October 29th:
He sewed the last oak tree leaf on his dark grey, long-sleeved sweatshirt. He heaved a sigh and stepped back to admire his creation. Knowing that he would no longer gather leaves, acorns, and twigs, he pumped his fists. His Halloween costume was complete!

October 30th:
He felt refreshed when he woke up, the morning sunlight bathing a spider plant hanging above his bed. After finishing his early a.m. coffee, he put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, the day being unseasonably warm.

He set up his lawn mower while glaring with pursed lips at the thick layer of leaves covering his entire front yard, a northside neighbor taking down outside Halloween decorations with his daughter.

“I’m sorry that I will not be able to mow the leaves on my section of our shared side yard,” he told his neighbor after mowing half of the front yard. “I feel like I am not getting enough air. I feel faint.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and I don’t know why all of a sudden, I feel very tired. Pulse rate on my Apple watch is showing that it is below 50,” he continued, not sharing the fact that the watch asked him whether there were symptoms and that if there were any, to immediately see a doctor or go to the nearest ER.

“Well, stop!” his neighbor cried out. “Don’t worry about the leaves. We’ll take care of them. Go inside and put your feet up. I don’t want to see you lying in the ditch!”

“Thank you!”

Feeling some relief from the near-syncope, he practiced painting his face like a gnarled oak tree, glueing on leaves as eyebrows, mustache, and goatee with spirit gum.

“Ha, ha, ha!” he guffawed, the glued-on leaves twitching about as his facial muscles contracted. He then ambled down to his living room where a headless, armless, and legless male mannequin on a 5-wheeled stand was sporting his sweatshirt covered with leaves, acorns, and twigs. The nest, replete with emptied white eggs, rested on top of the mannequin’s neck and the neatly-folded leaf-covered sweatpants at the bottom of the stand.

“Yeah! I’ll be a hit tomorrow night!” His smile stretched close to his ears, his glasses sliding off his nose as it wrinkled.

October 31st:
He was all pumped up on Halloween morning. He managed to mow the rest of the leaves on his front lawn, as well as the flanking north and southside yards he shared with neighbors. He turned off the switches to the driveway lamppost and front door lamp and closed the venetian blinds in his living room, Trick or Treat starting at 4 pm. He planned to arrive late to astound the punctual Halloween/Birthday Party merrymakers.

He was late and, as expected, all eyes were on him when he entered the party venue.

“You look like a mature faun!” a friend exclaimed, his eyes in full examining gaze.

“Uh-huh, and I am able to blend with the trees,” he agreed. “With the nest on my head, I’ll attract birds and I can have their eggs for breakfast!” He cackled.

He greeted the birthday celebrant and mingled with his family and invitees. He led only 2 of the 5 planned games for lack of interested participants. Nonetheless, everyone had fun. The sit-down dinner fare was ample and delicious, homemade native desserts serving as complementary sweets. Despite the culinary energy boost, his vitality was below par. He was on the dance floor only until 9:30 pm which was unusual since he’d usually stay until midnight when the last song was played at parties.

November 1st:
Monday was the day he looked forward to for weeks. A new fridge was to arrive, replacing his >30-year old, duck-taped relic. He stored stuff from freezer in portable coolers. Refrigerator items were stacked on top of a portable table by his half-opened garage door, the outdoor temperature being in the low 40s. The rest of the afternoon was spent cursing while removing the innumerable and stubborn green transport protection tapes off the new fridge. Countering the displeasure was the satisfaction in seeing the goodies in their new home.

November 2nd:
He fast-walked in place for 30 minutes with no apparent symptom. However, his Apple watch couldn’t do an EKG since his pulse rate continued to be below 50. He paced inside the house, figuring out what could have triggered such a sudden onset of symptoms 3 days ago.

“Could it be that the medications that I have been taking for my teeth implant be the cause?” he asked himself. “Could there now be interactions between the supplements, high blood pressure pills, probiotics, ibuprofen and antibiotics that I have been taking?”

November 3rd:
He Googled and found out that the antibiotic he was taking was known to lower pulse rate. He ceased taking it after consultation with his dentist.

November 4th:
Other than binge-watching Netflix streamings, nothing to write home about; no significant symptoms noted.

November 5th:
He lunched out with a friend at a Mexican restaurant. Conversation topics were an interesting blend of memories of yesteryears, and trials and tribulations of getting old. She repeated her advice to consult with pharmacist about possible drug interactions as they parted.

Consult with local pharmacist followed right after lunch. She felt that one of the HBP pills was the culprit, recommending consultation with the prescribing doctor. Metoprolol intake was aborted once his doctor was made aware of it, the visit to see him set on Tuesday, November 9th.

Sadly, “Hump”, one of his beloved goldfish, passed away that same day.

November 6th:
Feeling better, he fast-walked, hoping to accelerate the flushing of metoprolol out of his system.

November 7th:
He woke up early to take a friend for an 8-hour seminar at the McCormick Place in Chicago. He decided to go home instead of staying to enjoy the ambiance at the nearby Chicago Millennium Park until he picked her up.

He attempted to mow some new leaves, but felt tired, so he took a nap.

He drove back to Chicago early to avoid traffic and to also now while away his time at the Millennium Park. He parked in the underground parking garage and sauntered towards the park. He took selfies by the famous Chicago’s “The Bean”, but in an instant, he felt weak and was close to fainting. With caution, he left the park to rest inside the McCormick Place until his friend was done with her training.

“Are you okay?” his friend asked, noticing how pale he was, specially when he almost side-swiped a car when attempting to switch lanes. “I can take over driving, you know.”

“No, I am fine,” he insisted. He concentrated on keeping his car inside his lane through blurry vision, ignoring his friend’s repeated invitation to eat out on the way home.

He dropped his friend off and rested immediately once he got in his house.

November 8th:
He visited his dentist, sharing with him his low pulse rate, reaction to the blustery, but sunny weather, and his feeling happy about being alive.

November 9th:
“Does it show atrial fibrillation?” he asked while his doctor read his EKG.

“Your EKG shows that you have atrioventricular block second-degree. You must see your cardiologist today, if not tomorrow.”

“Do I need urgent care?”

“Yes. You are showing symptoms,” he replied, his earnest tone underscoring the necessity.

He lowered his head and held his breath as his doctor arranged the cardiology visit for the following day.

On the way home, his conscious appreciation of the blue sky and balmy weather played down his trepidation.

November 10th:
“Oh, my God! Please help me make it to my cardiologist’s clinic,” he prayed as he drove 8.8 miles with shortness of breath, lightheadedness and blurring vision, his cold, tingly fingers grabbing tight the steering wheel. His anguish increased when his Apple watch showed his current pulse rate.

35!

“The AV progressed from A2 to A3, a complete heart block. You need a pacemaker,” his cardiologist said, his voice tinged with gravity.

“I want it done today, please,” he responded, a small frown and furrowed eyebrows taking shape on his face. “I don’t think I can last another day.”

After parking his car by her driveway, a friend took him to the hospital where he used to work at for almost 50 years.

He went straight to the Catherization Laboratory, but was told to sit in the waiting room. He was alone, unmindful of the din from the TV set and the gurgling of the coffee pot. His body was transfixed as he tried to concentrate on the significance of the moment when at the doorway a silhouette appeared. It was her friend.

“I thought you left,” he said.

“I just wanted to accompany you while you’re waiting.”

“Go home, please. I don’t need you here.”

“Why?”

“You’re making me emotional. Please go home!” his voice trembled, tears welling up in his eyes and his hands waving her away.

“Well, I am going to stay!” she insisted.

“Mm…mm…,” he mumbled. He felt that by letting her, the years of independence would be challenged and he was not ready for that. A ride to and from the hospital was all that he would allow. However, there was something about her insistence that struck him. It was the profound thoughtfulness. She was there not as a proxy for his family who would have been there to support him. She was there of her own accord. She really cared.

“Uh…okay,” he mumbled, his sniffling turning into a chuckle.

She tarried a while until he was carted to the Catheterization Laboratory by a familiar face. More familiar faces prepped him up.

“I feel like I’m back home,” he quipped as the banter between the staff and him continued.

“Do you know when the doctor is going to come?” he asked. “I’m concerned about my bladder acting up,” he giggled, worried that the coldness in the room could increase his urine output.

“Oh, he’ll be here soon. You want a bottle?”

“Not really,” he answered, wondering how that could be accommodated with his entire body covered and arms strapped.

He tried to think of pleasant distractions. Not once was he concerned about the implant, having accepted that certainty early on.

“Would you like something to eat?” asked a male nurse.

“Sure, thank you,” he replied as he came to, already lying in a hospital bed but unable to remember how the pacemaker implant started and completed.

He slept through the night, the conscious sedation still lingering in his system.

November 11th:
Being ambulatory, the discharge male nurse accompanied him as he walked to the lobby the following day. The girl at the lobby desk recognized him, his lips curving into a smile as she greeted him. He didn’t have the energy to visit the laboratory he once called his “second home”.

“How are you?” asked the same friend who came by to pick him up.

“Well, I feel like a bionic man,” he giggled, his voice raspy and weak.

“Let me know right away if you need help,” she said as he reached out to embrace her.

“Okay,” he replied. “You’re an angel!”

He walked to his car and drove home despite her invitation to stay overnight at her house.

Phone calls and texts from family and friends toned down his anxiety and depression as the evening darkness swallowed the late afternoon.

November 12th:
Early a.m. coffee in hand, he walked to the living room to gaze at the gazillions of newly-fallen leaves on his front yard, waiting for the landscaper to haul them out. Catching his attention was the mannequin, still undisturbed – the sweatshirt, nest, and neatly-folded sweatpants having collected 12 days of house dust.

“Till next year?” he whispered with a gentle head nod, his Apple watch showing a pulse rate of 70.