you supposed to say, “The inventory isn’t inventorying”?

GenZeder: Well, I was going to, but…

GenXer: So what you’re saying is that it’s not giving?

GenZeder: Slay

GenXer: Honey, always.

(Like I said, fictionalized for my enjoyment.)

My fit life today at 53 - after glance back, fully focused on the future

Mine is a complicated relationship with food, a relationship that leads me down a path toward self-destruction during particularly challenging eras of my life. Fortunately, at 53 I’ve been up, and I’ve been down many times before, so I’m no longer carrying the extra stress of not understanding my body or fearing that I’m incapable of making the kind of lifestyle changes necessary to get my nutrition, and ultimately my fat to muscle ratio, back in check.

I know nothing is permanent if I decide to stop accepting a status quo that is not to my liking. Earlier this year, as I detailed in a previous post, I decided to address my health to be able to attack the cancer of morbid obesity that has once again taken hold of me.

Enjoying a free 8-shot shaken espresso at Starbucks on my 53d b-day

My weight maxed out at 455 this time around, five pounds less than I weighed at my all-time high weight in my late 30s, the result of 9/11-related PTSD

I don’t know how I let this happen to me again after losing nearly 200 pounds by my 40^th birthday, back in August 2011. Reflecting on that now is not helpful. Setting goals and planning is. So that is what I am in the process of now. In fact, I’ve already lost 45 pounds, which is about 10 percent of my body weight since May of this year.

Now my goal is to achieve a much healthier weight, remaining mindful of my choices, day by day. I commit from this day forward to making choices filtered through my original decision to control my caloric intake and spur myself to exercise at least 10 minutes daily.

The goal this time is to get down to a weight somewhere between 245 and 285 by my 55^th birthday two years from now. It’s God’s whether I get there at all, but I am certainly going to strive toward my goal, so long as I have the functions working in my body to allow me to do so.

You may be thinking, “Hey, Brian, why would you want to stop at 245 if you are still considered obese, according to your height of 6 feet 1 inch, above 225. Well, I can only reply that I know myself, and because I’ve been down this road before, I know what happens along the way to my ultimate fitness goal.

I know that 285 is achievable, and it is a comfortable size for me. Any less than 245 pounds and I feel scrawny. So, I will focus on building muscle through resistance training, just as I did the last time I struggled with this monkey on my back, or should I say piggy in my gut? lol

Get a sleep study and treat your sleep apnea today!

If you think you may have sleep apnea, drop everything you are doing right now and schedule a sleep study for yourself. You will be glad you did. Your future self will thank you for giving them a much healthier existence and for increasing the probability that you will live a longer, happier life.

This is not an overstatement. In fact, I feel it would be appropriate to be even more hyperbolic about the benefits of treating your sleep apnea. Let me share my recent story to highlight the many immediate benefits you may experience when you take this important, proactive approach to managing your health.

Treating my complex sleep apnea with that ResMed AirCurve 11 ASV

I had been told for decades by anyone I shared a bed with that my snoring was out of control. One person even said they saw me stop breathing multiple times throughout the night. Even with several people sounding the alarm, my philosophy was always, “That which does not kill me makes me stronger”. In this instance, though, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Fast forward to 2016, when I was diagnosed with atrial fibrillation. My cardiologist said a sleep study was urgent, as my condition may be the result of or at least exacerbated due to chronic sleep apnea. I knew he was right, but I didn’t have insurance that would cover the entire procedure at the time, and the co-pay was beyond my current means.

Hindsight is 20/20

Looking back, I should have financed the sleep study, because instead I waited another 10 years before addressing my problem, and during that time my a-fib worsened, and my weight began to balloon.

Feeling guilty for my weight gain, I knew my mobility was lessened because of the a-fib but for some reason I blamed my lack of exercise on laziness. Then I began to shame eat any time I thought about the predicament I found myself in. My weight soon reached an all-time high.

By January of this year, my weight gain added insult to injury, and I was barely able to walk to do my everyday chores. In fact, I was unable to shower in my own bathroom because it was not built for someone my size. So, I began to wash myself the best I could without stepping in the shower. This made me feel even worse, because I never felt as clean as I would from standing in a shower.

The shame compounded when every week my ability to walk worsened. Plus, I was unable to work a regular job, so I began driving for Lyft to pay my bills. But existing in a constant state of sleep deprivation because of the unchecked apnea made working more than a few hours per day impossible.

