I’ve been forced to think about this a lot over the past few years – since I started getting sick; how long am I going to live? Not a popular subject to have to dwell on, especially for spouses. This was one of the hardest things for me to wrap my mind around during the last couple years while I spent frequent weekends in the hospital away from family. There were many days I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to see my boys graduate from high school, or college or get married and be gifted with wee little terrors just like themselves.
Now that I am exactly 9 months post transplant, my outlook on life has changed dramatically. I kid with folks sometimes, but in all honesty – if I really think about it I am most likely going to live longer now than before if I hadn’t gotten sick. I took a lot more risks with things before, and won’t be doing some of those things any more – or at least for a long time. That’s not to say I don’t ever envision myself doing something dangerous, it’s in my nature. Hell, just riding to work in good ol’ Bradford can be a life risking experience. But the odds of me bombing down a single track at 50 miles per hour being able to see only about 25 feet in front at any given time, or scrambling down a slip grade of loose shell-rock almost plummeting headlong into a 5 foot deep rocky ditch – I have a feeling of those days of careless disregard are a thing of the past.
There are a lot of things I want to do and see yet, and if I don’t get to enjoy any retirement – then someone is going to get haunted – so be warned and stay off my list.