Sometimes, You Get What You Ask For

Life has taken me down a rough and challenging road. I am currently on that road, dirt, pocketed with potholes, usually going uphill, seemly both directions, and no signage pointing to which way to go. Blogging has suffered while on this bumpy track, and my creative nature has taken a nose dive. Circumstances and the ongoing, entrenched search for a job have sheared out the side of my brain, participating in thoughts of freedom, adventure, creativity, having money that is not directed toward survival, and not having to continually search for a place to live, at least temporarily. The climbing count for different housing locations since I helped sell my mother’s home and became unemployed is at five.

I am on a lengthy journey to Douglas, Arizona, for a unique job opportunity. Beginning to steer away from jobs in metropolitan Tucson, with its deep pile of resume applications for any job posted, I am having more success in the faraway, smaller cities that dot the Arizona map. From previous chapters in my life, I have enjoyed smaller towns to call home. This job I am interviewing for is to run a library. A library in the Arizona prison complex in Douglas. No, it was not on my ‘usual’ list of occupations I have sought, nor was it on my backup plan. Books have helped shape my life, so the possibilities of changing lives are not much more profound than within the confines of a prison.

Riding along for the fun of visiting a prison is Eric, who I have somehow survived many adventures with. This would be far different from any other trip we have taken. I greatly appreciated having another talking head on the six hours of driving the backroads of Southern Arizona.

The interview went very well, despite having little idea of how it would unfold. I had another job in tow in Douglas, and we would veer the car to the Douglas Visitor Center. They had posted for the position of Tourism Coordinator. I had been in touch with the HR department that I would be in town today in case I could have an interview or talk with someone about the job. City Hall and the HR department would be the best I could do to show my interest in the position, and I would find that HR was unmanned. We decided to set up a base camp in the beautiful grassy area in front of City Hall and eat lunch. Having little cash and on a health rampage that included too many salads, I had packed a rather impressive, nicely packed king salad.

I had not bothered to pack a fork.

Forkless, hungary, and feeling that the lone spoon in my car would not take care of business, I set off to walk Douglas until a fork was obtained. I was running across some friendly people, but no forks. I was selecting restaurant-less routes, and the choice of a store where I could buy cutlery was slim until I realized I had no money. That pack of 25 plastic forks was not going to happen.

Finally meal time and that pictured fork now lives in my car.

I walked into the La Familia general store and desperately shared my situation with the gal behind the counter. English was not in her arsenal, and she waved to a young gal walking down the nearest aisle. I shared my plight one more time. She smiled and raised her right hand to reveal a plastic fork, the only item she was carrying. I had a hard time comprehending what the odds were that that could have played out in such a crazy manner, but I did not have a hard time in eating my salad.

The journey was good, and I had a smile on my face as the journey home took me through a section of Cochise County where I had worked the Cochise County Classic Cycling event a number of years ago. I vaguely remember the road and thought I would see if I could capture the signage in a more unique, picturesque manner than the hurried shot I took during the cycling event. I failed today, but I still love the name of the road and what it represents in extreme Cochise County.

Updates: I did not hear back on the prison job. I had an excellent interview for the Tourism Coordinator position (also in Douglas, Arizona) and I am waiting on their final decision. Today was a good interview with CAF(Challenged Athletes Foundation) Idaho for a position in Boise, Idaho, and I should hear next week if I will march toward the next interview. Things are looking very promising!

Cave Creek and the Chiricahua Mountains

The cell phone rattled as the incoming call stirred me from my focused world of searching for a job and a place to live. It was my adventuring buddy, Eric. I had forgotten what adventure was since I had stepped forward to caregive for my parents, sell their house, and take care of family details. It would be the most important job I had ever done or would ever do.

The call involved the Chiricahua Mountains, housing (not in a tent!), and searching for the elusive elegant trogon (we’re talking the bird world). What on earth is a trogon? I pondered about this possible escape. And pondered some more. In the last four years, I had only one brief getaway for a few days into neighboring California. I felt guilty for abandoning the need and ability to search for a job. Then that feeling dissolved, and I said yes. I needed this.

waterfall near the Southwestern Research Station

There was mayhem, disruption, distress, questioning, more bedlam, sprinkled with uproar, and then I was packed. I am living out of sports bags, and Basha’s grocery bags and wondering where on this planet I will be living in the next couple of weeks, so packing was a jolting task. There were items in storage that I so desperately wanted to bring. They remain hidden, deep within storage units 56 and 64. I fearfully suspect some valued items may have entered the estate sale zone.