Paying for the study

The loss in income turned out to be a blessing, as I was forced to apply for public assistance and found out that I qualified for Medicaid. My new health plan meant I would be able to methodically address my mounting health issues without breaking the bank. There was no longer any reason to avoid taking a more active approach to my health.

I scheduled a new patient appointment with a primary doctor in April, and he put me on medication for my a-fib that made an immediate positive impact on the way I felt. All year long, my arms and legs had felt they were coated in a blanket of lead. With the addition of this medication, I felt that blank lift overnight.

My doctor said my reaction to the medication was not physiological but rather I was experiencing a placebo effect, that the medication would not have that powerful of an effect on me. “What does he know,” I thought. Everything he knows about the med he learned from a book. I know through experience that the medication increased my energy level by at least 20 percent. I felt like a new man.

Of course, my mobility was still impeded by my weight, which at the time of my doctor’s visit was 455 pounds, but with my newfound confidence in the healthcare system, I booked my appointment for a sleep study and began to eat a more balanced diet, immediately cutting out fast food and candy.

A month later, I had lost about 30 pounds through my efforts. My sleep study revealed I had an extreme case of complex apnea, where I would stop breathing nearly 80 times per hour without support. So they fitted me with an assisted breathing machine, and on that very first time using my ResMed AirCloud 11 ASV I experienced an immediate change in my daytime energy levels.

The brain fog lifted

I also noticed the brain cloud I’d become accustomed to for years had lifted. Achieving REM sleep for the first time in probably many years, my brain was now processing my complicated throughout the night leaving me feeling refreshed and with increased mental clarity and acuity. From one day to the next I was able to work as many as 12 hours at a time.

That’s right, I went from having enough energy to work three hours at a time to 12 hours literally overnight! That is the incredible power of sleep therapy in a nutshell.

I still have a few issues to deal with. I have some arthritis in my hip and knees, which also contributes to limited and painful mobility. And I’m in the process of testing cardiovascular health to see if I am healthy enough for surgery to deal with my a-fib. Once these things are under control, I imagine I will feel even better than I already do.

Don't be afraid to change

Through lifestyle changes and watching what I eat, I have now lost a total of 45 pounds in less than two and a half months. Next for me is increasing my daytime activity, getting my steps up. Currently I average only 1,500 steps on my good days. My goal is to slowly work up to 5,000 steps. Then, I will work on getting back up to the recommended 10,000 steps per day.

I hope by sharing my story you might be encouraged to treat your own sleep apnea or perhaps encourage a family member or friend to get themselves the treatment they need and deserve. If so, please subscribe to my blog, follow me – “Brianopolis” on social media and YouTube – and leave a comment with your experience below.

Grief comes in waves; some are ripples and others tsunamis

The thing about grief, as many have described it, is that it comes in waves. Some waves are ripples. Others are tsunamis. It has been nearly a decade since the loss of my mother, and still I can rarely predict when grief will hit me or just what intensity of wave it will bring.

This morning It I was hit by a ripple that grew bigger as I reminisced in my mind of the beautiful spirit that is gone from this world and the complicated relationship we shared. Instead of suppressing them, I allowed myself to surf through my feelings, and I let the tears flow.

Remembering my mom during my birthday week

This is my birthday week, and this week nine years ago my mother went in for a new-fangled procedure that knocked her down. She had told me she was going in for a checkup to see if her lung cancer had returned. But she already knew that it was back.

She hid the fact that she was not really going in for a checkup but rather a new-fangled procedure to treat the cancer that had spread to her brain.

Instead of helping, the procedure robbed her of much of her cognitive ability, leaving her unable to control her bodily functions. In one fell swoop, she went to being the rock I could always rely on to becoming the dear soul who needed others to feed her, clean her, and provide her with round-the-clock care.

When I visited the hospital the day after her botched medical procedure, I brought cantaloup and watermelon to her bedside, per her request. She loved melons and had been craving them all summer. As I began to feed her, I choked back tears and suppressed the knot in my throat. I remembered when I was a child how she would cut me slices of cantaloup for my breakfast, skillfully peeling the rind to give me a chunk “with no green on it”.

On the day of my 44th birthday that week, she didn't remember it was my birthday until the nurse mentioned it to her. Immediately, in spite of her diminished condition, she asked for her wallet and dug in, finding and handing me a hundred-dollar bill. Somehow in all the chaos of her mind she was able to recall how I had told her what I wanted most for my birthday that year - an annual National Parks Pass.

