Bump-bump. Bump-bump. Bump-bump.

I'm sharing a photo from our drive to Valdez two years ago. Every year we choose somewhere in Alaska to visit with a road trip. Well, we have only been to Valdez and Homer, with a quick day trip to Seward for the Aquatic Center. But still, I look forward to it every year. We couldn't go last year because we moved into our new house and had too much going on. And this year we simply didn't want to dip into our savings amidst this Covid-19 mess to fund the trip. So now we have had two years in a row where we couldn't do our family road trip. I miss it. But we are still living through our blessings! I wanted to give you guys an update on how Patrick is doing since his Ablation two months ago. When he came home he quarantined for two weeks, but he was a busy bee here at the house. The very next day he worked outside in our yard and felt the burning in his heart. It was extremely uncomfortable and we both worried that he had worked too hard, too soon. So he slowed it down and took it easy for the next week. A difference that Patrick began to notice right away was the lack of "heartsick" that he felt on a daily basis. No matter what he was doing he always felt like there was something wrong with his heart. With such an important organ, you know when something isn't quite right with it. His sensation of something being wrong made him feel sick all the time. After the procedure that feeling was no longer there. And when the burning sensation finally went away, Patrick began pushing the limits of what his heart could do. For years he has been told by cardiologists that if there is an activity he can do that gets his heart rate up and he is willing to do that activity, go for it. So many patients with heart failure are the exact opposite - they WANT to ride a bike but can't. They WANT to hike with their kids but can't. They WANT physical intimacy but can't. They WANT to be able to work in their own yard but can't. In Patrick's case he had largely been able to live a normal life, within limits. For instance, we stay on the road system when we explore Alaska. If there is an emergency we don't want to risk being out of contact range, or have to wait to be Medivaced out of the wilderness. And Patrick still hasn't been on the Slingshot at the fair, and acknowledges that it will probably never happen (and you know I would be buying that video so you guys could watch him scream!) But I always tell people you would never know Patrick has heart failure. His energy level is ridiculously high. He has a zest for life that most people wouldn't understand. That's what happens when you feel like you're living on borrowed time; when you can say you're dying a little bit faster than everyone else. It's also why I call him a walking miracle. Guys, I SAW the x-ray fifteen years ago that showed a heart double the size of what it should be. I've seen Patrick walk through conversations about Quality Of Life with grace. I signed his living will. I received texts and voicemails the time when he thought he was dying and my phone was on silent. This man's every breath is a miracle. His heart is still diseased; still dying; still enlarged. But the ablation has given Patrick a quality of life we could only dream of before. He can play with our kids and not get tired like he did before. He can push a lawn mower for a friend for an hour, and then come home and do the same in our yard. He can go go go from the time he wakes up to when he goes to bed at night, and without complaining or getting weary. Last night he asked me to listen to his heart. I knew what he expected to hear because they are things I have said to him in the past. "You're heart is going bump-bump-bump." "I'm hearing missed or skipped beats." "It doesn't sound right at all." So last night I listened. And I listened. And I listened. I put my ear to his chest and closed my eyes, and I felt tears form. Bump-bump. Bump-bump. Bump-bump. That's all I heard. Nothing funny. Nothing off. Nothing that shouldn't be there, or anything missing that should have been. And I told him the truth. "It's perfect." "Really?" "Mm-hm." There's always that unsaid, "... for now..." but we don't say it out loud. Because we count our blessings and focus on living now. Living thankful today, and glad Patrick has been given a new lease on life.