Life, Work & Wonder

Tag: health

  • Who knew that shingles would protect my brain???

    Who knew that my health issues might help me stave off dementia?? That getting shingles a third time might actually keep my mind relatively intact in my old age?

    The first time I came down with shingles was the spring of 1988, during the stress of finals week. Suddenly I had such an itchy patch of bumpy red skin on my back that was annoying but not especially painful. I made an appointment with the dermatologist after a couple of days, and she diagnosed it as shingles and chastised me for not getting in to see her sooner.  

    Fast forward nearly 25 years. It’s 2013 and my life is just a fog of hell. For nearly two years I’ve been battling interstitial lung disease and inflammatory arthritis in my back (the battle in itself is nearly an all-encompassing job) while raising two teen agers and working full-time to support the family, including my (now ex) wife who has decided after my diagnosis that as a 38-year old high school drop out she was destined to be a doctor so became a full-time student. When in the midst of all this I decided to switch jobs to sales management for a dysfunctional company with lofty aspirations, it became too much for my physical system to endure, so I came down with shingles again. The second time was remarkably similar to the first: an itchy patch of red skin on my core. To be honest, I didn’t know what all the fuss was about shingles: to me it was more like a case of poison oak than it was some hell-ish infliction. 

    Then the third time hit. That was 2016 when I was working as a sales leader for yet another dysfunctional tech company that was having financial issues. This bout was memorable because I was amazed at how unconcerned my management seemed for my well-being when I said I had to work from home because of shingles, but more than that for the first time I understood what the fuss was about shingles. My body hurt like hell. I remember my nerve endings burning and actually hurting, like there were in needles rather than nerves. This time I got into the doctor pronto and got the medicines to help stave off permanent damage. And it was about this time that my doctors suggested I get the shingles vaccination despite my relatively youthful age of 48. 

    Now, 10 years later, I’m reading how much they’re realizing the mental benefits of shingles vaccinations: that little prick is a powerful protection against dementia. Yay!!!!!! 

    Sometimes in life what might seem like a bad thing actually in reality turns out to be a good thing long term. For me, that includes my lung disease — which gave me a new lease and outlook on life — and also my shingles, which unwittingly gave me some extra defense against dementia. Believe me when I say that I as much as anyone need any defense I can get against brain ailments — I’m already started with a lighter load (lesser brain) than most 🙂 

    I’m just so grateful for unexpected and indirect great news.

    SOURCES:
    https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&opi=89978449&url=https://www.aarp.org/health/conditions-treatments/shingles-vaccine-lowers-dementia-risk/&ved=2ahUKEwjf38WzocOUAxXFETQIHZhrLxIQFnoECCQQAQ&usg=AOvVaw2ruEM2NXKWGpkuCuUMR7Xc

    https://www.reddit.com/r/psychology/comments/1pd1i66/a_dementia_vaccine_could_be_real_and_some_of_us/

    https://med.stanford.edu/news/all-news/2025/03/shingles-vaccination-dementia.html

    etc. etc. etc.

  • I Learned That When All Is Taken From Me It’s Coffee That I Miss Most

    What is your favorite drink?

    In 2012 my doctor suggested I give up a lot of foods I love. Just for six months or so, so not for terribly long. But still. It was a lot to ask all things considered.

    For more than a year I’d been mired in hell battling lung disease. I’d spent the better part of a month going through a myriad of doctor’s appointments and tests before spending a week in the hospital as they tried to diagnose what I had (spoiler alert: a very very rare disease with only a handful of known cases at the time). Then I’d spent six months on prednisone and other medicines to battle the disease. Then the real hell began: utter exhaustion as the disease and the doctor’s faded away and left me to pick up the pieces of what had been a normal life just 12 months earlier.

    Turns out all the prednisone I’d been on had created sensitivities to a lot of foods, many of which I love: breads (yeast), chocolate, most fruits and (aarrrgggghhhh) coffee among them. I was placed on a strict limited diet to decrease inflammation and to give my body a chance to re-set. This meant that I had to give up nearly everything I love to eat, including pizza, chocolate and coffee.

    What I learned from this experience is that you can take nearly everything from me, and what I most hated sacrificing was my coffee.

    I love coffee.

    I love waking up in the morning to a cup of coffee. Sipping coffee throughout the day. And a midafternoon espresso to give me a final boost.

    I love the smell. I love the feeling. And I love the experience of coffee.

    To take that away from me was very very hard. And I was so grateful when I was told it was okay to drink it again six months later.

    We learn how important things are when they are taken away. Lung disease cost me my ability to play competitive sports, the political ability (and desire) to thrive in Corporate America, and even my first marriage. But it was coffee that I missed most of all when I couldn’t have it.

    Here’s to life. And here is to life with a fresh cup of coffee.

  • Sometimes I Feel Almost Like The Old Me

    Time was I hopped out of bed first thing in the morning.

    I made coffee, ate a healthy (fruit) breakfast, did the dishes, fed the dogs, then either walked/ran or hustled to the gym for an hour before starting my 10-12-hour work day. During the day I moved moved moved, and frankly didn’t have a lot of patience without the drive or energy I had. After the kids were in bed, after I’d read them a story and helped them get on their pajamas, then I’d ready or watch movies or work some more.

    That was before 2011. Before lung disease clawed away all my energy. For two years after that, it was all I could do just to function in life. That was total hell.

    I remember asking my doctor, “Is it hopeless? Will I always feel this tired?”

    He looked me in the eye, and said, “You know, we can look at this way: the old you, the one that was at the top 1% for energy, is gone. But that doesn’t mean we can’t get you feeling better than you do now.”

    It took the better part of five years, but by 2017 I was starting to feel normal again. Nowhere near the old me, but not perpetually overwhelmed and exhausted all the time.

    Then in early 2020 I got Covid. The fever lasted a week, but it taxed the heck out of me and in the six years since I haven’t quite felt the same again, although I felt a heck of a lot better than I did in 2012 and I continue to improve from 2020.

    But there are days I start to feel like the old me. The pre 2011 me. Hyper manic. Energetic. Like the last few days.

    Evy is on break this week. And I didn’t have to volunteer this week. And I am working as my own boss in real estate versus working for Micromanagers From 21st Century Corporate Hell. And the result is I’m feeling good. So very good. In fact, the last few days I’ve felt great. I’ve cooked. I’ve cleaned. Done laundry. Been productive as heck at work. And I start to feel like the old me, the me before 2011.

    It feels amazing.

    I’m grateful.

    I’m grateful I used to have so much energy. Grateful that I know what that feels like (amazing!). I’m grateful that I survived lung disease, and that I feel better today than I did in 2012 and again in 2020.

    Life is a journey. I’m grateful for the journey of the past few days.

  • My Autobiography Title Would Be “Ugly Boy” (AKA Takes A Licking And Keeps On Ticking)

    If there were a biography about you, what would the title be?

    As a teen, I was teased a lot about my looks.

    But my favorite tale is the time in eighth grade when my classmate burst into class. “Hey everyone, get this!” He called out to the class. “Tony’s grandma was looking at our yearbook last night and stopped and pointed at a picture and said, ‘Now that boy’s ugly.’ So Tony looks who to see it was and it was Rob!” Of course, I’m Rob in that story, and I can still hear the laughter from my classmates.

    To make a long story short, that was a painful comment but I kept my head up. And I have many many faults, but I’m a reasonably confident person who didn’t let that teasing about my looks in my formative years bring me down and in fact had a lot of fun in my teen years. I’m actually kind of proud of that if I’m honest, that I hung in there and resisted the urge to withdraw from the world despite some heartless ribbing along the way.

    I’ve had a lot of luck in my life. But I’ve also had my share of times where I was kicked in the groin. I had undiagnosed autoimmune disease as a kid but somehow emerged from that reasonably productive as an adult. My first marriage was to a selfish narcissist who eventually kicked me to the curb after extracting every morsel that she possibly could from me but again I emerged from that too (and today am re-married to a much better person). And perhaps luckiest of all, I was diagnosed with a potentially terminal (50/50) lung disease at age 42 but not only survived that but emerged from it mostly okay.

    So I feel like I’ve lived a lucky life where I have so much to be grateful for, but also one where I’m frequently called “Ugly Boy” (mostly figuratively but one time literally) that I have had to stave off and then emerge from. And I have done just that.

    I feel so fortunate for all that. So grateful for that. I am proud to say that I was called “Ugly Boy.” And that I emerged from that a-oh-kay 🙂

  • Pride Is Folly

    Pride.

    There was a time I had too much pride.

    Waaayyyyyy to much pride.

    It was pride that prevented me from being too open and out there in public. For example, I dreaded sales calling because of pride. And didn’t have social media accounts because of pride. And never ever allowed dirty dishes to be in the kitchen because of pride.

    Pride brought my spirit down when there was a flaw with my house or car. It made me sensitive (and lash out) at criticism (“f— you!”). It made me fret too much about silly statistics, like batting average or shooting percentage or quota attainment percentage. Who cares what I batted in recreational softball??

    It was pride that embarrassed me when my (now ex) wife promoted her business and herself, like that time she stood on the street corner and handed out Halloween candy with her business card on it. I remember having to quietly work so hard to swallow that pride, to let her do what she needed to do without commenting that it was embarrassing seeing my last name being handed out on a street corner.

    And it was pride that drove me to always look my best, to make sure my hair was good and my body was firm and I stayed youthful looking.

    In short, pride made me worry too much about how people perceived me.

    Then lung disease grabbed me in 2011. Put me in a hospital bed. Made me tired. Nearly killed me. Then, by some incredible undeserving miracle, it loosened its grasp on me and retreated, sparing me and letting me not only live but live without an oxygen tank (a 50/50 chance)!

    Maybe best of all, when lung disease retreated, it also took with it my pride. Which I think is a good thing. In fact, it’s a great thing.

    I could care less how people (except Larissa) perceive my career. Or whether they remember me as a good athlete or smart or not. Or see me as attractive or not. Who cares?? What does it change or matter??

    In 2019, when my hurtful ex-wife chose trying to shame me about various things rather than just honestly saying she wanted to move on with her life (i.e. chose gaslighting and shaming rather than transparency), I guffawed at her. “I won’t be judged by you,” I said. “I beat lung disease. What the f— have you done?”

    That was the moment I realized that I was truly confident. That lung disease spared me from the judgement of others. Because when we’ve faced the specter of death, not much in life can scare us after that.

    Now I don’t care how people perceive my career. Or think I’m goofy. Or roll their eyes at my goofy rambling face-book posts.

    It’s incredibly liberating.

    Today I made myself vulnerable. Posted on Facebook and Instagram and my LinkedIn page that I was holding an open house tomorrow. 15 years ago there is no way I would have done that, but today I only felt happy that I could do my best to promote Larissa’s client. It felt good.

    Meanwhile, I could care less if ultimately people on LinkedIn think I’ve had a successful career or not. I know the truth. What do I care how some random person perceives me based on my profile? This also feels good.

    Pride is folly. Because at the end of the day we’re all human and vulnerable and fallible. No matter how perfect we are or rich we are or even strong we are, we’re just a bout with lung disease or cancer away from death. This is humbling. And it’s beautiful.

    Here is to being pride free. And the incredibly luck that is beating terminal illness. I’m so grateful.

  • A Peaceful Morning Coffee Outside Makes Any Day An Ideal Day (AKA What Is My Ideal Day End To End?)

    Describe your most ideal day from beginning to end.

    My ideal day is sunny.

    Maybe it has rained overnight, maybe not, but in the morning when I wake up the sun is out, the windows are open, and I can hear the birds singing. The temperature is pleasant, and of course the flowers are in bloom.

    My perfect day involves leisurely coffee with Larissa. We’re dressed and sitting outside sipping coffee. It’s still on the early side and the day is still fresh. Maybe we’re on our patio, maybe we’re with family, maybe we’re on a rooftop deck somewhere. Maybe we’re near a blue ocean, maybe we’re in view of the mountains. None of that matters. As long as it’s sunny and mild, and the air is fresh, and we’re sipping our coffees together outside, it’s all good.

    Meanwhile, we have some savings, our bills are paid, we no debt, our families are healthy and happy, and we’re not rushing off to some mandatory situation that day. Basically we don’t have any major worries at the moment. I’m not saying none of the situations don’t exist right now, but any ideal day must have these situations going on (or not going on) in the background.

    After that? I don’t care. Because already it’s an ideal day.

    Life is hard. But if we can carve out any moments of joy during the day, and we can start out the day with a peaceful coffee, and we have no significant worries (health, financial, safety, famine, drought) at the moment, then that is a terrific terrific day. Anything else is just gravy IMO.

  • It’s A Gift To Remember Numbers

    I don’t have a great brain for remembering words, but time was I had a fairly decent brain for remembering numbers.

    Until about 15 years ago, I remembered any date I saw in writing (which made history exams much easier), phone numbers without trying, useless statistics of any kind (I loved reading the Baseball Encyclopedia at night), and could memorize just about any number I put half a mind to.

    I never realized how incredibly useful this was.

    About 15 years ago I battled lung disease. And a neurologist told me that those top echelons of our brain are the most susceptible to oxygen deprivation, and I do believe that that battle shaved some of my capacity for numbers away (aka caused some brain damage 🙂 ). And although I am still above average for remembering numbers, it’s by no means fail-proof and have to work at it a lot harder to remember them.

    For example, today I was asked by NWLMS for my six-digit ID number, a number I was assigned yesterday. It went like this:

    CALL AGENT: “May I have your ID number?”

    ME: “Uh.”

    CALL AGENT: “It’s the six digit number we assigned you.”

    ME: “Yes, I know. I need to find it in my email.”

    Sigh.

    That’s embarrassing and a pain in the butt.

    Conversely, I remember this situation from 2005:

    ME (on headset while driving): Do you have that phone number I need to call?

    COLLEAGUE: Yes, but aren’t you driving?

    ME: Yes, but you can just tell me. I’ll remember.

    COLLEAGUE (skeptically): Okay, here it is. 513 blah blah blah blah blah blah (last digits removed to protect the innocent).

    ME: Okay, thank you. (The number was filed away in my memory at that point. Later, my colleague commented how remarkable it was that I could remember a phone number like that on the first listen while driving. But it was just how my brain worked, and it probably came at a sacrifice to other parts of my brain like how to change a light bulb).

    I never realized what a pain it is to have to try to memorize numbers. Everything is just a little bit harder now. And I have to have some kind of filing system that I never had to have before 10 years ago, although thank goodness the search feature on our devices makes it so much easier.

    It’s such a gift to remember numbers. And to remember numbers without trying. I wish I’d appreciated it more when I had it. But I’m grateful it was taken from me only after the world’s search mechanisms had become so powerful. And I’m grateful to be at least average — it could have been far worse 🙂