Had a great time last night at the SFWA Reception in NYC. It was my first event since the heart attack and I was very touched by the volume of people who wished me well or had other kind words. I was often left with an inability to find the right words. Thanks to all of you and SFWA for a wonderful (and very welcoming) evening!
Category: Uncategorized Page 2 of 119
The doctors cleared me for travel to Worldcon.
My wife said no.
Flight cancelled. Hotel cancelled. Membership up for sale.
I previously mentioned the health adventure I had during Readercon. That post left you with the update that post-heart attack, I ended up in a second hospital with a kidney stone. Normally a stone is a simple procedure, but after a significant heart attack, two stents and a lot of blood thinners as required medicine, a stone is a significant complication. I spent several days in the CCU (Cardiac Care Unit) in Morristown as they filled me with the few painkillers I can tolerate. They had hoped the stone would pass naturally, but after five days, they grew concerned about the lack of progress and possible side-effects of staying on the painkillers. Much debate between my doctors ended with a decision to take the risk on a procedure to go in and zap the stone with a laser in a manner I care not to speak about. The procedure was partially successful. The stone was lodged and wouldn't have passed naturally. A stent was put in place, but the attempt to destroy the stone was suspended because of the amount of blood found and concerns of further damage while on blood thinners. The stent prevents most of the pain and if you've never had a stone, nurses described it as worse than childbirth. It's definitely the worst pain I've even experienced. Now, it can be managed with Tylenol until my heart has recovered enough to do the full procedure.
They let me come home Wednesday night and that was the first time in two weeks I slept in my own bed. I crashed early and woke up frequently, but I was home. Each day since has been a little better, but I came out post-stone (well, technically the beast is still in there) feeling worse than I did after my brief release post-heart attack. This week, I start meeting with doctors about my path to recovery. Currently, I'm banned from driving, going to my day job, lifting things, and a host of other physical activities.
Since several people have asked…. Chicon. I was looking forward to attending this year and catching up with friends I don't get to see all that often. I have to admit that as a first-time nominee for the Hugo Award for Best Editor (short form), I was particularly looking forward to attending the Hugos and the Hugo Losers Party. 🙂 I haven't made a final decision yet (which will really be made by family and doctors), but I have to face the fact that I nearly died this month. It's not very likely that I'll be able to attend and I think I'm just delaying the inevitable as a coping mechanism. In the grand scheme of things, a trip is really a silly thing to focus attention on. I have much bigger fish to fry.
I just want to add my voice to the many of others who are currently upset about Readercon's inability to follow their own rules and the effect it is having on people's ability to feel safe at the con. You can find the details about the situation here. Genevieve is a friend and one of the amazing people who helped us out while I lay in the hospital recovering from my heart attack. Some of the trouble even occurred as she was helping me out. I'm sickened by this whole thing.
I expected better from the Readercon board. In my experience, the overwhelming majority of people attending Readercon are good. This decision surely doesn't reflect the attitude of many of us and will cause several people to turn away, greatly diminishing us all. The actions of the board place a large dark cloud over the con. If they value the community that we've built over the years, they need to start listening and implement their policies as stated at the time.
Excuse any sloppy edits or typos. I write this under the influence of painkillers with insufficient energy to give it more work:
Last weekend was Readercon, quite probably my favorite convention of the year. I always have a lot of fun… well, except for this year. It started off well. I was supposed to be a dealer in the dealer's room again this year, so I brought a small fraction of my old Clarkesworld Books inventory to the con to sell off. I had a nice dinner at the hotel pub with my family before set-up and a bunch of people helped get all my boxes inside. Before unpacking, I thought I should set up the shelving. Midway through, I felt particularly unwell. I started sweating profusely and was hit with a wave of nausea. I suspected food poisoning or an allergic reaction. (I have a seafood allergy and the restaurant may have prepared seafood near or on the same grill as my dinner.) I left everything in place and returned to my room for several rounds of vomiting. After a while, my chest hurt, but it felt more like muscle strain from all the bathroom activity. It got worse and the pain spread to my shoulder. My wife called the front desk to get an ambulance.
Who's Fault is This?
The first Readercon panel I attended was a hotel employee, some EMTs and well, it's a blur. Unlike a normal panel, the panelists asked the audience questions. "Where did you eat?" "When?" "What did you have?" all the way to "Allergies?" "What medications do you take" "where does it hurt" "how long" and then they put me on a stretcher. The rest of the panel was in motion. To be honest, I zoned out a few times, but next thing I know we have the words "Heart Attack" flash on stage and I'm flying through the lobby on my way to the next panel escorted by a few of the panelist.
The Classic Road Trip: An Overdone Trope?
The second panel took place in an ambulance. More questions I don't remember and lots of talk about possible heart attacks. Open your mouth. Icky taste. Any improvement? STAB, you need an IV line. This panel was very short, but involved a field trip to Lahey Clinic, where the next panel would begin.
Emergency Room 101
Questions flying fast and furious. Attempts to dull the pain with morphine end with me sick and nauseous, so they stop and move onto something else. Time flies, but I can tell these people are bright. Something about running a line to check my heart. They can go through my groin or my arm. "I vote arm" is my sole contribution as they wheel me away to the operating room.
Operating Room: A Chilling Metaphor or Cold Reality.
Panelists definitely leans towards cold. Ouch, someone poking at my arm. Room sort of spinning. Close eyes. Noises, voices, time passes in odd ways. Did they drug me? No, I'm here and my back hurts. "Are you almost done, my back really hurts" is my sole contribution before things blur together some more.
Recovery Room (someone renamed the Green Room)
We installed two stents. The area of your heart attack is called the widow maker. There were other problems but we decided not to deal with them. Blurrrr. Being slid onto a bed. Another IV line. Blood pressure machine on my arm. Are you OK? Anything we can do for you? Drift into sleep. Take these pills. More explanations. My wife is there. One son sleeping in the other room. I'll live. What the hell happened? One of the other audience members screams like a demon from hell. Better not let the kids visit right now.
Recovery Room 2: No Escape, but the Guards are Nice
I'm sleeping 20-30 minutes at a time, maybe. Very friendly people trying to make me comfortable. More drugs. I didn't think SF conventions were like this. Did I wander into some secret room party? It's explained just how lucky I am to have survived the other panels. Moved, I break down when the lights go out. I hear the nice people called very unpleasant things by some older people in the audience.
Yes, You Really Can Escape from Recovery Room
The real takeaway from this panel is that although you've escaped, you can only get a few hundred feet away to somewhere with fewer wires and machines taped or strapped to your body. Still, the people are nice and regularly giving me medical training, suggestions on how to eat better and how I can expect my body to function as it recovers. Do I have a new body? Doesn't quite work right. I realize that I'm the youngest person attending these panels, perhaps by as much as 20 years. A panelist tells me I am right and that several of the other panelists have been asking a doctor how that could be. No one knows. I break down again when it gets dark. Panelists offer to help.
Do We Really Have Freedom?
This was an overwhelmingly positive panel. After a momentary discussion of having to take tests to leave the panel, it is determined that a video of the procedure that gained me admittance to the panels reveals good not great news. Making good progress, but they are still concerned about a significant amount of damage to my heart, 20 percent in one region. My future is predicted three months out and two worlds exist: one with a device implanted in my heart, one without. Cardiac rehab is my best path forward and I am released into the world to return to the hotel.
Where Did Everyone Go?
The panel over, I head back to the dealers room. No one is there. The hotel is empty. Where did everyone go? Prior investigation leads me to believe that kind volunteers not only staffed my table but set it up and sold a huge portion of what I brought. I'd say it was the easiest dealer's room I've worked, but my chest tells me otherwise. I'm overwhelmed by the things people did for me while I was on the surreal track at Readercon. I'm left in awe of the program participants.
Another Road Trip Panel
It's just my family and my father on this one. We pack up and head for greener pastures. Is it the beginning or the end of the story? Perhaps just the second chance to enjoy the story to its fullest. My doctor wants to see me when I finish the 4+ hour trip home. Something about checking the blood. No vampires. Aside from the people at Lahey, he's the only one I trust on such matters. That will have to change. My life is different now. I keep reminding myself.
The Gotcha Ending
Finally home, it's time for bed. Pain ratchets across my stomach and to my back. The end??? No, a quick race to the emergency room, where I'm sick with pain. Heart attack? Kidney stone? The latter, but can't be tackled in the garden variety way. No, we've got to have drama. The heart, of course, let's make it so that the medications and procedures complicate things and require our hero to return to the Cardiac Care Unit. Do not pass GO. Now, fade. That's how it's done.
***
Seriously though… A huge thank you to the people at Lahey Clinic. They saved my life and put me on the road to recovery. I will never forget that. I will not forget how lucky I was to end up there. More thanks to the people at Readercon that pulled together to help run our booth, sign cards or buy out my inventory. Every little gesture went noticed by my family and I. To everyone at Morristown Memorial Hospital. Thanks for trying to make back-to-back against the odds medical issues more tolerable. I'm not out of the woods, but I know you'll get me there. Hopefully soon. This stone thing is awful and big and scary and… you all know.
Today, I know who my friends are and they are many.
Stepan Chapman’s updated and definitive edition of his 1997 Philip K. Dick Award-winning novel, THE TROIKA, is now available in ebook format from Ministry of Whimsy Press / Cheeky Frawg Books.
Beneath the glare of three purple suns, three travelers – an old Mexican woman, an automated jeep, and a brontosaurus – have trudged across a desert for hundreds of years. They do not know if the desert has an end, and if it does, what they might find there. Sometimes they come across perfectly-preserved cities, but without a single inhabitant, and never a drop of rain. Worse still, they have no memory of their lives before the desert. Only at night, in dreams, do they recall fragments of their past identities.
But night also brings the madness of the sandstorms, which jolt them out of one body and into another in a game of metaphysical musical chairs. In their disorientation and dysfunction, they have killed each other dozens of times, but they cannot die. Where are they? How can they escape?
From this quest form, Stepan Chapman has fashioned a poignant and powerful story of redemption in which pathos is leavened by humor and pain is softened by comfort. It is the story of deranged angels, deadly music boxes, and cellular transformation. It is also the tale of Alex who wanted to be a machine, Naomi, who spent 20 years as a corpsicle, and Eva, who escaped the whale emperor of her native land. The novel alternates between the three characters’ attempts to discover where they are with their search for identity through the dream stories which reveal their fragmented pasts. The Troika’s satisfying conclusion brings closure to one of the most harrowing journeys ever into the heart of surrealism and the human soul.
Purchase your copy from: