Author name: sct-admin

By Scott Reddoch In the sixth grade I fell in love with history. I had always liked the subject but I had a great teacher who connected then to now. He relived the moments as he taught. The students were always engaged and it stands out as one of my favorite classes. We were covering the Roman Empire and he told us to pick a topic about ancient Rome and write an essay on it. The majority of the class did their papers on famous leaders or grand achievements. I wrote about loss. Maybe I was a little weird. The battle of Cannae is considered by many to be the biggest military loss of the Roman Empire. Hannibal was responsible. He was whipping the Romans at every turn. Many worried that he would soon take the city. Prior to that, a Roman general, Fabius Maximus had been tasked with defeating Hannibal. His slow and cautious style earned him the nickname “the delayer.” His strategy worked militarily but not politically. He was replaced. Then Hannibal really put it on them. There wasn’t anything great or heroic about Fabius’s war of attrition. You couldn’t see much progress and Rome wasn’t getting the big wins they craved. Fabius got fired for not making people feel good. I can understand both sides. The practical solution usually isn’t the pretty one. It didn’t feel good but it worked. Hannibal wasn’t concerned with what felt good. He was coming, this was happening, and something needed to be done about it. After Rome’s devastating loss at Cannae, Fabius’s strategy fell into favor. Hannibal was eventually defeated. In part by Fabius’s tactics. He was even called the Shield of Rome. When I turned in that essay my teacher told me not many students had written about the battle of Cannae. It was pretty strong work for a sixth grader. I got an A. I’m not sure what led me to pick it. We were always learning about Roman wins. I wanted to know what a Roman loss looked like. I don’t want anyone to think I idolize Fabius. I don’t know that much about him. He’s just someone from a sixth grade history paper who has some similarities to my life. My physical recovery is almost nonexistent. You don’t see my progress. That is probably similar to watching Fabius on the battlefield. Hannibal’s “ready or not here I come” flavor is one I know real well. I try not to let my feelings about something decide how I am supposed to act. Feelings are emotional. I want to thoughtfully respond, not react. Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch It was the morning after having the first stroke. She spent her birthday by my bedside but she didn’t say a word about her special day. We were just enjoying the fact that I was still alive. We don’t have the voice to say it. I don’t speak for the group but I’m sure no one will mind me saying this. Thank you caregivers. I certainly wouldn’t be writing this if it weren’t for mine. She has been with me since that dreadful night that started all of this. We had never heard of locked in syndrome. When I was given a 10% chance to survive she was there. When I began to have breathing complications that should have been my end she was there. When I developed a pressure sore so bad that most thought I would die she was there. When I developed sepsis so bad I thought I would die she was there. When it came time to send me to a long term facility she was there and said no. I will take him home. She didn’t have a medical background or know how she would do it. But my mom wasn’t going to let anyone take me. Her name is Vickie. Every day her, my dad and my sister hoist me from bed to my chair. I can’t swallow so all meds and food are via a feeding tube. Being paralyzed and non-verbal I require assistance for everything. She says that I’m easy and not a burden. I’m glad she feels that way but I don’t. She has put her own health at risk to care for me. I know that’s something moms do but it can be hard to watch. This wasn’t a hold your hand and hope for the better kind of situation. She was holding whatever staff was caring for me to that staff doing their jobs. I didn’t think you needed to do that in healthcare. Look at what caregiving actually entails. Someone gave up their normal life to ensure your needs are met. You don’t just find that anywhere. It requires great sacrifice. Beside taking care of my needs my mom is also a wife, sister, friend and aunt. That’s a lot to juggle. She doesn’t have much help so most of her day is spent tending to me. We have brief conversations and I know she is always in my corner. I can rest easy knowing that. She knows that I am appreciative but probably not how much. I couldn’t do this without her. If it was left up to the hospital staff I would have surely died. That’s a big deal. Thank you. Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch A while back my friend’s tween daughter quit the school swim team. Everyone was shocked because she is good. That kid regularly gets first or second place. Her mom did some digging on this. She found out that her child quit because some of the other girls were blossoming and she wasn’t. She wasn’t being bullied or anything, she just didn’t look like them. I completely understand. Not even talking about my condition now. I was on the smaller end of my classmates until high school. I remember asking my dad if I was ever going to grow. My growth spurt did arrive, but a lot later than the others. Many people don’t want to stand out from the crowd. Nowadays I couldn’t blend in if I tried. In my case I let comparison of size, job, house, car, money turn what I had to mud. I wrote this parable for her but it was really me who needed it. In a sunlit meadow, there was a colt named Ember. She had a beautiful brown coat and a white star pattern on her head. Ember loved to run in the meadow. She quickly became one of the fastest in the herd. One day, a zebra named Zephyr arrived from a distant land. The horses gathered around him to see his bold stripes. Ember approached and said “your coat is amazing.” Zephyr replied “thank you, I have seen you running and your coat shines like copper in the sun.” But Ember barely heard him. She was staring at his stripes. Ember quit running that day. She didn’t want the others to see her plain brown coat. The white star on her head felt like nothing compared to Zephyr’s stripes. After a few days, her mother found her hiding behind a thicket. “What’s the matter?” Ember’s mother asked. Ember replied “I don’t want anyone to see me. I will never be as beautiful as Zephyr.” Her mother sighed and said “come with me.” They walked to the meadow. Her mother then says “close your eyes and listen.” Ember tells her “I hear nothing.” “Exactly,” says her mother. “The wildflower doesn’t complain that it’s not a rose.” Then she added “not having stripes isn’t the tragedy, not running is.” Ember said nothing. The next morning Ember spent her time running in the meadow. “You look happy,” said Zephyr. Ember replied “I am now. I was keeping myself from being so.” Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch We each get 86,400 seconds per day. The same amount goes to the prince and the pauper. The human life is extremely short. Empires have spent fortunes searching for the fountain of youth. Science and medicine look for ways to extend our lives. But even still, we get about 4,000 weeks. Nobody makes it out alive. So once we accept the reality of this, we can start really looking at how we spend our time. We have a lot less than many think. When I heard I didn’t have much left, I reflected on how I spent mine. Turns out I feel like I mostly wasted my years. Here was my plan: Spend about 17 years in school, work 40, and hope that I have 15 years left in me for retirement. Of course retirement has become increasingly fleeting to many Americans. When we do get to retire, many don’t have money or have neglected our health during the “working” years, or both. We spend most of our lives trading time, and sometimes that trade is not always kind. I missed a lot of friend and family events working. The joke around the office was if you didn’t work Saturday don’t even think about working Sunday. If I was invited to your kid’s birthday party, I probably have to work. Same thing for your aunt’s funeral. I remember skipping my own birthday celebration to go to the office. For my 37th birthday some friends had planned a dinner at this popular Mexican restaurant. They were going whether or not I attended. I don’t remember what I was working on. I said that I would go if I had time. Before the strokes, I was eating at Brighston’s. I love that place. There was a young family next to me. Mom, dad and two kids—a boy and a girl, they were about five. The kids had their mom really frazzled. The dad seemed oblivious to his family and was taking work calls through the entire dinner. I am sure they matter to him, but not then. I was thinking “wrong choice buddy.” He just kept blabbing on the phone. Later, I had been in the hospital about a month when I really started thinking about how I treated time. I thought about the family in that restaurant. I would never be so rude to my loved ones. I worked a lot but I tried to be a good person. I looked like everything was fine but was I the dad in that restaurant? Had I been making the wrong choice? I wasn’t on my phone through dinner but I was letting work dictate if I could even go to dinner. I missed so much. I’m not able to kiss my girlfriend anymore. I can’t embrace my family. Walking, talking, laughing—we take it for granted. Most people don’t think “this is my last step” or “I will never laugh again.” The last thing that I thought about in the hospital was what was happening at work. Sure I had wasted a lot of moments with work. I was chasing money and status and at the time didn’t see the problem. But that wasn’t quite it. That’s just the PC answer that is widely accepted. I wasn’t really chasing anything. I was running from something. I was running from myself. Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch Now that I am non-verbal, my conversations are very different. Instead of talking, I spend about 99% of it listening and 1% responding. I have noticed things in a conversation that I’ve never noticed before. I have a clear picture of the person, their motives and goals. People should really listen and not just hear. All of that clarity however, does come at a cost. You witness a side of humanity that you probably don’t want to see. I have found some good parts and have been able to deepen relationships with a few. But I mostly get folks trying to pull one over on me. Here’s the hard part: I have to depend on others for almost everything. I see many people looking for how they can benefit themselves. No consideration is being made for my well-being. I don’t call them out on it because I will probably need something from them in the future. Just like that, I am in the ridiculous game. How much is hiding in the nicety? What motives lie beneath the surface? How many times have I been the victim because I didn’t listen? Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch When I was a kid I had a neighbor named Mr. Sonny. I don’t remember ever seeing anyone visit him. He was a single man who smoked cigars. He was a Navy veteran and had a crude tattoo of an anchor on his forearm. It seemed like Mr. Sonny was always sitting on his front porch. He lived in an old double shotgun house painted white with green shutters. He kept things pretty neat but the paint was cracked and chalky. Mr. Sonny was always trying to share his wisdom with the other kids and me. We didn’t understand what he said. We were too young and blew most of it off. I do remember a few things that he said. I wish it was more. One summer morning he asked me “if you had 10 years left to live what would you do?” I didn’t answer him. The next morning he asked me “if you had 10 months left to live what would you do?” Again I didn’t answer and was just concerned with playing with my friends. The next morning he saw me again and asked “if you had 10 weeks left to live what would you do?” This time I responded. “Ice cream. I would eat a lot of ice cream.” He just smiled and nodded while I trekked off to find my friends. I didn’t notice at the time that Mr. Sonny was a treasure. He had seen a lot. I wish he was still around now that I understand what he was saying. I remembered his questions in my mid-20s and thought it was great advice. But I still wasn’t living life that way. It wasn’t until I nearly died that I looked at that for what it was. The average human lives about 4,000 weeks. Our time here feels shorter when you put it that way. I was given some low odds to live 16 more weeks. I have lasted 208 and I hope that I will for many more. February 28th marked four years since I had two strokes. It’s a special day for me considering nobody expected me to make it. The day is like a second birthday to me. But my celebration is not dictated by the calendar. I live each day with presence and intention. Life is often taken for granted. I try to squeeze everything I can get from the moments I have left. On week 208, I audited what I was doing with my time. I love deeply, much deeper than I thought possible. If I were asked the same questions today, ice cream is still part of the answer. The other part is doing exactly what I am doing. Thank you Mr. Sonny. Happy people have the same answer for all three. Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch Recently I was severely disrespected by a longtime friend. When it happened, I immediately shared my opinion. My friend refused to apologize. We were at an impasse. I didn’t want to forgive him. Have you ever had a person in your life that made you question why you keep them around? I was having a moment like that. We talk about forgiveness being the thing to do. But talking about it is a whole lot easier than actually doing it. I am ashamedly good at holding grudges. Part of being human is making mistakes. I’ve made many, but we shouldn’t keep score. Relationships are important to me, even the ones that make me wonder if I should keep them alive. I still don’t want to forgive him. When I am struggling with this, I think of a story I read when I was young about two monks. They had both been soldiers and were taken prisoner during a war. Their teacher asked about the experience. One monk said he had been starved and tortured and is happy every day that he is free. The other monk said he would never forgive them for what they had done while he was their prisoner. The teacher said, “I see you still are.” Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope