Monday, July 16, 2012

Stress will kill you dead.

I have no photos for you tonight, just some chit chat.

I want to talk about stress, that "silent" killer.  Killer of dreams, killer of joy, killer of hearts.

I know about stress.

May 4th, 2005... I was out cold, laying on a stainless steel operating table at the Foothills hospital here in Calgary.  It was the 2nd heart attack I'd had, this one nearly did me in.

"Mr. Simon, how much do you smoke?"
"I don't smoke."
"How much did you smoke and when did you quit?"
"I never smoked."
"How much do you drink?"
"About a dozen bottles of light beer in a typical year."
"You mean a week, do you not?"
"I mean a year..."
"Do you do any drugs?"
"Do you exercise?"
"Are you careful with your eating habits?'
"Yes, I am."
"Ummm, well if you don't smoke, or drink and you eat and exercise, well it must be stress."
"Ummm, must be."

That's  pretty much how the conversation went.  

Since, ahem... retiring from what many consider to be a stressful career, I have seen nothing but daily stress.  A new building project that is running overtime and over budget, by quite a lot.  Having to vacate my home on what amounts to short notice for yet another showing, these past few weeks, trying to cut down on my life's projects, success' and failures in short order.  A child that doesn't understand that it's adults who make decisions, not 11 year old's, parting company with many/most of my prized possessions that I was saving for said retirement, and just general mayhem, I have been as tight as Eric Clapton's six string, or Kim K's g string!

As the time of departure approaches ever closer, as the clock ticks away it's minutes, as fuse's gets shorter... my stress levels have risen.

Of course I have often pointed out to friends, relatives and passersby, you can't climb Everest in a single leap.  You climb her by single steps, stopping to rest as you need.  These days, even rest does not come easy.

I fall asleep when I am too exhausted to continue watching television, only to be troubled by dreams that make no sense and keep me from a sound slumber, waking at 5 am to Phoenix and his loud and plaintive 'meow'... 'let me out Dad... meow'  it ain't gettin' any better.

My only hope at this point in time as I face clearing off a lifetime of things, wrapping up dozens of major  and hundreds of minor details, crossing my fingers that the next three weeks go in the right direction, my only hope is that after this 5000 kilometer move is completed, after we arrive at our new home, after the lights get turned out the first week, after the Cargomate gets unloaded, after all the bills are tallied and paid, and after I unload my bikes... I hope that I don't have a third "event".

That one will surely kill me dead.

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