Patching Up Superman...

Another chapter has been added to the Haney Chronicles of Near Hits and Misses whereby God has once again swooped in to save our worthless butts. This tale is a bit convoluted (really, aren't they all?) filled with fear, faith, reckoning, gratitude, love, laughter and a not-so-small dose of embarrassment. Pop some popcorn, grab a DP and settle in.

It all began in February, at our Concerts at Sea cruise. This is an annual rock and roll cruise we have been enjoying for a dozen years and many of the cruisers have become very close friends. One such friend – Dave – took the Dickman aside and made him promise to get a stress test. Dave had recently suffered a heart attack and was on a mission to save his friends from the same fate. Dickie explained that although he is freakishly healthy, he has always expected to die with a heart attack... just like his Dad. And frankly, he was fine with that.  Dave brushed away Dickie's bullsh*t and made him promise to get checked out.   Dickie promised. 

The Dickman always keeps his promises.

After returning home, Dickie was single-minded about scheduling a stress test but kept running into obstacles. Three months later, he finally went in for testing. To his surprise, an abnormality showed up on the EKG, indicating possible cardiac issues. The doc wasn't worried, but thought it would be prudent to undergo a heart cath for further diagnosis.

We went in for a radial heart cath and I fully expected to hear nothing but Good News. Not just because of my rose-colored glasses, but also because over the years, the Dickman had somehow managed to convince me that he truly might be Superman.

Even so, there was that tiny niggling reminder of how God is always working in our lives to put us right where we need to be at the right time... placing people in our lives to direct our paths. I couldn't help but wonder if God might be using our friend Dave as His messenger. There was that.

Sure enough, the heart cath revealed Superman's kyptonite: Plaque. Coronary Artery Disease. Blockage in All Three Main Arteries.

Yet, God was already at work. Dickie's RCA had become totally blocked, but over time a network of collateral blood vessels had formed around the blockage, creating a thoroughly efficient bypass. God's bypass. 

Isn't He amazing??

As for the other blockage, it was decided that stents and medication would be sufficient at this time.

The diagnosis was a bit overwhelming. As the Dickman and I walked out of the heart clinic, we felt the ground shifting beneath us. So, we did what any self-respecting heart-clogged Texan would do: we went to eat Mexican food.

While munching on tacos, I looked across the table at my Dickman. My dear, sweet, crazy, beloved Dickman. I have been looking at his pretty face, staring into those gorgeous eyes since I was 14 years old.

“How ya doing, buddy?” I asked. 

“I'm awesome!” he replied while wiping queso off his chin.

“This is the worst part...” I told him. “Finding out that you're human.  I've suspected for years, ever since you made that wrong turn coming back from Dallas and we got lost in Paducah.”

He swore me to secrecy. I understood that he would need some time to process all of this.  It would take a while to readjust his super-hero cape. I complied. Because he's mine, I walk the line.

His stent was scheduled for Thursday. Our family surrounded the hospital-gowned Dickman while he told tall tales from his gurney and flirted with nurses. After hours of delay, a surgical tech finally came to take him back for the procedure. She asked him his name and he said, “Chris McDonald”. Without missing a beat, she replied, “Yessir. Taking you back for your hysterectomy.”

I sat with My Tribe in the waiting room, covered in prayers and cookie crumbs.  I would be lying if I told you I felt no anxiety. Unlike Chris McDonald or whoever that guy is - I am very human. Though there are few things that unsettle me, the thought of being on this earth without Dickie is devastatingly unsettling. I wouldn't last a day. We're the Dynamic Duo: Dickman & Robin. Are there times I want to kill him? Certainly. But I never want him to die...

The doc finally came out and briefed us on the surgery. All went well, except that he had to tell Dickie to stop talking so that he could concentrate on the procedure. Bottom line: the Dickman is now sporting an extra long stent in his 'Widow Maker' and has to stop eating chicken fried steak with extra gravy.

It had been a long day. A long couple of weeks. But once again, God made everything okay in the end.

As we got in the car to drive home from the hospital yesterday, we were a sorry sight.  My wonky eye was blurry and his right femoral artery was still clotting. We decided that if we worked together, we could efficiently and safely operate a 2-ton vehicle. I worked the pedals and Dickie helped me steer.  Which is pretty much a metaphor for the rest of our life together... 💗

Why am I allowed to share all of this now? Well, since he's all patched up and ready to go, the Dickman has determined that he is, once again, indestructible. And like his friend Dave, he wants to spread the message to all you other mere mortals to GO GET A STRESS TEST! (And also get your eyes dilated while you're at it.)

FOOTNOTE: After his surgery and while under the influence of morphine, Dickie asked me to send a text to update his friend, Brian. I didn't have Brian's number in my phone so Dickie rattled it off to me. I typed in Dickie's message as he dictated it to me, rolled my eyes and hit 'send'. When Brian didn't reply, I asked Dickie to check the phone number. Imagine my embarrassment when I realized I had sent this message to the wrong number...