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Another Perspective
Tramp, Tramp, Tramp
A triple-bypass to a new life.
When we first moved to North Andover, Massachusetts, in late summer 2002, I made an effort to make new friends. Easier tried than accomplished, even when you have something obvious in common. An ancient bent geezer down the street from us spent a whole afternoon talking about his and his family’s history in the area, fascinating stuff, full of wit and humor.
Then I ran into the fellow a few weeks later, hailed him by name, and found myself in the same conversation all over again, him having no clue who I was.
I used to walk our old dog Cody past one of the rented houses on the Edgewood Farm property. All winter long, at late dinner time, I saw a lady with a shining face and long gray hair, obviously talking to her counterpart at a small dining table.
“Boy, she looks nice,” I’d think.
The following summer, I passed that house, with its windows and doors standing wide open, and from inside I could hear a fiddler sawing away at “Soldier’s Joy.” I called out a greeting, walked in, and found a man of about my age with a droll grin and a moustache and a fiddle. That was Jim Walsh, the husband of that very nice looking lady, Susan, who is the only female steward at a major race track, Suffolk Downs. We are now all great pals.
But the one man I could never get to know I think of as the heart attack walker. You can find him every day maintaining a grim pace around the neighborhood, covering great distances, four and five miles at a pop. I’ve nodded and tried to start conversations many times, but no luck. Tramp, tramp, tramp goes the walker, in all weathers and lights, and I can only imagine his story.
It will soon be mine.
ON OCTOBER 20, I HAD A HEART ATTACK, serious enough that our neighborhood hospital could not handle it. They shipped me by high speed ambulance to Brigham & Women’s Hospital in Brookline, which cranks out bypass operations like a factory. My attack did not come on with a bang, the way it’s portrayed on TV — no, just a series of grinding little agonies taking place over a period of many hours.
“You’re having a heart attack right now,” I was told. And I was rapidly prepped for a triple bypass coronary operation, stripping a big vein out of my left leg, waking up with an oxygen mask on my face. I couldn’t get a breath high or low. My rehab sheet says, “The most important exercise is walking.”
I have a cane. I have to set goals every day. I have to work on getting about 20 extra fluid pounds off me, through hemodialysis.
“You have a new heart now,” says my wife Sally. “And you’re going to have to walk regularly to get it working.”
Tramp, tramp, tramp. I will soon be joining my unnamed neighbor. “Just give us 72-75 days’ worth of health,” my transplant coordinator in L.A. told me. Then we can get back on course for my kidney transplant. Excuse me a moment now. I have to go eat an apple. I’m expecting a phone call from an old friend in Chicago who has been through something similar. He’s in Boston now for a five-day bridge tournament.
MY FRIEND AND I FINALLY RANG OFF after an hour of conversation. We could have gone on all night.
Letter to the Editor View all comments (13) | Leave a comment
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Craig| 11.7.08 @ 6:47AM
Mr. Henry, I have been following your articles for quite some time, and your spirit and resolve inspires me more and more. My thoughts and prayers go out to you. Trust in the Lord and keep the faith.
William Lannon| 11.7.08 @ 8:29AM
Dear Mr. Henry -
How you keep plugging on is beyond me. God grant me the courage to emulate you when my ordeals arrive, as I'm sure they must. You are in my prayers.
Ned| 11.7.08 @ 11:57AM
Get a dog. I walk three little Pomerainans every day. If I don't go they will annoy and hammer me until I do. Before you do though, read this:
The Power Of The Dog
by Rudyard Kipling
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie —
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find — it's your own affair —
But … you've given your heart for a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!);
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone — wherever it goes — for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart for the dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long —
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
I think it is worth the risk. Good Luck and God Bless.
Jim Spoerl| 11.7.08 @ 12:21PM
Keep up the walks Lawrence. I had quadruple surgery in February ... no attack thankfully, just angina during physical exertion. I was able to play golf by April 1st. It's in the family ... my dad died at age 52.
ruth| 11.7.08 @ 2:04PM
God bless you, Mr. Henry.
Martin McPhillips | 11.7.08 @ 2:44PM
You're one tough sumnabich, Henry.
And you cut a mean paragraph.
Vern Crisler | 11.7.08 @ 2:56PM
Trust in God's goodness, Lawrence. God is not arbitrary and mean, but wants to bring good to you. Keep trusting in that, even during the bleakest moments.
Evelyn Leinbach| 11.7.08 @ 8:33PM
Lawrence, you must be tough as a boot.
Bill Croke| 11.7.08 @ 9:57PM
Larry, I don't know how you do it. Writing pieces on top of all the health problems. You're a pro and an inspiration to us all. God Bless and best to you and yours, Bill.
Anthony| 11.8.08 @ 8:42AM
Ah yes, just what I needed this morning, between Mr. Henry and Ned with the Kipling poem, having breakfast with tears in my eyes. Stay tough Mr. Henry, and Ned, you're so right.
Melvin Leigh Leppla| 11.8.08 @ 8:44AM
Dear Lawrence, as long as you look forward to tomorrow the battle is won.
Alexandra Taylor| 11.8.08 @ 10:27PM
Dear Mr Henry
Having previously disagreed, angrily, with one of your articles about John McCain, written for the Spectator and, now, having history prove how absolutely accurate you were, I should like to apologise sincerely for my rudeness and rash judgment.
May I wish you all the light and joy that life, in its gorgeous simplicity, can bring to both you and your family.
Happy Christmas!