It has been 6 weeks since the Pericarditis diagnosis and the
only thing that I’m really good at right now is sleeping. I have completely mastered the art of
napping. I am also getting a bit better
at meditation, but often I end up falling asleep, so basically, I’m really only
good at sleeping right now.
The ultrasound on my heart a few weeks ago was normal, so
after close to 1 month of total inactivity except for short walks, I got the
green light to slowly begin exercising even if I still am in no way back to normal and regularly experience
symptoms such as a certain tightness in my chest. So I am now reacquainting myself with the
pure simplicity of the solo bike ride with no agenda, no speed, and no
timeframe. As soon as my feet click into
the pedals, the bike disappears and the only goal is enjoying nature from the
absolute best seat in the house. I stop
and sit on a bench along the gravel trail when I feel like stopping and don’t
ride on days when I don’t feel like riding.
It feels very new even if it is more of the same.
As westerners, we have a very unhealthy relationship with death and
loss. It is quite normal for North
Americans to fear death even though we know it is imminent, a sure thing. It is also quite normal for North Americans
to act as if we’re never going to die. Talking
about death is taboo since it makes us very uncomfortable and we are completely
devastated when it eventually happens. Dying
is as natural as being born, but our perception of it makes us resist and fear
it more than anything else.
Living as the seemingly immortal “Mike the cyclist and bike
racer” for so long, like a typical westerner, I too am struggling with his
untimely death. I am having a hard time
mourning the loss and letting go of this part of my ego. I miss being fit. I miss my strong legs and body. I miss the thrill of riding fast. I miss the long rides. I miss the feeling of riding effortlessly. I miss riding with my old riding buddies. But now, “Mike the cyclist and bike racer
version 1.0” needs to be thanked, remembered and released in order to make room
for “Mike the cyclist version 2.0”. I’m
not really sure what features this new version will end up with or when it’ll
be ready and that right now seems to be the hardest part. Version 2.0 will need
to have absolutely nothing to prove in order to be sustainable. I’m also hoping that there will be a racing
feature with version 2.0, but who knows?
Some days I am fine with not knowing, other days I find myself
desperately still holding onto version 1.0. The internal work of letting go in
order to allow healing and growth has been by far the most difficult part of my
recovery.
The one thing that I absolutely know for sure is that this
Pericarditis diagnosis had to happen. It
wasn’t just a fluke. It had to happen in
order for me to begin fully accepting and letting go of Adele’s Type 1
Diabetes. For me, there was really no
other way. The obsessive,
micro-management, attention to detail approach that I have been using to
accomplish all things in my life naturally poured
over into Adele’s Diabetes management.
It’s what I had learned and knew when I vowed to do every single thing
in my control to keep her healthy and protect her as a baby and child, but now
it has to end if I am to survive. I’ve
known this for a long while, but I was simply too tired to do it on my own, so
my body intervened. It was the only way
that I knew how to play the Type 1 game, to fight it with everything that I
had, even if the final outcome would certainly affect my health. And to be honest, I’d do it again if I had
to. I have absolutely no regrets.
On Saturday, September 12th of this year, I will
once again be riding in support of JDRF research for Type 1 Diabetes cures and
treatments. At this point, I’m really not
sure how far or how fast I will be riding, but I will be riding. Please support me if you can…
