Rebuilding a life after a heart attack, Things no-one ever mentioned, Regrets and moving on.

A little over eight years ago at the age of fifty two ( admittedly an age i thought id never reach ) i suffered a heart attack while on the job, due to some good fortune,and the quick thinking by some personell at Peterbuilt trucks ( Port Kells Langley ) Canada, along with the skills of our excellentParamedic services, i survived to enter Hospital for six long weeks,the normal stay for such occurences i was told,was two weeks.
The extended length of stay was due to difficulties in getting my heart ( or what was left of it ) to operate with some degree of normalcy, and the loss of fifty three percent of my heart muscle, due to blockages.
Yes,it was quite an eventfull time. The journey through recovery was a long one, and without the constant care given by my eldest daughter, i am certain, that i would not have survived the experience.
My life changed that day, or should i say, my whole world came crashing down.

I had been a classic car nut for most of my life up to then, and had a small collection of cars from the 1940's thru the 1960's . The prize of my collection was a 1940 Dodge business mans coup, i had waited and wanted years to aquire one. But now, due to my loss of physical strength,along with the peculiarities one faces because of heart damage,and the installation of an ICD device which was implanted in my chest, i was now unable to be near my Arc welder and also unable to work on my back,or with my arms over chest level.
And so, over the course of a two year recovery, i had come to a point where i was faced with a reality, I would probably never be able to perform the kind of work needed,to rebuild old and rusted beauties.
These realizations where not welcome, i was angry, resentful, full of self pitty, i would need to be dragged,kicking and screaming into my new life, a life i did not want, and in true fashion to who i was, i stubbornly fought back.
The fight would continue over some years, and i would suffer many defeats, and the biggest challenge i would face would be my own mind. You have probably heard the expression " The mind controls the body " and for the majority of people this is true, but what about, when the body is not capable any longer? What then?
And one thing for sure was,,I would stubbornly, and sometimes ..( to the dismay of my children ).. foolishly, push the limits of my unwelcome limitations.
If you would like to read more of my adventures in my new, strange, world, which would lead me into a fulltime RV lifestyle and devil may care philosiphy. let me know by leaving a comment, as my adventure continues from the Baja and back, to my Motorhome travels in Canada. Thank you all..
Part 2.
Continuing my story....
At the time of my life change, i was living in a rural area of Mission. Britsh Columbia.Canada.
A three acre property with a rancher style house, situated on a bluff overlooking the fraser valley. I was in the process of adding onto a one car detached workshop garage, this was to be my dream workshop, after years of aquiring the tools and projects, i could finally spend my off work times rebuilding my much loved rust buckets.
After regaining some strength i decided it was time to get off my ass and continue the work on the expansion.
Hammer and drill in hand, i grabbed my extension ladder,deciding to finish the metal roof, i must admit the optimism i felt for the first hour was wonderful.
I remember being at the high point of the ladder, on the roofs edge,and then getting dizzy,losing my balance.
The next thing, i was lying on the ground, trying to breath,quite confused as to how i got here.
No one was home, just me, my trusty blue heeler " Keena " and the sunny quiet of the treed remote property.
After gathering my witts about me, i knew there wouldnt be any rescue, and so, after a self inventory of my body, i began to move my limbs finding that i could move each of them, but unable to catch my breath. I had landed on my left side, right where they had installed my new friend, the ICD ( an advanced pacemaker) i didnt know at the time,that it had ceased to function. So with a feeling of other worldliness,,i began crawling toward my front door, after what seemed like an age, i achieved my goal, and by this time i had found the strength to begin standing. From this point everything gets a bit fuzzy, but i had made it to my bedroom, and managed to lay down, obviousy thinking that i had over done it and maybe after a brief nap, i would be ok again.
Waking up,I remember having the spins and trying to sit up, but after this, finding myself headed for the floor beside my bed.
More fuzziness ensued, but i must have called 911 because i was now in the local hospital ( things get confusing from here on in ) where i was hooked up to a pleathora of monitors.
Even now as i try to recollect these events,i know there are blocks of time missing, some of which are caused by the medications i take on a daily basis, and so i will pick up where i remember clearly.
As far as i can recall, the doctors had transferred me to a larger hospital where i was evaluated again. And some time later, ( again a fuzzy time ) i was released with an appointment to see the cardiac specialist in Vancouver.
I would guess this appointment was some days, or weeks later, i remember being at the specialists and having an arguement with him, as he was convinced that the whole event was obviously in my head,because, as he he said, these ICDs have a near perfect track record and do not malfunction. It was at this point, as i was reclined on the diagnostic bed that i lost my temper,basicaly insulting the doctor for impuning my character.
The doctor had not recieved the fax he was expecting from the hospital(s) i had been admitted to after the incident informing him of the relevent facts, so in my opinion he was talking out of his hat, it was an opinion he did not share, informing me that he was the expert in these matters, and that i should butt out and let him do his job.
After more heated exchanges he left the room, only to return later in a quiet manner saying that he wanted me admitted immediately to the nearby Hospital. I would be slated for an operation to replace an obviously malfunctioning implant. So unusual was this apparent failure, that a specialist from the manufacturer of the implant was flown in to observe the results. As much as i was angry at this so called expert doctor of mine, for having so stubbornly refused to accept the failure of the much vaunted implant, I was glad to be vindicated.
Undergoing the operation to replace the ICD was a serious matter but also akin to spending time in the Enterprise sickbay, and for a treky-fan like I am, this was a real treat.

