Gratitude

The year started out with so much promise. I was energized, hired a trainer to lose 50 pounds and the medical label of "fat pig" my friend and internist Dr. Dave essentially gave me, without using the words. I was determined to help take over the running of our law business -- at the request of Brian and Stuart, who are great lawyers but need some help cutting out bad cases and streamlining operations... And then the anxiety hit -- a gift from my father along with the wonderful birthright he gave me -- smarts, humor, ability to be the best father in the world. I fight it off, but it creeps back --typically involving the Ds, but every so often involving my health. I developed some vague digestive symptoms, realized I hadn't had a colonoscopy in 10 years, and allowed my sick mind ('stinkin' thinkin" is the term I thin recovery folks use) to convince myself I was a goner. I joke and talk about my own death all the time -- much to Wifey and the Ds' disgust -- but this time -- like when I had the prostate cancer scare LAST January -- I believed it. I scheduled a colonoscopy and upper endoscopy, reviewed all my documents, which are always kept up to date and ready for action upon my ultimate INaction, and, worst of all --dumped on my closest friends and Wifey. It was joking, of course, but Wifey noted I was quiet and lacking my usual ebullience. D2 turns 21 tomorrow. She and I have much in common. She's in the middle of trying to figure out what she wants to do professionally (though with her perfect GPA and induction into Phi Beta Kappa she has more tools than I had in college). And right before I turned 21 is when my father dropped dead. Deep down, I think, that was my greatest fear -- that she and her sister would lose me, as I lost my father. Paul and Barry were best in dealing with my cowardice. Paul, in his inimitable way, lawyered me through the possibilities, and concluded that, as lucky a man as I was, early, heroic death wouldn't be that easy for me. Make money for your family, have a blast, and then check out. No -- too smooth, he concluded. Barry said simply "I'm with you whatever happens -- real or imagined." So yesterday, after a day of colon cleansing, which Dave Barry has hilariously described in his writing, I faced affable, Miami Beach native Dr. Neil. Actually, I didn't face him -- he came around the rear. The only happy part -- propofol -- the famous "milk of amnesia." The Peruana nurse joked that it was "jungle juice" that Neil brought back from his recent family trip to Costa Rica, and I drifted off. I had the propofol last year, too, at my prostate biopsy. When I came out of it, it was the BEST I ever felt. You truly feel as if you were among the cosmos, and gently re enter the world, with ZERO anxiety. I mean, at the moment I was recovering, you could have told me there was a campus sniper in Gainesville, and I would have said "Oh, D2 is smart and resourceful -- I'm sure she'll be fine." I can see why Michael Jackson dug the stuff. With his crazy life, it was probably the only true peace he had. Too bad it killed him. And then, lying in recovery, came the hilarious, epic farting -- expelling the gas pumped in during the test. Of course there was a pretty, blonde, California bred Cubana nurse next to me, saying "You go, boy!" Ah, the indignity of medicine... And then Dr. Neil came by -- telling me NO cancer -- just some irritations that may be the sign of chronic, treatable stuff -- a small ulcer -- maybe small hiatal hernia caused by my being -- here it was again -- a fat pig. It didn't matter. I could deal with it. I wasn't about to visit upon the Ds and Wifey what my dear father visited upon us in 1983 -- by his ultimate DE-visit from this planet. I celebrated by having breakfast with Wifey, followed by an early afternoon nap accompanied by the strange mutt we have -- who is an excellent nap companion. Sleeping with a dog is so primal... And then Paul called. He and Patricia and his old friend from law school, who had the sense to drop out of law school -- Andy -- and his lady friend Joanina, had driven to the Keys on that glorious afternoon, and they wanted to stop by on their way back to Aventura. They arrived, with an actual Key Lime pie, from the Keys, and the 6 of us sat outside in the chilly night, and I built a fire in the firepit. Talk about primal -- Andy started singing Kumbaya... And the ladies were wrapped in blankets, and we all chatted. My Israeli born wife -- me, the neurotic suburban New Yorker by birth, Paul, the North Philly guy, and Patricia, the beautiful Peruana. Andy's from NY, too, but grew up in Puerto Rico with his factory owner father, and Joanina is a Chicago girl. And the warmth of the fire matched the warmth of our friendship, and great conversation, and I was alive. I led them to the street when they left, and I looked skyward into the amazingly clear night sky. The smoke from the fire pit was sweer in the air. I cried a little. I was so grateful.