I still remember that cold January morning in 2003 that he showed up on "my" tennis court:
big ol' eyeglasses from the 1980's, tighty-whitey tennis shorts, a WOOD tennis racquet circa 1970: it had a press and a cross-stitch Snoopy cover. I just sadly shook my head and thought, "What a dork."
Every successive week there were subtle improvements: 1st came some tennis shorts that were actually manufactured in the 21st century (I think I remember a story of the tighty-whiteys splitting in the seat, but don't quote me.) Next, a modern day tennis racquet. Big surprise: Lasik surgery and ditched the glasses. By March, he was a big improvement and I was actually enjoying him on "my" court.But... I was still a bit of an Ice Princess in 2003. He would talk to me a bit after finishing our 90 minute drill, and later confessed to me that I wasn't exactly giving off any "I'm receptive and interested vibes...." But Molly, the match-making tennis pro had better ideas. She started 'working on him' to ask me out. Just a date, that's all she was going after. Finally, on a fateful Saturday morning in June, she threatened Joe that if he didn't ask me out that very day, she would do something to embarrass him to no end (I have no idea what she had in mind). She had him convinced: ask Vikki to play tennis, just the two of you and then take her to Figlio's for dinner. He heard that over and over and over.
I knew something was up and I was nervous. A date? All our friends knew... they were all keeping an eye on the situation. I tried to sneak out quietly and quickly, but he caught up with me and FINALLY asked me out. We agreed to meet for a friendly tennis date later in the week.
After playing for an hour, we met at the net and talked about what to do next. Joe suggested we go to Figlio or some other restaurant in his Uptown neighborhood. Just to be different, I said, "Let's clean up and meet at Bar Abilene for some food, in about an hour." I don't like to follow a script.
I showed up at Bar Abilene, a few minutes late. I had already checked with Joe and he was waiting at a table for me. But a quick look around the restaurant: No Joe. Is there another Bar Abilene that I don't know about? Fortunate for mobile phones: I called him and he was at Figlio's! Molly's pep talk had him all confused and he had gone to Figlio's just like she planned. I walked over there and we finished the first date that almost never was.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Joe never signed up for all this. He fell in love with a healthy, chunky monkey, who loved playing tennis, hiking, and was always ready for the next adventure. We traveled and took some fabulous vacations and had wonderful adventures. Until one day, immediately after returning from an incredible trip to Italy and Paris (the French Open, don'cha know), I could not walk 2 blocks without being out of breath.
I was quickly diagnosed (relatively) and was deep in heart failure before I knew what happened to me. Trips and special events were cancelled over the months: I couldn't do it. After treatment, I improved and even got on the tennis court for a while again. But my heart can't take the pressure of pumping blood into my lungs and is failing rapidly. My only hope is a lung transplant. And Joe has been my rock these last four years as I fight and fight and fight. He recognized my discouragement and sent me texts: "Don't quit fighting. I'm not ready to live without you."
After meeting with the transplant surgeon yesterday, Joe expressed his fear. Not fear in that this is not something we should do, but fear that he will be helpless to me watching me with tubes coming out of my chest, my mouth, my neck and who knows where else. He's afraid that this will push my Viking toughness to it's limit and I might, just might, not be tough enough.
I'm the eternal optimist and he is my rock. With him by my side, I can do anything, endure anything. We are the rare combination: we both make each other better and stronger and we can do this.
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