The gesture meant the world to me, but even after buying the pass I found it difficult to use it. Mom held on from August through October, and every time I drove from Virginia to Pennsylvania to visit, I would drive through the mountains, passing Shenandoah National Park along the way. But I would never go in. I just couldn't enjoy myself outdoors while she was stuck in a hospital bed with nary a view from a distant window.

I would also pass along the way to see her farm stands replete with the colorful marigolds of the season. In brighter times, she and I would shop the farm stands together, and she'd buy several potted flowers to adorn the front of her home. We had done this every fall for as long as I could remember.

Although I never made it to the hiking trails of Shenandoah National Park during the entire time she was in the nursing home. She entered hospice and passed away on the most beautiful day of fall, 2015, and the next day I finally made my way back up into the mountains. I found the parks pass that had been shoved deep in my glove box, and I made my way to the trailhead and experienced a most sorrowful.

Along the way I became disoriented, and I slouched along the trailside to indulge myself in hardy cry. I had missed the turnoff to the summit, as it was not a popular destination and so had become overgrown. Just then, I saw a blue butterfly, and it made me smile. “Hi mom”, I said. Then it disappeared into the brush and I instinctively followed it. To my surprise, I found myself on the hidden trail, and within minutes I was treated to one of the most beautiful views I had ever seen. 

I know deep down that the butterfly wasn’t really her, but to this day whenever I see a blue butterfly it makes me think of my mom. I am reminded that her soul is free from the confines of her failing body, and she is at peace. And just as suddenly as the wave of grief crashed upon my subconsciousness, my raging thoughts are quelled and the placid crystal blue waters of my mind return.

Every "bad kid" needs a Madame Frank to remind them of their worth

Yesterday I met up with my high school French teacher and her husband for lunch. I hadn’t seen Madame Frank in more than 30 years, but we reconnected like no time had passed. Back when she knew me, I was involved in a constant emotional battle with myself and the world around me. Not much has changed in that regard. My entire life has been a struggle.

Sometimes I feel sorry for myself when I think about my situation, wondering why stability and wealth have eluded me, wondering why I walk this earth alone instead of with a companion to share my experiences with. Our meeting reminded me that not only have I stayed true to myself over the years, but I have also come a long way from my days of being shoved against lockers or unfairly castigated by impatient and angry educators who were incapable or unwilling to “get me”.

Talking "silly French" with Madame Frank

When Madame Frank was teaching me French, she experienced the same disruptive behaviors I became infamous for throughout my adolescence. Talking incessantly during class, distracting my classmates during lectures, and challenging authority at every turn was my way of making sense of what I observed as a chaotic existence, of being a stranger in a world where I never felt I fit in, where I felt misunderstood and discounted because I didn’t act like everybody else.

Fortunately for me, in Madame Frank I found a teacher who was patient enough to manage my emotional dysregulation by giving me space and time to cool off rather than instantly sending me to the office for punishment. She would send me next door to another kind teacher’s classroom who was on her planning period. Without distractions, I was able to regain my composure and get on with my day.

Of course, it helped that I had a natural penchant for language learning and yearned to one day be bilingual. If I hadn’t been talented in that area, my behavior perhaps would have been dealt with more harshly. But she saw my raw talent and understood that often I distracted others because I was distracted by boredom.

Instead of plucking me up and discarding me like nearly all my other teachers in other subjects were prone to do, Madame Frank apparently decided she would nurture me, to help a wild weed transform into blooming flower of worth. And this was not because of who I was, but because of who she was a person. I was simply a fortunate beneficiary of the woman’s patience and kindness.

Since our meeting, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that instead of being the tragic figure I sometimes consider myself to be, I am in fact blessed beyond measure. My dream of becoming bilingual has come true several times over. I’ve travelled extensively throughout the Western Hemisphere, and I’ve racked up countless stories from my solo adventures, many of which have yet to be told.

Not only that, even though I’m on the verge of turning 53, she reminded me that my life of stories remains incomplete. I am a storyteller by nature, and there are many more stories left to experience as well as to be told in my future. She encouraged me to continue to live my wild and extravagant life of adventure, but also to take time to slow down and write out a few of the stories I’ve racked up along the way.

Many of the stories along my seemingly scattered and inconsistent timeline do in fact have shocking starts, meaty middles, and incredible endings that might entice a reader or two. These stories exist in technicolor in my mind’s eye, and the memories keep me company when I’m alone. Maybe my stories offer something to these potential readers, too. Perhaps it’s time for me to do what I am meant to do with my life and simply write.

If you have read to this point, you might be interested in some of these stories I'll be telling in the near future. If so, subscribe to my blog and follow “Brianopolis” on YouTube and social media.