The Chiricahua’s from Rodeo, New Mexico

Our pavement ended sometime after three hours Eric and I connected with Mariann, Jane, and Debra, with hunger calling our names. Actually, in a deafening tone so our gut decided, for us, what our next order of action would be.

Our new adventure home, which was a resort, was a sprawling complex that happened to include a nice basketball court with a single glass backboard. Some 100 blogs ago, I jotted that I was once a basketball stud who sat on the bench while sporting a miss-sized junior varsity outfit. I was too short, and skinny, and I was pretty bad in almost all aspects of the game, but boy, could I shoot. With possibly my only superhuman talent, I traveled the county and sometimes competed during halftime of NBA basketball games. What a crazy life. In a desolate spot in New Mexico, I found my ‘touch’.

The hoop

Our first exploratory journey along Cave Creek was a search for vivid landscapes, interesting local lore, wildlife, and historic sites. We scoped out the area and landed some great scenic photos. This remarkable area is the most biodiverse landmass of North America, and the bird life reflects that. Cave Creek Canyon is the largest and best watered in the Chiricahuas. While I may not be sporting a ‘bird’ tick list (probably lost somewhere in the storage unit 64), my human tick list includes some exceptional people on this trip.

Eric

Elegant Trogon (Male)

Eric and I ventured down the S. Fork road in search of awesomeness. The good people at the Cave Creek Visitors Center had shared that awesomeness was everywhere, and the extremely stunning zone could be entered by seeing an Elegant Trogon. This premiere bird was at the top of every birder’s list visiting here.

While sightings this season of the Elegant Trogon were down, likely due to a cooler winter in Mexico, causing a delay in their arrival, the S. Fork road had some valued sightings, so we zoomed on.

Within 1/2 mile of the truck, we heard some rustling on the hillside. At this point, I had seen few birds, all from a decent distance; I had zero photos that qualified as viewable. I was beginning to wonder if I could make it as a professional birder. I did need a job, right? That rustling was a pair of Mexican Jay’s and an Acorn Woodpecker and…could it be? Yep, the fourth bird was an Elegant Trogon, confirmed by Eric’s wildlife biology eyes. I would see a second landing not far from the first sighting. We would end up spending 1.5 hours with this spectacular bird. There would be 10-12 landings until our entertainer with wings would finally fly into a more distant location on the hill. I will be posting a more detailed post on this special moment and plan on linking it here.

Area 51

I was ‘greeted’ by a rifle (shotgun?) and a handgun as I pulled into Area 51. Not the security guys in plain white Ford Raptors, you might see on a Youtube video regarding the real Area 51. This patrol, I would later learn, would be Wendy.

Since no weapon was pointed at me, I questioned the situation I found myself smack in. Next to my new space in lot 52 was an abandoned RV awaiting some love from the owner. Wheels were lying about, and it appeared that wheels were not the only need on this rig. Wendy shared that the RV was remarkably unlocked for some unknown reason (me?), and she was concerned (me, again) that I had parked next to the violated rig. I shared that the RV I would be living in would be arriving soon. Sorry to raise an extreme level of concern. I would realize that it was a solid thought that the caretaker of the RV park was on top of what was going on there. We were situated in a somewhat shady part of town.

After the exit from selling my mother’s home and the ensuing estate sale, I needed a place to live and a job. Cedric had provided an RV, and I had chosen #51 to reside in. It seemed to be the best of the available slots, and it worked well. Not quite what I expected after leaving a spectacular home with a superb view and lots of storage for Dave’s gear and assorted stuff, I became somewhat dismantled, loading almost everything into storage.

After a month at the RV, I scurried on to a casita of a neighbor from the days I was a caregiver for my parents. I look back on how well the RV worked and had become home. I adapt with some hesitation, but I seem to adapt well to a world gone a bit crazy and unusual.

This explosion happened in the middle of the night. I evidently was fried by circumstances of live and I did not hear it. I normally wake up easily but the need for sleep won this battle.

Day of The Deer

Day of The Deer

Of all the amazing, unique, and sometimes rare forms of wildlife that I see in the wild landscape beginning only three minutes from the house, the deer rules the animal kingdom on my mother’s list. She has helped me to truly value the ever-abundant deer that roam the desert.

The winter season is remarkably slow in terms of seeing wild things on my hikes. The deer is one of the few animals that I see all year whether it be 15 degrees outside or 110.

This Day of the Day involved a three-mile hike and twenty-four deer across the landscape. This would be impressive, but there was much more to a day where I may see deer in my dreams. Or at least in a couple of photographs.

I had seen the king of deer in the top photograph earlier in the winter. A glance and a very poor photograph, but the impressive rack were not to be missed. I would guess that #2 king deer might be 50 to 70% of the size this guy is toting. No, this is not Colorado. We rarely have King Deer here.

I caught the fabled deer in the side of my vision. What surprised me was the lack of motion. Just munching and occasional glances to make sure I wasn’t reaching for a rifle. Perfect for shooting…photos.

I have seen him a number of other times in much less dramatic circumstances. He is still proud to be wearing his notable antlers. A rancher friend of mine who has also seen this deer says that this time of year is when the male deer exit family life to go on their own. It is also the time of year that the rack will fall off. I will keep my eyes open. This time frame is for deer roaming Montana, but I am guessing it should be pretty similar to here.

Minutes later, I exited my trail and had just entered the neighborhood when I saw the ‘flying deer’. It was a group of three or four deer roaming a yard next to the cement ditch I was in. I quickly grabbed my camera as I saw deer jump the fence into the backyard of this location. Probably the same clan of deer. Another surprise as the deer leaped over the highest part of the fence. Amazing! Nope, that photo is not a tremendous photo, and I did not have the time to switch to the action setting on the cam, but I am thankful to have gotten a flying subject and end my day in good form.

Fear #2

I am working on a future story centered on one of our deepest-seeded emotions. That being fear. Fear can take on many forms and can disrupt lives. My utmost fear is losing my mother. This feeling churns in the wake of recently losing my father while my mom is struggling with her health and well-being. Her spirit fights on while my fear deepens.

This will be a fear intro as I work on my notes and a story of me taking on another fear (gravity-bungee jumping) and smashing it.

There was a large smile on my face as two of the books I am referencing on fear had a tarantula on the cover. A fear for most, I love tarantulas and often pick them up or let them wander their merry way once they meander from my hand to regions beyond. They are possibly the most docile creatures in the desert once they are done with their defensive stance and reach the mellow zone.

Does that photo make your heart pound?

On this night, before I tackle the next fright on my list, aquaphobia, the fear of water. I have packed goggles, a swim board, a swimsuit, a swim cap, ear plugs, a snorkel (just in case), low blood sugar items (I have type 1 diabetes), and a couple of extra pairs of goggles. Obviously, none of them have been tested. Snorkeling with leaky goggles has not created a strong bond between me and H2O.

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I with 6-less pairs of goggles than in the photo above.

It is the morning of splashing and, hopefully, no puking. That is within my short memory bank of thoughts on swimming. I steeled myself last night with an excellent audiobook on fear, ‘Mastering Fear’ by Brandon Webb. One of his examples is his friend, Kamal, who has the same aqua gene I possess. “Fear is not your enemy. It is your ally”.

I do not want fear to hold me back. I need to swim because it is important for me to live and to live fully.

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I am looking toward supplanting those memories with breathing in then out with strokes moving me forward. Moving forward in life.

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The first lesson of the Saddlebrooke Swim Club’s “Let’s Swim” clinic (this is their 17th year for the clinic) went surprisingly well, with a few coughing spells and some uneasiness in the liquid environment. I stationed myself against the north end of the pool, a mere arm's length from the wall. The advice of relax, slow down and stop thrashing at the water with my legs rummaged through one side of my brain while the other side devoted itself to the fear element.

Terry, the incredible deck coach working in the newbie corner of the pool, poses for my blog photo. what lesson do we learn synchronized swimming?

On day 2 we navigated through more challenges and my gasping and confidence rose to the surface. I still was happy with being in a pool (it had only been 50 years) and took a small note of satisfaction that my gear was making me dream more significant than I was capable of living.

Our third class unveiled a person who was feeling physically unwell and did not have a mental stronghold to see me have a good day in the pool. I reluctantly stayed home and likely shopped for ‘better’ gear.

The most recent plunge was a success as I felt better and had enough mental force to anticipate a good day, plus much of the day was on our backs. I can rock that stroke.

A Date on the Calendar

My calendar sits eerily upon the tv table a few feet out of my reach. I did not need to jot a reminder for what was to take place tomorrow, September 18th. An anniversary, not of the joyous kind, such as a wedding, but of the kind that won’t be celebrated. It is the day that my beloved dad would breathe his last in 2021.

I am genuinelly thankful for a busy and productive day on the 18th to help steer me away from deep thoughts and memories that ping across my brain as I think about dad and the horribly difficult days that he struggled through one year ago.

He was an amazing man who was dedicated, loving, athletic, financial savvy, patient, a phenomenal leader, morally strong, and someone who loved living entombed in a broad sweep of information, always seeking to do almost everything better, and his heart was set on sharing useful and life-changing information with those around him. Did I mention that he was a phenomenal storyteller?

He loved an occasional visit to Starbucks and U of Arizona football games to treat his fortunate son and share a special moment.

I dearly miss you dad.

Where Are The Rattlesnakes?

I have shared that my favorite season in the Sonoran Desert is summer. Yes, Summer!

Brutally hot!

That season also includes an extra dose of misery during the monsoon season with that punch of humidity draping 100+ degree days. Despite some negative aspects, summer tops my list as this is when the wildlife is out and about on or near the trail that I frequent. And let’s not shrug off the fact that this is also the period of time that the dramatic monsoon season strikes.

I can kick around the local trails January - March and October - December and rarely see any wildlife. Well, cool and unique wildlife. Arizona has many rather interesting creatures (we are looking at you: tarantula, gila monster, javelina, mountain lion, horned lizard, the tarantula hawk, and others. I will thank my mom for helping show a little more love toward the deer and bunnies. My animal stories toward her and dad did not usually include my encounters with poisonous or venomous creatures. She did learn to further question me as I was honest and maybe, I did see a snake, or two. “What kind of snake?” she would ask, knowing it was almost always the one with a rattle.

Bobcat

Gila Monster

So this story is a reflection of the many years that I have hiked the Sonoran Desert just north of Tucson. My educated guess is that I average in the low to mid-20s in terms of how many rattlesnakes I see each year. The rattlesnake count may start as early as mid-March. Last year seemed unusual as I did not see one until May 1st. The year would escalate with sightings of slithery bodies as I would end my count at 39. My question this year, as of July 9th, is that I have seen 1. Where are the rattlesnakes? This season opener was a very young rattler. I generally see newborns toward the end of summer.

Western Diamondback Rattlesnake (from the archives)

I know that it can be a life moment for some people to encounter a rattlesnake, especially on a trail, not dead on the side of a road. It is a part of my daily existence to have encounters if I am going to travel into the desert. My respect and attention are toward the rattlesnake, and I choose to value them as part of the landscape. I have read many stories of people who have been bitten, and their lives are sometimes drastically changed. In a cruel way. If you are bitten, the snake may or may not inject you with venom. The anti-venom can help/save you but at a price. One vial of anti-venom can run $5,000 -10,000 and the average (stated by one article) to treat a bite is twenty vials. There are several other animals or insects/spiders that demand my attention, but the rattlesnake is my main concern.

Diamondback Rattlesnake (photo from the archives)

As we roll into the first week of July, my count is at 4. It is becoming a good monsoon season which is bringing out more wildlife. Still lacking Mr. Rattlesnake, which makes hiking a bit less tense. With grass growing at an alarming rate, my single-track sections are beginning to close in. A little more of a worry as I step cautiously through snake territory.

