Murder Mystery (untitled) – Chapter Six.
<a few weeks earlier>
“Just another day in Paradise.”
He said it to himself quietly so as not to wake her. She was still asleep.
He always woke without an alarm. It’s barely even light out at 5AM. In another couple of weeks – at the summer solstice – hot weather will descend. But the early morning chill today is exactly what the doctor ordered. Almost paradise. Step on the scales: 235. Not bad, but not the best. He likes seeing the readout say two-twenty-something. Must be retaining a little water. Cut down on the salt then. Just like the doctor ordered.
He rations out the day’s meds into a small rectangular plastic box he carries around in his pocket: A multivitamin to prevent scurvy – HA! – check. A statin to lower cholesterol, check. Metformin and Glipizide for DM-II, check and check. He’d stopped taking the Jardiance. The Kaiser doc had prescribed it, but no way was he willing to pay Big Pharma megabucks to recoup their R&D costs. Not when all his other generic meds were 100% covered under Medicare for free. He could manage by cutting back a few carbs. Fuck ’em. Oh, and check.
Today’s finger stick showed a blood sugar at the high end of the normal range, around 180 mg/dl. That’s where he liked to see it pre-hike. Post-hike it would be down closer to 100 – which was also OK. But let it drop below 70 or so and he’d start getting a little light-headed. His knees would begin to tremble. And his vision might even go a bit blurry. Definitely not good signs. The near-term danger for Type-2 diabetics on the trail was always hypo-, not hyper-, glycemia. That’s why he always carried a couple extra granola bars along, just in case,. Which he now made sure were in his pack: Check and double check.
********
The long-term dangers of DM-II were well-known: Retinopathy leading to blindness. Kidney disease leading to renal failure. Peripheral neuropathy leading to foot ulcers. Ultimately, there’d be vascular changes in the brain leading to stroke and death. His grandmother had endured all these pathologies before she passed away many years ago. And DM-II was, he knew, hereditary.
So far, he’d only experienced a single ulcer on his right big toe. It happened after a new pair of hiking boots didn’t fit quite right. It had rubbed a big hole he couldn’t feel, and it had bled all over the carpet when he peeled off his sock. The bleeding didn’t stop for days. In addition to ruining the carpet, that was plenty enough to get his attention. It was a deep one, too. Deep enough that the doc wanted to x-ray it to make sure there was no bone involvement. If there had been, he was told, the recommended treatment was amputation.
Yikes.
Since retirement last fall he’d gotten into a routine he’d begun following meticulously, almost religiously. Without the pill box, for instance, he’d always forget how many of which of the meds he’d already taken – or needed to take. His AppleWatch faithfully kept a pretty accurate step count, so he could always be sure of getting in a good 3-5 miles a day. That was every bit as important as meds and diet, he’d found. Whole months went by where he never missed a single day, rain or shine. But, let’s face it, here in arid Colorado? It was a whole lot more shine than rain. And that was fine by him.
********
Stepping out onto the porch in the first light of dawn, he was careful not to let the screen door slam. No sense waking up the whole neighborhood. Glancing over his shoulder at the neighbors’ front door, their security camera shone it’s unblinking red eye back at him. He gave it the one-finger-salute, the middle one, of course, and stepped off toward his garage in the back alley. Tweaking the neighbors in this small way was also fine by him. He knew they’d see it on tape. And frankly, my dear, he really didn’t give a damn.
The neighbors had the cameras installed, both front and back, when the HOA had been in the middle of a big roof replacement project. The roof was a controversy that had split the neighborhood 50/50. Half said, yeah, sure – whatever. We’re gonna have to do it sooner or later, right? The other half said, hell NO. That roof will last another 20 years, easy. In the end, everyone had to pony up their $10K share, and the project went ahead. But half the neighborhood simmered. And Julianne, for one, had the cameras installed “just to make sure those shifty rotten roof-worker bastards don’t come down here, break in our front door, and rob us blind.”
Oooo-kay then. Whatever you say my dear.
********
He never decided where he was going each day until he’d already ventured out. There were enough different hikes to choose from in the 3-5 mile range that he’d never have to do the same one twice in a month. @RoxStatePark alone had 6 or 7 good trails. @ChatfieldReservoir, @SouthValleyPark, @CastlewoodCanyon, @WatertonCanyon, @SpruceMountain, @Lair-o-the-Bear, @MountFalcon, @StauntonStatePark. And that’s not even counting the 14 miles of privately maintained trails in the immediate neighborhood. The possibilities were – if not endless – at least plentiful.
Whichever route he chose, once he was on the trail he fell into a pleasant rhythm. Often a particular song played in his head on endless-repeat-loop. The genre and the lyrics mattered much less than the tempo. A pace between 2 and 3 mph suited him just fine. After all, this was not a race. It was, in fact, one prong of a medical treatment regimen meant to stave off the inevitable. The stroke that would eventually kill him one day, just like his grandmother before him. He knew it in his bones.
Today’s hike, however, was destined to be different. Although he didn’t know it yet, he was about to unwittingly experience a stroke of a very different kind. And no regimen of diet, exercise, and medication would make one single bit of difference.
<to be continued>