A Day at the MD State IDPA Championship

This is not the story I had planned to tell. Instead, I have a different story to relate. Pull up a chair. 

I have not attempted to shoot any sanctioned IDPA matches since 2019, limiting my time to the occasional local match. In the year following the "cardiac event" in January 2019, I did shoot a few big matches. From a health point of view, all was well, but I never seemed to get back in the groove. My shooting has since been limited to 50-60 rounds at local monthly matches.

This year I decided to shoot the MD State IDPA Championship, which was held in Lexington Park, MD last Saturday. This is always an enjoyable match, with interesting stages and fun people. I've even had a modicum of success at it. I was looking forward to the day spent with friends.

Despite pleasant weather the week leading up to the match, the weather for Saturday was predicted to include no small amount of rain. As it turned out, the rain was limited until the shooting day was over. The intermittent showers had no effect on the waterproof targets employed by the match organizers.

Shooters waiting to start

I started the match shooting poorly. Was I rushing, not paying enough attention to my sights, or just succumbing to pressure? Maybe all of that. But, there was still a lot of match to go. On our fourth stage, I left the point of cover and moved to back around the end of a wall. Then I heard "Stop!" I obeyed and looked at the timer SO to my right, thinking there was a prop malfunction on the stage. He turned to the score pad SO who said I had broken the 180. I was stunned. I quickly asked him if I had muzzled him, and he replied the gun had not broken the line by much. I obviously was unaware, but a small infraction is an infraction nonetheless. After, "unload and show clear" I thanked the SO, hung my head, and began packing my gear. Thirteen years of competing in IDPA and I had never experienced a DQ. I've always heard, "There are those who have DQ'd, and those who will." I've never subscribed to that, and believe it to be a defeatist attitude. And, now here I am.

Looking at a bright side, lunch was now being served. I retrieved car keys from our driver for the day, stowed my gear, and headed to lunch. At least it was a tasty Mission BBQ spread.

Now there was nothing left to do but watch and enjoy the show. Fortunately, I had packed a few cigars, intending to enjoy a wind down smoke at the end of the match. That was now a consolation smoke. 

Since I wasn't able to leave, I also opted to help paste with my squad to pass the time. Even that was limited as the squad was efficient and quickly swarmed to reset the stage between shooters; there was a lot of incentive as the rain was quickly approaching. Conversations with the SOs on each subsequent stage was also quite humbling. Each roll call still included my name, with which I answered, "Dave's not here," followed by an explanation from my squad mates, which could also include a friendly dig, at my expense of course. I'd expect no less from my friends. Despite not shooting, I still logged 3.7 miles of walking that day.

After the match, I was able to enjoy another smoke with some other shooters as we waited for the award presentations. Then it was time for my second favorite activity when traveling to Maryland for IDPA — shopping for bourbon. I picked up something new, and a replacement for an empty. 

There was no time for a smoke after returning home. An after dinner drink was comforting after a day spent on the range, watching.

Cheers!

Game Night Snacks

I was stuck in the ICU for the College Football playoff game this year. Being restricted to a "cardiac diet," I was limited in my game-time snack options. However, I planned ahead and stashed some "sides" from previous meals. Fortunately I was allowed potato chips with my lunch. (Interestingly, I was not allowed to order them with dinner.)

Besides the chip rule, there were a few other things I quickly learned in order to manipulate more satisfactory meals. I was allowed only decaffeinated coffee, but could have all the caffeinated tea, hot or cold, I desired. So it was iced tea for every meal. Surprisingly those teas came with copious packs of sugar, which I didn't use. However, I did desire pepper for my food. I found our early that pepper was a separate menu item — if you didn't specifically order it, you didn't get it.

I realized the other day, the last red meat I've eaten was with the hamburger meals I was served, twice, in the hospital. I'm overdue for some quality cow.

I could have used binoculars to get a better view of that game...

The Road to Relief: A Journey Through Pain, Surgery, and Recovery

The past year — more precisely, the last 14 months — has been a relentless rollercoaster of pain and the ongoing search for relief. The chronic pain in my back and lower extremities has been constant, sometimes debilitating. Throughout this ordeal, I have explored numerous treatment options — chiropractic care, acupuncture, various drugs, countless lumbar injections, and physical therapy — all with limited success. Each treatment offered a glimmer of hope, only for its effects to be short-lived.

My spinal issues have been summed up in the doctors's shorthand as: “L4-5 degenerative unstable spondylolisthesis, spinal stenosis, synovial facet cyst with facet effusions.” Sounds painful, and it is. The resulting discomfort and sleeplessness have severely restricted my activity, making my transition to retirement in mid-2024 far less enjoyable than anticipated. One noticeable impact has been my absence from the range — I haven’t been shooting since December 2023. In recent months, the pain has kept me from standing or walking for more than a few minutes at a time. Thankfully, my enjoyment of beer, whiskey, and fine cigars remains intact, as those are best appreciated while seated. As long as I maintain good posture and avoid staying in one position too long, I can enjoy those small pleasures with some level of comfort.

Now, after exhausting all other options, it’s time for the final and most extreme solution: surgery. This coming week, I’ll undergo a procedure to remove the problematic tissue and bone, followed by an L4/L5 spinal fusion. Or, as one nurse put it, “cleaning up the mess and putting in some hardware.”

This won’t be my first time under the knife for my spine — I had surgery in the same area about 40 years ago. My surgeon expects the new incision to be fairly long, which has me wondering if I’ll end up with cool parallel scars.

Of course, there’s some anxiety. Some may recall that just over six years ago, I experienced a cardiac arrest. Naturally, that adds an extra layer of concern about undergoing surgery and general anesthesia. However, I’ve had regular checkups since then, including a full review by my cardiologist before scheduling this procedure. As confident as one can be in these situations, I feel reassured that my heart and general health is up for the challenge.

In fact, as the surgery date approaches, my anxiety is giving way to something unexpected — excitement. I know the road to recovery will be long and that post-op pain is inevitable, but the thought of standing without the searing pain I’ve endured is an encouraging one. Incredibly, they tell me I’ll be up and walking just hours after surgery.

As expected in today’s litigious world, I’ve signed multiple pages of disclaimers outlining possible complications and failures. The risk percentages are low, but they do make for unsettling reading. Fortunately, I’ve had several conversations with others who have undergone similar procedures—interestingly, all of these discussions have taken place in cigar lounges. (Then again, that’s about the only place I’ve been going lately.) These conversations weren’t just about sharing painful stories; they were uplifting and added to my growing optimism.

Beyond knowing that a full return to “normal” could take at least six months, the healing process remains an unknown. I hope my need for post-surgery medications will be short-lived — so bourbon tastings can resume sooner rather than later. I’ll be taking a short break from cigars to aid the healing process, but thankfully, no long-term restrictions have been imposed. I don’t expect to be competing in any IDPA matches anytime soon, but perhaps by spring, I’ll at least make it back to the range for some target practice.

This post isn’t a plea for sympathy. Like most of my Musings, it’s a cathartic exercise. That said, if you’re so inclined, I’d appreciate prayers — for a successful surgery, for my medical team, and, most importantly, for my dear wife, Colleen, who, as always, will be my rock during recovery.

Throughout this journey, I’ve often thought of a quote that appears in the sidebar. It’s from Cigar Lounge Wisdom: Ruminations Inspired in a Cigar Bar by Frank Borelli — a book I coincidentally happened to be reading in the hospital after my heart attack.

“Remember, when you’re having what seems like the worst day of your life, your survival rate for bad days so far is 100%.”

More updates soon…

Cheers!

Five O'Clock Friday: Time to Relax

And suddenly it was Friday. It's been a busy week. I squeezed in a trip to the range. We attended an amazing Joe Bonamassa concert. I had a checkup with my cardiologist, with all good news. I celebrated my birthday with a few good friends. With the doctor's blessing, I resumed the cardiac rehab sessions. In between it all, I've essentially returned to work full time.

Sitting here Friday afternoon and I realized, I am tired. But, the weekend is coming. I am planning to shoot an IDPA match on Saturday. The weather looks like it will be suitable for spending time outside at a local brewery on Sunday. I think a preparatory nap is in order this afternoon.

When Life Changes

It's taken a while but I am finally ready to share the life-changing experience I had earlier this month. On Friday evening, January 4, I was woken from sleep by intensely sharp pain in my chest. My immediate thought was, "This isn't right." I dialed 911 and within a few minutes, though it seemed an eternity, EMS arrived and I was loaded into the ambulance.

I recall telling the EMT that the pain had slightly decreased. The next thing I knew I was waking up, confused and agitated. In an instant I remembered where I was, and had the thought, "Wow, I actually fell asleep." Then one of the faces leaning over me said, "You're okay. Your heart stopped, but we got it going again." (In retrospect, the part after "but" was obvious, although I am still glad he specified.)

The cardiologist met us at the hospital and I was taken right into the cath lab to have a stent inserted in my occluded left anterior descending artery — the "widow maker." The next 24 hours were spent juggling pharmaceuticals to get my heart rhythm normalized. I was then cleared to move to "step down" care. Unfortunately, there were zero available beds in the hospital. So I spent the next two days stuck in ICU. That experience could be fodder for future musings. Suffice it to say, the ICU is not designed for patients who are conscious. (I've recently learned there is such a thing as ICU psychosis.)

The last couple weeks have been a roller coaster of physical and emotional trials. Writing an entry for this blog is somewhat cathartic. Medicines are still being adjusted and I'll soon start physical therapy to get my strength back. There is still more time to pass before I return to my previous work and play routines. Obviously, I am looking forward to getting back to the range, to enjoying good drink and good cigars. It goes against my nature to be idle, but I am working hard to be patient and allow my body, and mind, recover.

Looking back, I realize just how very fortunate I was. The ambulance had not even left my driveway when I went into cardiac arrest. I am thankful the emergency personnel arrived as quickly as they did. As I have been reminded numerous times since, the outcome might have been quite different otherwise.

I feel extremely thankful and blessed to be here now. It obviously wasn't time for me to go. It wasn't time for my wife to lose her husband. It wasn't time for my son to lose his father. Nonetheless, it was a poignant reminder that we do not know when our time in this life will be up, and must always prepare well. There is no room for, "I'll get to that later." I am very thankful for the ongoing support of my family and friends throughout this ordeal. I've also realized that some things that were important to me before seem less so now.

So there you have it. Posting will be sparse for a while. I have accepted that this will be a long-term process, not a quick turnaround.

I survived the "Widow Maker." I have that going for me.