Horny Toad (Horned Lizard)

Tarantula

I had a knee surgery yesterday (minor meniscus tear) and I am looking forward to getting back on the trails soon. It is my desire to share more on this blog. With caregiving duties, the passing of my father, moving mom into assisted living, going through household items and getting the house ready for sale, my mind and time have gone into another space. I realize that writing and photography will help keep my life more balanced and possibly more sane.

Horny Toad (Horned Lizard)

The photo above gives light to the tremendous monsoon season we are having. My trail is giving way to a green tunnel of grass, in some sections. You can imagine the new scenario I now have as I cautiously step through patches of thick grass on terrain that was once a bare, open trail. A new level of concern as I thread through rattlesnake grounds.

The photo above is rattlesnake numero 8 of the season. Yes, I almost stepped on him. Thankfully, the desert dweller was down for the night, coiled and patient but flicking his tongue to get a better sense of his surroundings. Their strong sense of smell helps compensate for poor eyesight.

I think back to the days I ran this trail/road. Would I have seen him in time?

It is now October 6th, and I have had many more encounters with r snakes. The count is 18 and the monsoon season continues to hammer the desert.

The final r snake count for 2022 was 20. Did I say final? I saw a photo posted yesterday (October 8th) featuring a rattler in someone’s back yard.

My curious title of this post (Where Are The Rattlesnakes) was appropriate as I had encountered only two rattlesnakes as the summer reached the halfway point. I would see 18 in the last half of our blazing summer. You just never know about wild life.

California King Snake

Sonoran Desert Toad

Stories Behind The Images - Corey Rich

Stories Behind The Images by Corey Rich was the influence I needed to create my ‘Stories Behind The Images’ page. If you have not checked this gem out you should. Amazing stories, interesting and beautiful photos, and a great layout on the pages. The audiobook is a great listen.

There is a link below if you would check out this page.

My Speech at Dad's Memorial

I have given many speeches in my life. For work, school, trying to impress a girl or two, or to encourage a group of people dealing with type 1 diabetes,

But, this is by far my most important time on stage.

For those that were close to dad, they likely enjoyed some of his stories. He was an incredible, gifted speaker/storyteller. I hope to tap into his talents as I share some final words on dad and his final days.

Dad went through a lot during suffering, frustration, disappointment, pain, and the continued decline of his health and mental abilities.

While those days were the hardest of his life, he was amazing through it all. Some of his most dominant and best qualities shone brightly during this challenging time.

Dad continued to show his patience, long-suffering, love, thankfulness, a side of optimism, and a pure lack of worry every day.

He would share how thankful he was for the life he had lived.

I visited with him at home or in the bleakest environments, such as the ER, his hospital room, or finally at a care center…I would be laden with a sense of peace. A peace that I needed and clung on to.

He had no idea that while I was trying to help him out as his caregiver and son, he was helping me out.

He had a calmness, lack of worry, peace, and love that stirred my soul.

Many of you know that I am a photographer at heart. I am so very thankful for two final photos, which include dad. Mom and I stopped by the care center to visit with him. The timeline would later reveal that this was two days before his passing.

Mom and I would remark that this was the best we had seen him in the last month or two. Little did we know.

I pulled the camera out to snap a touching photo as mom kissed dad’s hand. The love that these two had was epic and would be worth its own story.

As we were leaving, dad began to roll his wheelchair in our direction, following as best as he could. We cleared the doorway one last time and turned around to see him continuing to stay connected with us, and I am guessing a thought that he might be going home. He was, but not his earthly home.

I felt sad to share that he could not follow us as his hands stopped their forward motion. The wheelchair sat at the doorway, his feet resting in the hallway—almost freedom.

The unusual scene struck me. I could not see his face, but I knew that this was a moment worth capturing, and I snagged my camera one last time. Click.. and we soon departed the facility and zoomed home.

Dad would silently exit room 313 two days later, on September 18th. Finally, free of pain, discomfort, and suffering.

Thank You, Dad, for showing me your greatness amid a genuinely dark time.

Back to Running!

I can happily share that I am back on the trail, running with out a catheter. Seems like kind of a dream after sporting a cath 24/7 and not knowing whether I would be able to live without the dreaded medical attachment or need an operation (to dissolve my enlarged prostrate gland) or I would be doing what Dave loves to do.

The catheter was taken out and yes, hurray, I was able to pee. A status that is usually taken for granted, but I am in a time frame in life where I seek to be thankful for everything that may not have appreciated in the past. This example, in particular.

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There is a certain beauty to being able to run (again) and there is a significant beauty to running during summer in the desert southwest. No the catheter did not affect my mental status. While it can be scorching hot, frying runners and non-runners alike, it is the season for the unique wildlife to come out late in the day as I hit the trails. This is actually my favorite season as I love photography and love to encounter wild things along my route. I hope to be posting some interesting and varied photos such as the Gila Monster I saw a couple days ago (photo above). They are the gem of the desert to see as they spend about 90% of their livelihood in their burrow. Generally an animal occupies two burrows over the course of a year, one from autumn through early spring and another during the warmer spring and summer​.

Javelina (seen last night)

Almost time to hit the trail, although after a super mild May and early June the temps are now spiking. 105 degrees, but I will be out there!



Just Thinking

On a hike today I dug deep into the memories of my past, some encouraging times, mixed in with some troubled, challenging times. Living with type 1 diabetes I can be ever thankful that my path through life happens to be now and not further back in history.

Insulin was discovered 100 years ago and I am alive due to this miraculous discovery by Sir Frederick G Banting, Charles H Best, and JJR Macleod at the University of Toronto.

I reflected on this and a number of other times where history has been on my side. I shared in the last blog that I had a total blockage in my urinary tract. A catheter relieved fierce pain and helped my body to cope with a difficult situation. The word “catheter” comes from Greek, meaning “to let or send down.” Catheters were used as early as 3,000 B.C. to relieve painful urinary retention. In those times, many materials were used to form a hollow catheter shape, including straw, rolled up palm leaves, hollow tops of onions, as well as, gold, silver, copper, brass, and lead.

I am certainly thankful that I did not have a ‘catheter’ moment had I grown up around 3,000 B.C. The materials used to form raw catheters is a little scary when you think about where they are being placed.

The reflective hike ended with the summation that I likely would have died from eight different events in my life, had I lived in the past, where medicine had not met with the ability to keep me alive.

Be thankful we live in this day and age (ok, we could have done without Covid 19). And looking back on history is was a wonderful moment to advance beyond the ketostix and $400 plug-in blood glucose machine that was in my T1 toolkit when I was first diagnosed.

Pain Has Found Me

This moment finds me on the back deck, doing my best to relax as I glare at the imposing Catalina Mountains, ten days after the worst, most nightmarish days of my life. A catheter winds into my fatigued body in an area that you really do not want anything making ugly intrusion into your weakened system.

I knew that I had a URI (Urinary Tract Infusion) a few days before I finally picked up a phone. The doctor’s office did confirm that I did have the suspected URI, and it was shared that it is very bad.

I slugged along with my new condition, popping a five-day supply of antibiotics, while my urinary stream headed, insidiously, toward a dribble, with an additional dose of minor pain seeping in. This five-day would be greatly extended as the UTI continued its painful grip.

Urination was becoming a more challenging task as my urinary tract was closing up. I knew I was heading toward trouble as I reflected on a previous catheter episode eight years ago and witnessing my father, who valiantly endured a similar situation recently. Like father, like son, seems to be appropriately placed here in the story.

By the evening, I was having trouble with pain, concentration, and my scattered thoughts of what should happen next. The trouble with peeing was now a past issue. I could not pee. Period.

My lovely experience of being on a catheter previously did not thankfully involve the additional effect of a tormenting surge of discomfort, but "‘I could not pee’ had enticed me to the ER while in Alaska, while being diagnosed with an enlarged Prostate Gland.

I began to pack my bag for a visit to ER.

My quiet, reserved nature creates a rather mellow bubble around my personality. I now had become a very verbal individual. The ‘screaming monkeys’ pain needed to escape the turmoil that was going on in my brain and body. It had become the worst day of my life.

