11.66 points.
That’s the margin by which I just lost what would have been my third straight fantasy football championship…and my fifth in six years. Now if you’re not into sports or fantasy football and you’re tempted to immediately stop reading, please don’t. My thoughts tonight are not about sports or silly games of no consequence; my thoughts are about decisions.
Friday night, after careful study and consideration of my championship game roster, I changed out Julio Jones, whom I drafted at the beginning of the season, for A.J. Green, whom I picked up as a free agent earlier this year. By and large, Green has had a better year, but as of late, Jones has been hot while Green has been injured. Nonetheless I made the change. When all was said and done, Green scored 5.00 points; Jones scored 16.80 while riding my bench. Yeah…that’s right. If I hadn’t made that change, I would have won another championship…by the slimmest of margins, despite two key injuries at the end of the season and abysmal performances by two other key contributors.
So why am I still talking about fantasy football if this isn’t really about sports? Because it’s about decisions. That one decision…harmless, sensible, well-thought-out and calculated, ultimately spelled my demise after a nearly flawless season, literally the best, most dominating season of fantasy football I’ve ever had.
Decisions. Decisions matter.
Every day we are faced with hundreds of decisions. What to do. Where to go. Who to love. On December 6, 2011, I was faced with hundreds of decisions, too, some of them more important than others. However, the biggest decision I faced that day turned out to be one that I got wrong. And it nearly cost someone I love her life…and has cost her a quality of life that may never be recovered.
The day started like any other…workout, breakfast with the kids, a healthy dose of homeschool curriculum, and then lunch with my Mom. My Mom comes over for lunch nearly every day, a little tradition I started a while back. But Tuesday, December 6 was a little different. Mom was late. The kids and I had already started eating, and by the time she got there, I sensed that something was wrong [which didn't take a genius].
“Sorry I’m late. I’m dizzy. Something’s wrong [told you it didn't take a genius]. I keep bumping into things,” she said as she sat down at the table.
You wouldn’t believe the first words that came out of my mouth. “You don’t think you’re having a stroke, do you?”
As the words left my lips, every warning bell rang. That voice in my head taunted me. “A stroke?! Really?! Hypochondriac alert…you’re turning into your mother. Settle down, Beavis!” [I don't know why my subconscious refers to me as Beavis, but it beats the alternative, eh McFly?]
“I don’t think so,” my Mom said calmly as she wiggled her arms, legs, fingers, and toes to show me everything was okay.
“Okay, but if you’re not better by the time lunch is over, we’re going to the ER.”
Lunch passed. I sat down at the lunch table to grade my son’s math work as my Mom was finishing up. “Are you feeling better?” I asked.
“Yeah, I am. I’m going to drive home while I’m feeling good,” she said confidently.
“Okay, but if you start feeling that way again, call me. We’re going to the ER.” It seemed like such a logical, well-thought-out decision. I’m good at those. At least I thought I was. But the rest of this story…and 11.66 points…prove otherwise.
I didn’t hear from her for hours. Finally around 6:30 or 7:00, about four to five hours later, I drove down to her house. She was asleep on the couch. When she awakened, I asked her how she was feeling. She said she was dizzy. When she stood, she couldn’t walk without holding on to something. “That’s it; we’re going the ER,” I said.
“Can’t we wait until Thursday?” she asked. “I go to see my doctor Thursday.”
“I’m taking you to the ER right now. You can call your doctor first, if you want, but that’s it. Either call him right now or we’re going,” I insisted. The on-call doctor concurred, and off we went.
By 11:00 PM Tuesday night, the doctors were convinced Mom had had a mild stroke or TIA, as evidenced by some moderate weakness on her left side. They admitted her overnight. When I left her at 2:00 AM, she smiled at me, and I saw the first signs that they might be right. Her right side smiled; her left side did not.
By the time I arrived at the hospital the next morning, kids in tow, she had limited movement on her left side. She was having trouble getting in and out of the hospital bed. Her health continued to decay. A myriad of tests finally revealed a “minor stroke in a bad spot.” By Thursday morning, she couldn’t move her left side at all; everything was dead. Her “minor stroke in a bad spot” had become an “extended stroke.” The hospital was consulting with the state’s best medical experts.
Mom was crushed. She always said that she wanted to live to be 150, but only if she could maintain her health and indepedence. In less than 48 hours, both had been ripped from her cruelly, savagely, unapologetically. Cognitively she remained sharp, for which I am grateful beyond words; however her acumen seemed to only intensify the psychological effects of the stroke. Irony can be cruel.
Three weeks have passed since that Tuesday at lunch. Mom has spent the last two weeks in an in-patient rehab facility, where she receives three hours of daily therapy and watches the clock tick, hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute, second-by-second – that is, when she’s able to see the clock; she also lost 50%-75% of her vision in her left eye. She can only eat ground food and drink nectar-thickened liquids because of the risks of choking and aspiration.
Today, for the first time in nearly three weeks, she walked. During rehab she took six steps. She was so excited. There was a light in her eyes. I haven’t seen that light in three weeks. Her leg hasn’t moved in nearly three weeks. Today it did.
I am so grateful to God, to her doctors, to her nurses, and to her therapists for their grace, wisdom, hard work, and dedication. Yet I can’t get away from one simple word: decisions. Decisions matter. Most decisions we make have no long-term consequences. Should I brush my teeth before or after my shower? Should I eat at Quiznos or Subway? Paper or plastic? Boxers or briefs? Truth or dare? But every once in a while, a biggie comes along, a HUGE decision that will shape the course of our lives…and the lives of the people we love most. And that decision won’t be wrapped in a bow, warning label, or disclaimer. It won’t don a flashing neon sign or gaudy banner. Instead it will seem just like all the others…until you see its end…and are suddenly faced with the reality that you inadvertently made a life-altering decision the same way you make all your other decisions.
Had I taken my Mom to the hospital at lunch that Tuesday, Christmas this past Sunday would have been different. She likely would have driven the mile from her house to mine the way she has every year for the last thirteen. Instead I picked her up from a hospital thirty miles away thanks to a day-pass, pushed her around my house in a wheelchair, and took her back that evening so she could continue her treatment.
Now let me be clear…this isn’t a pity-party, so please don’t try to console me. I’m not looking for sympathy or affirmation. This isn’t even about me; in fact, it’s not really even about my Mom. The truth is…it’s about decisions. Decisions matter. Sometimes your decisions will cost you a fifth title in six years in fantasy football, meaning that you might lose by 11.66 points…instead of winning by .14.
Then again…sometimes they might cost someone you love everything she holds dear.
Decisions matter.
Choose wisely.
Copyright 2011 www.prestonroydparrish.com.