PART 3.
As of todate, i have had three ICDs installed, my fourth should be within the next year i expect.
The surgery required to remove and install these devices is relatively easy to bare, and the recovery time is rather quick, something like two to three weeks to regain full use of the arm on the side affected.
I joke with people, saying that i am a part of the " Borg Collective " , but i do resent having to have these devices in my body. But this is part of the price we pay, for being a survivor.
As i was saying earlier, my life underwent upheaval, anything that i could count on was now in doubt, all the things that i had taken for granted, now paraded before me as a cruel wakeup call, that i was never to be the same again.
As men, we are identified by what we do for work by our society, and as such we are judged by the same.
Even our own families will judge us, for our ability, or disability, rightly or wrongly, we are judged and labeled.
Simillar to a divorce, we lose some of our friends, as we cannot engage in the same past times, as we had before the event.
( this is not true of all heart attack survivors, but true to those severely impacted ) it may be due to our own shift in personality, as the resent, anger, self pity, emotional upheaval, take its toll. Those closest to us are affected also, whether we intend it or not, and they cannot help but react, as any one would, in these unusual circumstances.
And so piece by piece as i watched, more and more, of my previous life spun out of control.
My eldest daughter remained at my side throughout my ordeal, how she endured i do not know, as there where many times that i must have been unbearable to live with. She became my strong right hand, my nurse, my trusted advocate, my greatest friend, throughout my ordeal, and there is much more that i owe her, a debt, i shall never be able to repay.
In this, i suppose that i have been fortunate, as many other victims in simillar circumstances, have no-one to help them.

As i write, i am given the opportunity to revisit the past, i can smell the trees,in the sun, on the large property in Mission, where i had lived. I can see, one by one, and piece by piece, all the treasured old vehicles i owned at that time.
Each one, a dream in the making, each one requiring major mechanical repair, blood, sweat and tears along with many injections of money, before being ready for the great reveal.
To another " gear head " reading this, it will be simillar to the smell of the interior of his favorite vehicle on a sunny spring day.
Part four.
Reality is a harsh master, and we are subject to it, no matter how hard we try to deny it.
One of my dreams for retirement was to travel the continent in an RV, as i have always been an adventurous soul, i would guess it comes from my forebears being merchant seamen, i have always felt the pull to other places.
During my time recuperating, i aquired a 28 foot sail boat, and i made tentative plans to make her seaworthy,and begin my new life living aboard her, even though i had never sailed a day in my life.
It is said that fools walk in where angels fear to tread, and this should be my epitaph jokingly, not knowing what to do, or where to go, or even how to get there.
My physical limitations along with a steamer trunk of self doubt, had left me with few percieved options, and so i decided to sell all of my classic vehicles, and divest myself of a lifetime collection of tools and knick nacks, in order to begin my adventure on board my sail boat. I began to do research on sailing,and living aboard, and was captivated by so many adventures others had posted to the internet. But after realising that part of the sailing life was being above deck in a howling storm, deploying sails and the like, and seeing boats heel over in a high wind as part of the normal experience, i decided that a racing sloop such as i had now was not for me, so after much more research i had decided on a Tri Maran Sailer.
These types of vessels, did not heel at such an angle like their Mono hull cousins, and i decided this was the safest course, i mean what could be better than having a sail boat that would not spill my beer right? And after much searching, i found a deal on a, Jim Brown Sea Runner Tri Maran, in San Francisco.
Haggling with the owner, i struck a deal with him, and began the transactions to aquire the TriMaran, finaly, i thought, i was on my way to my retirement, and little did i know of the red tape storm which was to follow.
I had transfered my payment for the boat,and recieved the paperwork,after which i registered the boat into my name, and now, all i had to do was to clear up lose ends and gather whatever i needed for the journey to SanFrancisco to join my boat.
My family held a large going away party for me, many tears where shed, and after a brief stay on my daughters living room floor ( she did not have room for me to stay,otherwise ) i had reserved my ticket, from Vancouver Canada to SanFrancisco.
Another teary farewell, and i was off onto my retirement adventure.
This was to be short lived, as the Border Security, better known as homeland security, would jam a rather large wrench into the machinery of my adventure.