Just Bleeping Do It, Part I - PT, Execise, and PD

Dear Mr. Angler,

I'm writing today to remind you (me) of some stuff you (we) already know.  WELL.  Two-and-a-half years ago, you were struggling.  But you were losing.  You were looking for help and just kept slipping.  You couldn't sleep without meds (and some of those meds were pretty bad!)  Panic attacks started.  A few months later, you couldn't work a full day or remember the names of your meds.  Parkinson's Disease was winning.  Finally, your wife and neurologist recognized the crisis.  You needed lidocaine injections, pain meds, and muscle relaxers. And you knew those could only help temporarily.

Three things brought you back from that hole.  Let's talk about two of them now, because the muscles and memory are drifting back into pain and fog.  Physical therapy and exercise WORKED.  Yes, it took more than three months of work.  Yes, you were doing your PT exercises 2 to 3 hours a day, EVERY DAY.  Yes, you laughed in your head when the doc prescribed physical therapy, so full of skepticism.  But you were desperate, willing to try anything.

Don't go back there, not even for a short visit.  You know better, so don't be an idiot.  Throttle up the engines and pull up.  Now.  Just do 20 minutes in the morning and 20 minutes in the evening. You know where you're headed if you don't.  Be mindful and not mindless.  If you really want three more years of fishing, prove you want it and invest in yourself. 

Sincerely,

The Fading Angler

Fortunately, I've recently started exercising and stretching regularly again.  April is Parkinson's Awareness Month, and I've recently been reminded that I still have Parkinson's Disease.  Lame attempts at humor aside, I sent the following on Twitter a few days back:

Parkinson's Disease took me down hard two years ago, both physically and mentally. PT and exercise brought me back. Now go fishing! #Move4PD

I was shocked at the number of retweets, and that there were some strong I-told-you-so's about physical therapy.  Then I remembered that I was skeptical and dismissive of PT when it was suggested to me.

I don't like being preachy, but physical therapy worked for me.  It was slow, but it worked.  If you or someone you know with PD has dismissed physical therapy as a treatment, let me add my voice: I've been there.  Keep your skepticism, but try PT before you reach the point of desperation, and give it time.  My muscles didn't really respond for about 4 weeks, and I kept getting better for 9 or 10 more.

And I'll add my voice to the exercise recommendation.  I get lazy and start sliding back.  So I'm telling myself, "Just Bleeping Do It." 

Please come back and visit again later for Part 2.  It's about sleep.  I was even more skeptical about THAT treatment...

He's in... And he's out!

For anyone wondering, my son's procedure at the hospital went exactly as planned.  In and out of the O.R. In record time, for us.  We'll be on our way home shortly.

And Now We Pause for These Messages

First, I'm pleased to announce that Tax Restrictions have been lifted and I am free to fish!

Second, I've visited two neurologists in the past couple of weeks because things are changing.  I'll write more about this when I've found the right perspective and words to use.

Third, since I don't really have anything of my own to offer this week, I have a couple of items I'd encourage you to read while my gears are grinding:

• Notes from Base Bozeman 4 April: Equilibrium - The folks at chiwulff.com run a timely, diverse, and well-written blog.  Hightlight from this post: "Sometimes the river just fixes things."  I'm ready for some fixing. Which way to the river?
• A bit of help for Harper -  The crew at Headhunters Fly Shop in Craig, MT manage to post something just about every day on their blog.  This one went deep for me.  A Missouri River guide had his tiny baby daughter life-flighted far away from him.  When I saw the hospital photos on the GoFundMe page, it was like someone had sent me back in time 15 years.  My son was born with heart problems (among many other issues), and spent plenty of time as an infant on a respirator, with an IV in his head, and an NG tube running up his nose.  And he has another small procedure happening this Friday, which fortunately has nothing to do with his heart.  We should be out by the end of the day.  

Hug your kids and/or grandkids today.  Life is fragile.

"Take me to the river, put me in the water..."

1040 Ways to Procrastinate Your Tax Returns

Nobody knows...

Yep, I'm rattling my little tin cup along the bars of my cell.  I'm officially in lockdown.  The sheriff (aka the CFO, domestic Goddess, The Boss, my wife) has decreed "No Fishing Until All the Taxes are Filed." 

(editorial note: actually, I created the 'lockdown' idea to attempt to motivate myself this year.  It hasn't worked, but the authorities decided to enforce it as law anyway.)

So here I am in my cell.  It's like a prison.  A horrible place, painted all green on the inside.  But instead of using a hacksaw blade to escape, my implements consist of receipts, spreadsheets, and laptop.  Being a small business owner and employer, the paperwork is at least triple what it was before I allegedly became my own boss.

The only way out of this dank, depressed funk is tedious work, probably about 12 more hours of it after the 4 I did today.  THEN...  well, then I can dust off a couple of rods, wait for the wind to calm a bit, then see if any lawn trout have migrated back north yet.  Just to get back into the swing of things before I hit the water out west in a couple of weeks.

If you do the things you have to do when you have to do them, then someday you can do the things you want to do when you want to do them.
Psuedo-encouraging words I once read somewhere

I must escape and find that stash of 5-weights.  Soon.

License to Thrill

My son had his semi-annual heart checkup in Missoula, Montana a couple of Fridays ago.  He was born there, but we moved away when he was 4.  We enjoy going back to visit.  It still feels like home. 

Sometimes I'm a slow learner.  In 2015, I was fortunate to be able to fish in Montana on four separate occasions.  We have plans to spend nearly 10 days in Montana and Yellowstone in August this year, and I'm starting to get a little giddy about the two-day trip my wife booked for me on the Missouri in April.  Fingers crossed that she's coming along.  After my day on the Big Horn River last year, I did a little math and realized that I should have just purchased a full-year nonresident angling license for 2015.  Turns out it would have been cheaper than the daily licenses that I purchased as needed.  With this in mind, Mrs. Fading Angler and I picked up shiny new full-year 2016 fishing licenses when we were in Missoula.

Sure, we could have bought them online, but there's nothing like having that fluorescent yellow piece of waterproof "paper" in your wallet.  It's my license to do what I do.  Rather than:

Bond. James Bond.

You get this:

Angler. Fading Angler. 

 Women may not swoon over me and fish may not fear me, but my drink will always be shaking.  Err, shaken.

Opportunity Knocks Twice, Part IV: A New Hope

This is the final installment in what was planned as a four-part mini-series.  Things didn't quite work out as planned.  You’re invited to start with the prequels if you haven’t read them, but I won't insist that they're prerequisites.  After all, George Lucas started with Episode IV...

• Opportunity Knocks Twice: Prologue 
• Opportunity Knocks Twice, Part II: It's Knot a Problem 
• Opportunity Knocks Twice, Part III: I Am Not Lefthanded 
• Opportunity Knocks Twice, Part III-and-a-Half: Pride and Parkinson's

 A long time ago in a magazine far,
 far away...

Knock knock!

Who’s there?
Opportunity.
Can’t be.  Opportunity only knocks once.

Cute.  But untrue.  In my case, Opportunity is leaning on the doorbell.  My life thus far has been filled with improbable second chances.  I got a second chance with my newborn son, when a doctor revived him after he quit breathing.  Another when he clung to life by a thread for weeks following complications from his first open heart surgery.  Another chance after the accident.  I was 19, and my brother was 16.  I came home from college for Easter weekend on a Thursday night.  In a moment that could have been inspired by “A River Runs Through It,” my brother and I made plans to go fishing the next morning.  We left early, and we didn’t come home for a long time.  One of us never really did come home.

The Great Folks at Sage

Mrs. Fading Angler and I took a quick weekend getaway trip to the Seattle area in October last year.  No real purpose, just a chance to get away for a few days.  We did have a few items on the "might do" list:

• Visit Red's Fly Shop, a 2 hour drive from Seattle, east to Ellensburg then a few more miles south along the Yakima River.  The idea was to scout for future fishing water, and see if they might have any wading boots for her to try on.
• Lunch and beverages at the Pyramid brewpub across the street from Safeco Field.
• A ferry ride out to Bainbridge Island for a quick visit with some folks at Sage.

After lunch, a flight of beer samples, and a pint of the selected barley juice, we waited in line to board the ferry out to Bainbridge.   We've taken probably 20 ferry rides around Puget Sound.  So far, the novelty has not faded.  We arrived in short order at the Sage (Far Bank Enterprises) HQ and hoped that we'd get the same hospitality as we received on our first visit and factory tour in 2012.  We were not disappointed.