A quick, nervous, glance at the clock revealed that it was about 1 am. My options now included:
* Driving the half-hour to the hospital (while desiring to be
self-sufficient I had a tough time seeing this option happening).
* Calling an ambulance.
* Calling an uber
* Calling my friend nearby
* Borrowing a self-catheter that my dad possessed and playing doctor.

No, I could just chin-up to self cathing. I also knew that I needed a bit more than that for my well-being. Also, I could not envision driving myself. Nope.

This is when the story edges into a new level of the UGH factor mixed in with some exceptional blessings that I was trying to acknowledge during this bleak and sometimes noisy period.

Blessing #1 would unveil its beauty as I called Eric for a possible ride to ER. It was after 1 am and I expected either leaving a message and scrambling back to my options list or a semi-coherent response from someone who had been asleep and was startled late a night with a surprising, phone chiming. Two rings and I was greeted with a jovial hello. This was not on the list of expectations. This came together as he had been on an unexpected overseas phone call.

Off we rolled toward ER. I had a deeply uncomfortable feeling about what was next. My mother had a recent ER excursion which was about six hours while my dad topped out at ten hours in a recent ER outing. I can truly say that with the pain-o-meter humming in the stratosphere it was rather unthinkable to possibly endure 1/2 day or beyond much of which would be in the ER lobby. After the ER experiences via my mom and dad, I opted to take my chances at a slightly more distant hospital. A wise choice as I strolled into Northwest Hospital and saw that there was a single, sleeping person sprawled across a chair in the lobby.

Quick check-in and I was ushered to a room and assured that I would be attended to very soon. I dropped my items into a free chair and began to pace, with urgency and scattered thoughts pinging the walls confining me. My newfound verbal side bounced off the walls and through the closed doorway, I am sure alarming those strolling the hallway. I have not experienced pain to such depths. Desperation raged through my system as I nervously waited.

I have leaned on drawing to capture moments of my parents medical appointments, etc. Now I am capturing my own moment. I was in a horrible state so it is a very rough sketch, but does share the moment. The drawing pad and pencil are near the edge of the bed.

Blessing #2 would see relief within one hour and forty minutes after entering the hospital. This was hours and hours less than I anticipated, although my evening was not over. They had inserted a catheter to drain my bladder (about twenty-four ounces), but it was removed and the clock began to tick as I rehydrated with about twenty-eight ounces of liquid to see if I could urinate.

At about forty-five minutes I still was not in the pee zone and I decided to get out of the grasp of the hospital bed and drift around the room.

Episode two began, immediately after I stood up and I realized that the worst moment of my life had returned for another horrifying episode.

I stumbled to the call button and called for assistance, in the best urgent manner I could muster. I was not ready for a round two.

It was now evident that pee was not going to happen and that I had some lingering issues that would affect me in the near and possibly distant future. My father had recently had urinary tract issues and ended up with his prostrate removed. He has valiantly dealt with the situation and I have an excellent role model to learn from and hopefully follow.

Like father, like son

Blessing #4 was the fact that Eric had stayed near the hospital and I did not have to wait for my hospital escape.

We are now into March and I see a urologist in about a week. While this blog is a bit grittier than I am used to sharing, I certainly am not dealing with a life or death situation, thankfully. It has been a strain as I am dealing with some discomfort and for a number of reasons I am in a regular state of sleep-deprived status, logging an average of roughly three to four hours of sleep a night. Type one diabetes control and being plugged into normal life has been challenging. I am used to two hours of running per day. The numbers are going up while I walk two to three+ miles a day with occasional running.

One step at a time.

The Scariest Thing(s) I Have Done

For someone who has brazenly leaped off of a number of high bridges, attached by a bungee cord, or maybe via a static line on a rope swing, there is one bridge encounter that I will likely never forget. That once in a lifetime event may never be replaced at the top of my scary zone list.

While I take on challenges, largely, because I have type 1 diabetes, these random moments of madness can cause some temporary havoc with my blood sugars. Yes, zigging nerves can surge the system and raise blood sugars while anticipation can cause a serious lack of sleep the night before your irrational event the next day.

I have gotten better at planning extreme moments. They are golden times and so worth it.

The bridge set up is revealed in the photo above. A line is actually hooked on the opposite side of the bridge while the jumpers jimmy onto the concrete pedestal on the upper left of the photo. The ropes are strung under the bridge and hoisted up to the side where you would be testing gravity.

