Around this time every year, I have to come to grips with my mortality. Another birthday is on the calendar — this week. I never dreamed I’d still be vertical (unless I’d be stuffed and propped up in a corner) at this age.
A birthday oddity, but one that has little to do with my own commemoration — Sharon and I moved into the center unit of our triplex condo some 14 years ago.
When Sharon’s birthday on Sept. 28 of that year rolled around, we discovered that it is our neighbor Norma Vanderbosch’s birthday as well. So, Norma and Sharon always exchange cards denoting that they have that connection.
Last winter, our neighbors on the opposite side of us moved out, and the unit was quickly sold to Bob and Dot Kieber. Sharon and I hit it off with the Kiebers, and one day Dot stopped by for a chat and mentioned her birthday — Sept. 28 — the same as Sharon’s and Norma’s! What are the odds? A triplex, with the wife in each unit, sharing the same birthday? Pretty rare.
During my childhood, my brother Lowell (RIP) and I shared my birthday for our celebrations. Our birthdays were just three days apart, and since mine was first on the calendar that became the big day.
I recall the year my birthday was on a Saturday, and Lowell and I were lolling in our bed, wondering what was in store for us, when we heard Mom call us: “Lowell, Mike, come here!”
Her voice came from Mom and Dad’s bedroom. We ran in, and Mom and Dad were sitting up in bed, Mom with a pair of small wrapped packages in her lap. She handed one of them to each of us.
Big surprises come in small packages, right? The wrappings came off, revealing small, bright green boxes. What was inside?
Pocket watches! We thought they were the greatest gifts ever. Mine had a fairly short life, it stopped ticking after it took an unexpected dip in an Alaskan mud puddle.
At least it still showed the correct time twice a day.
Another memorable birthday was a celebration of a different sort — in a different sort of place.
It was two days before my birthday, and our grandson Sam was coming to Loveland to help us celebrate. We picked him up at Denver International Airport, then on the way home stopped for lunch at Chili’s in Loveland.
After lunch we returned home, and Sam unpacked. It was then that I began to suffer the most excruciating belly pain I have ever had, so bad that I began to scream to be taken to the hospital.
Sharon called our son Mike who lives just a couple of blocks from us, who came immediately and took Sharon and I to MCR (Medical Center of the Rockies, now University Medical Center). Mike ran in, got a wheelchair and trundled me inside.
I was still screaming in pain as the admitting staff attempted to determine what to do with me. I was soon in the Emergency Room, with various folks milling around, trying to plan a course of treatment.
It was then that a familiar face appeared; the ER’s head nurse, who was a friend of ours, took over and calling in the docs, the pain was diagnosed as a “strangulated hernia.”
I was immediately taken to an operating room, given as much morphine as was safe, and the surgery to correct the problem began. I was in surgery for over two hours, then taken to recovery for a few hours, and finally to my own room.
Family had gathered, and it was good to be free of the pain and still breathing.
The next day was my birthday, and because Sharon and I had been members of the hospital’s “Patient Family Advisory Council,” the staff did a little extra for my big day — they prepared a beautiful, huge, birthday cake and ice cream — and I couldn’t eat a bite of it.
I was in the hospital for four days, and released to recover at home. Ten days later, Sharon and I left on a 28-day European tour and cruise.
It was a birthday of the worst kind, and of the best kind. And thanks to Dr. Cribarri, I’ve never had any issues with the procedure.
And, best of all, I’m still here to celebrate another.
Do you suppose the hospital might make another cake?
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What a Life: Birthdays to remember can come at any age - Loveland Reporter-Herald
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