Eric Tapley

My Great-Great-Uncle Paul passed away yesterday. He was 93 years old, lived a long and fruitful life, and suffered little before his death.

Uncle Paul was the “cool guy” in the family when I was young. I poignantly remember him from one Thanksgiving at my Grandmother’s house. The whole family had gathered and finished our meal; we sat around laughing, joking, telling stories, and enjoying the warmth of the fire.

“Who wants dessert?” my Grandmother asked. Everyone, of course, wanted to know about the options. Grammy listed off the choices: pumpkin pie, apple pie, lemon meringue pie, pudding, and, of course, a few flavors of ice cream.

“Hell, Rose, I don’t know, bring me a little bit of everything,” Uncle Paul joked. He must have thought she’d pick something and bring it out, not bring a full spread of dessert, but indeed Uncle Paul’s was a plate full of each dessert, generous helpings, while the rest of us had our choice.

At every Thanksgiving after that Uncle Paul, without asking, would get the full selection of desserts. Sometimes one of us would yell out that we wanted “A little bit of everything,” just like Uncle Paul.

Uncle Paul was always a bit of a maverick to me, he was the one who lived as he wished, ate however much dessert he wanted, and who always stood up to others in my family when he believed in something. He spoke with the authority of years and made a great impression on me in my youth.

He was also the last connection I had to Papa and Nana, my Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother, two people who helped tremendously in raising my brother and I after my Dad left and my mom was on her own. They were, in many respects, a second set of parents.

I miss them all.

I used to be really athletic. I would run, cycle, and hike for hours each week. I was the healthiest person I knew.

I used to be great at managing my time and completing tasks. I could take on a ton of different things in a day and I had the energy and stamina to see them all through, and do a good (or great) job at each of them.

Neither of these are true, anymore.

After getting sick with Colitis and spending all of the time I did in the hospital (and the impact of the surgeries I underwent) my life kind of fell apart. Not in the traditional sense of losing a job, a spouse, or experiencing financial problem, but instead I stopped being the same person and doing things the same way.

It’s time to get back to who I used to be. I believe health is the key. So, starting this week, I’m going to do more than just walk and track my steps with a pedometer. I’m joining Bally’s and starting a vigorous exercise routine, complete with assistance from a personal trainer, and I’m going to redouble my efforts on nutrition.

I hope to do some great things with my life, and I have a lot of life left to live. This isn’t a post for sympathy, it’s a public declaration of intent.

Ah, the joys of having a suckass intestinal tract.

I’ve been back in and out of the hospital twice during the last four weeks. I have a stubborn intestinal infection that didn’t clear up with the first round of antibiotics and consequently sent me back to the hospital after I thought all was well.

This isn’t a big problem, in the grand scheme of things, as two three-day stays are a far cry from staying for weeks at a time back when I was battling Colitis. But it still reminds me of how hard it is to be sick, how much illness consumes your life and detracts from everything else, and how we never know what the next day really holds.

So this sucks. I’ll look at the bright side. I had a chance to visit with some of the wonderful nurses I’ve come to know at Boston Medical Center (Hi Chen, Aryn, Debbie, Jane, Sibohan, and the rest of 8 West!). It was a vacation, of sorts, at least away from the stresses of work (and legally drug induced, to boot). And, uh, free hospital TV?

I’m happy to be out and back on the trail to health. Now for that Nike+iPod system so I can kick this medication weight.