Matt doing the upside down

The Idaho Statesman would do an article on our type 1 diabetes adventure group (No Limits) with a story “Pushing the Limits”. Another excuse to jump off the Highway 21 bridge (Boise, Idaho).

• This particular jump was more on the edgy side as it was not a bungee jump, which I was quite accustomed to.

• It was not set up by the crew that I bungee jump with. It was a good friend devising a jump with static line (we did not have bungee cord)

• If you do not leap with some gusto there will be slack in the rope and you will deal with that slack as you reach the point where you begin your swing to the other side of the bridge.

• If you knock out a strong leap into space the swing is smooth as silk.

• This is the lowest bridge that I have jumped off, which is more intimidating than higher bridges as you can see the river and objects below appearing much closer and more of a distraction.

While the Highway 21 rope swing was epic, I have had some other memorable activities that have raised the geiger counter for adrenaline. The bat hang project is in the video above. Some many stories behind this unique bungee experience. It was four years before I saw this footage, losing my shoe, and the only boat on the river we saw that day saving my shoe. He was parked in our area during my jump, only.

The video above is not an experience I knew would be a challenge and I anticipated some nerves splashing the Gila River. It became a difficult and serious condition. I realized how serious it was as I took no photos/videos of my kayak totally filled with water during the seven times I capsized. I was focused on my immediate things.

And then there was my basejump…

109° ish Days

Thankfully some time has passed so my memories of a week of 109/110° have almost melted from my brain, but some embers are still aflame.

I did not know how to capture this week in images, beside borrowing a few photos from Unsplash, so I created the drawing above. No, cactus do not melt at 109°. I think it is around 114°.

It has been a bit toasty this summer, with the local newspaper headline story blazing across the front page that August had been a record scorcher and the article pointed to a record draining July. I picked up an early October edition of the Arizona Daily Star and for extra brownie points, as September was another record month. Now that we have keyed on July, August, and September blowing up the record books it is a no-brainer that this was the warmest summer ever (until next summer!).

Lovely news for someone who is striving to run twice a day.

It is now October 4th and the news above, while a harsh reality, is connected to the fact that it is still hot. Screaming monkey’s hot! We just crawled into November territory and eyeballs scan temperatures around 90.

Ok, enough focus on life in the desert. My internal temperature seems to be on the rise. Time for a wonderful and refreshing iced coffee and a possible winter, maybe.

The Mangy Coyote

I have shared before that I see a lot of animals on my run along ‘Dave’s Trail’ and that while the southwest desert is teeming with life it is a harsh environment. Rather severe and cruel for the runner that wants to run for an hour in liquifying 105+ degree temperature, but that is for a scant one hour. The residents of this landscape will endure temperatures from the teens to 117 degrees. Add a few sizzling degrees nearer the oven that is the Phoenix area.

The photo above is a visitor to your neighborhood who wandered through our yard during the furnance month of August in 2019. That summer I would have five or six encounters with this poor coyote while out on my runs, or sitting within my bedroom. I have no idea what this creature is enduring, but something is obviously affecting the well being of this animal. It appears to be something beyond the heat, starvation, or malnutrition. Possibly a disease.

When I first saw the mangy coyote, I did see a second coyote in the vicinity, but this was the only sighting that he or she was not alone. I would encounter him/her along the same area of my loop and I was always interested and slightly saddened when our paths crossed.

Our ‘visits’ were rather brief, but the coyote was always calm and appeared interested in the human with the camera. Yes, I probably should have been warier of a creature that could transmit some ugly disease with a bite and an animal that may be unstable mentally. I do know the toll of my own disease, type 1 diabetes, and do not need an additional disease in my arsenal, but I was curious and did not feel threatened in any way.

The first number of photos I snapped, I thought that I might have come across an animal that was not a regular inhabitant of our neck of the woods. Its condition had so greatly affected its appearance.

The photos taken from the safe confines of my bedroom would be the last time I would see the coyote. I did not anticipate a long life for the suffering animal, but I did have a somewhat grateful feeling each time our journey through the desert had us starring at each other.