Nigel would’ve been 62

Today my Nigel would’ve turned 62, and, just like last year’s, that would basically be “a shoulder-shrug birthday”. For me, however, the notable thing is that this is the seventh birthday Nigel never got to experience, and I use the word “experience” deliberately, because he hated being the centre of attention—and I loved to try to make a fuss of his birthday at least a little bit as much as he made a fuss of mine (sometimes I even succeeded)..

So, here we are, another birthday missed by the most important person in my adult life, and once again I’m reflective about—well everything, and this year in particular. Last week was the tenth anniversary of when I got my cardiac stent. The thing I haven’t really said often enough about that whole time is how utterly terrified I was. I was worried about how snaking a probe up through the vein in my arm and into my heart was something that might end up killing me, but that wasn’t what I was actually focused on. When they said I was going in for the procedure much earlier than I expected, I was even more terrified, not of the procedure, but that I might die without Nigel even getting the chance to say goodbye (because he couldn't get to the hospital before I went in). The only thing—literally the only thing—I kept focusing on was how much I wanted to get through the procedure so I could see Nigel again. Fortunately for us both, everything went well, and even though we only got some three more years together, we got three more years together than we otherwise might have had.

In last year’s post, I wrote, “I’ve been thinking lately how time feels to me like it’s moving far more slowly than it really is,” and that’s still true. I don’t really have any feeling for how long it’s all been, but I’m always keenly aware of Nigel, who he was, his character, his intellect, his humour, and, of course, how very much he both meant to me and also influenced me. Every single day I remember things he did, said, joked about, and, especially, the way he made me feel. All of that is because of who he was, and I was just the luckiest bastard on the face of the earth that I got to share life with him, far too short though that time was.

As it happens, I visit Nigel’s mum, my mother-in-law, on Thursdays, and I joked with her at one point, “It’s really convenient that Nigel’s birthday this year coincided with my visit day,” and she laughed and said, “Isn’t it!” It’s always nice to spend those Thursday visits with her, but I’m particularly glad that I was there with her on Nigel’s birthday, and I think it made the day a little bit easier for her. This evening, again just like last year, I made Nigel’s signature dish for my dinner, a meal I talked about back in July of last year, and just like last year, it was a good batch. That, too, made me happy.

As always, I’d much rather be celebrating Nigel’s birthday with him (obviously…), and “living whatever our life would have become”, as I put it last year. But the main thing is that he’s still a real presence in my life, and always will be.

Happy Birthday, sweetheart. Always.

Previously:

Nigel would’ve been 61 (2025)
Nigel would’ve been 60 (2024)
Nigel would’ve been 59 (2023)
Nigel would’ve been 58 (2022)
Nigel would’ve been 57 (2021)
Surviving the day and being okay (A 2021 post on how I handled his birthday)
We celebrated Nigel’s birthday (About the party in 2020)
It won’t be a good day (2020 – the first birthday after he died)

Special Note: I didn’t talk about Nigel’s birthday on this blog while he was alive because I wanted to protect him, and so, I didn’t share stuff that was personal to him. I talk about it now because I have no way of knowing who may run across my posts, and maybe they'll help someone else in a situation similar to mine. Besides, I love talking about my Most Important Person.

A reminder of reality

Today was an interesting day. A guy came round to change the filters in the HRV home ventilation system, something they do every two years. It was, as usual, uneventful, but it also ended up being a reminder of how old I am. It happens.

The guy who came today was different from the one who changed the filters the first two times, and it turned out that the operations in the Waikato were bought by a new company. Makes no difference to me obviously, and yet…

After he changed the filters, he checked the airflow from each of the five vents (they were all good, of course), then he sat down to fill out the paperwork, and said, “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but do I hear an American accent?” He didn’t offer why he thought it might be rude, though legend has it that Canadians get tired of being assumed to be from their southern neighbour, which is ironic because these days it’d probably be best if people thought I came from north of that same border.

I said to him, “yes, that's where i came from originally.” He asked whereabouts, and I said, “Chicago”, which is literally the place I moved to New Zealand from, however, that reminded me that whenever my parents took me on holiday—whoops: “vacation”—and someone asked where we were from, she always answered, “near Chicago” (it was really about an hour’s drive from where we lived, but she knew no one in another state or country would know of the town we actually lived in).

The guy then reasonably asked, “how long have you been here?” I said, “30 years,” and he said, “Oh!” and paused no more than a split second before adding, “As long as I’ve been born.” I probably smiled a wry smile, knowing that I’ve actually been living here for closer to 31 years than 30.

That wasn’t the first time my age has been driven home for me, and it’s usually been inadvertent, except when it wasn’t. When I turned 60, Nigel had great fun saying to me, “Fuck you’re old!” Well, that and “I can’t believe I’m going to be married to a SIXTY year old!” I was so looking forward to being able to return the favour when he turned 60, but I never got the chance: He was 55 when he died.

The real truth is, I don’t actually care about how old I am, though sometimes I like to pretend I’m offended when someone mentions my age. Mainly, I’m on team “getting older beats the alternative”. However, I also know that the disconnect between my actual age and how old my brain thinks I am is widening, and I’ve read that’s quite common for people as they age. It certainly is for me, anyway.

I’m not sensitive about my age—it is what it is—but I’m definitely aware of it and of possible future issues. That’s why I started walking every day (except for sick days) for more than a year and a half, and why I started researching more things I can do that may help keep me in reasonably good condition as I get ever-closer to a true “elderly” age.

At the same time, I’m also keenly aware that getting older is a gift not everyone receives, and that’s particularly true this month: Next week is Nigel’s birthday, the seventh he never got to experience, just like the seven of my own birthdays he also never got to experience—or tease me about.

These are things I’m always aware of to some extent or other, but it’s usually front of mind only when something raises it up in front of my face and says, “Hey! You’re old!”. Today a guy innocently reminded me that I’ve lived in New Zealand longer than he’s been alive, and, of course, I also had an even longer life in my native land before that. There are plenty of other everyday things that can remind me, too, of course, but overall, I’d rather be reminded of my age than not be here to be reminded.

One thing is certain: There will be more reminders for as long as I live. And I’m fine with that.

I wrote a detailed post about the HRV system when it was installed in 2020.

The very consequential week

Ten years ago this week as very consequential for me. This week in 2016, I unexpectedly recived a stent in a 90% blocked coronary artery, and because of that, I’m still here to talk about it.

The story began on Monday, August 15, 2016 I went to my doctor because I thought my medication was making me feel bad. Nigel coached me on what to say, how best to stand up for myself. Neither of us expected that I’d be sent to the hospital in the back of an ambulance, let alone that they’d admit me so they could give a treadmill stress test the next day. That test was stopped after only a few minutes due to the readings. I was scheduled for an angiogram for the next day, Wednesday, andwhen they discovered the blocakage in my coronary artery, they inserted a stent. I went home the next day, Thursday, August 18, 2016, and on Friday, back at home, I mostly just rested and relaxed.

I talked about this story in great detail a few days after I got home, and in that post I said:

All of this came about because my doctor listened to me and investigated my complaints, but the reason I complained was because Nigel both nagged me and coached me. Without his support, I may not have pursued this, and there’s no way of knowing whether I’d have had another chance.

As I've said many times and in many ways, Nigel was my rock, my trusted advisor, my advocate, my coach, and the one person I could always count on—including taking me for treatment when my heart started acting up, like the two times I ended up in hospital. I spent the three years after getting the stent dealing with tachycardia, then atrial fibrillation, and also trouble with several prescriptions, and Nigel was there every step of the way.

The last time I was admitted to hospital (so far…) was around four months before Nigel died. In fact, when he was first admitted to hospital in September 2019, we joked about how it was his turn and the Middlemore “spa” (the hospital name is Middlemore). Ten days later, he was gone.

Around a month after Nigel died, I had a follow-up appointment with the cardiology team, who recommended me for cryoablation treatment to try to fix my afib. That appointment was the first medical thing I’d done after Nigel died—and suddenly realised I had to figure out who to name as my emergency contact, after a quarter century of Nigel being that person for me, and me for him. It was an incredibly difficult moment for me, but I managed to not cry in the waiting room.

Three months after that cardiology appointment, I shifted to Kirikiriroa-Hamilton. A couple months after that, we had the first Covid lockdown. In December 2020, I finally got my cryoablation procedure at Waikato Hospital (a day treatment), after months of delays caused by the insurance company I had at the time taking many months to finally decide to decline the claim, then there was Covid, and the fact I needed to see (and pay for) a private appointment with a cardiologist here in Hamilton to get onto the waiting list for the procedure.

When the day finally arrived, my brother-in-law drove me to the hospital, a my sister-in-law Barbara picked me up afterward (both because I wasn’t allowed to drive due to receiving a light anesthesia). Also, my sister-in-law Carolyn stayed at my house that night (in order for the hospital to let me go home, they required that I have someone stay at my place overnight—just in case, I guess). The procedure seems to have been a success, since I haven’t had any afib incidents since. But the we also lost Carolyn to cancer in February last year.

My story underscores several things. First, paying attention to one’s body is extremely important—obviously. It’s also important to have people on your “team”, and, as so many of my stories have underscored, when I married Nigel, it meant becoming part of a large family, and I know that if I need help again in the future, they’ll be there. However, I have to be honest: It’s not even remotely the same as having Nigel with me, in sickness and in health—though that particular phrase wasn’t actually part of our civil union or marriage vows.

I’ve had other health challenges since Nigel died, some scary (like the cryoablation procedure), others merely annoying, and most were just kind of meh. The family was, of course, there when I needed them to be, and I’ve been deeply grateful each time. I know, though, that if Nigel had been with me over the past nearly seven years, my journey would have been so much easier. Even so, there’s one thing more: I also know that Nigel would be proud of me for having successfully navigated the challenges of my health journey, things he never lived to see, and especially that I’ve been working hard on trying to prepare myself as well as I can for my elderly years. He’d also be sad that sometimes my journey’s been really difficult for me, but mainly he’d be happy that I chose to thrive well into the future (if the fates allow…).

In so many ways, this week a decade ago was a turning point, though some of what my journey was to become was utterly unimaginable for me back then. Even so, I’m still here, and still pushing forward. Sure, Nigel would be proud of me for that, but maybe more importantly, I’m proud of myself. That really is just like ten years ago.

Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 18

Sorry, one week off and I nearly forgot that 40 weeks agot today there was another song that reached Number One on the Billboard “Hot 100”. On August 16, 1986, “Papa Don't Preach” (video up top) by American singer Madonna hit the top of the charts. The song, which would be Number One for two weeks, was the second single from her third studio album, True Blue (the first single was “Live To Tell”, which was the subject of Part 11 of this series back in June).

I liked this song well enough at the time, but if I’m truly honest, that was at least in part because of the reactions of two different groups of people (I could be contrarian that way). The Wikipedia article linkd about describes it well:

The song sparked controversy upon release for its subject matter, drawing criticism from women's and family planning organizations, who accused Madonna of glamorizing teenage pregnancy. Conversely, pro-life groups praised it for seemingly endorsing motherhood over abortion.

I distinctly remember rolling my eyes at back then, snarling something like, “It’s just a fucking song, for fuck’s sake”. I had no more patience then for what I thought was over-reacation than I do now. Some things don’t change. Mind you, my snarl was only in my mind because I hardly ever swore back then—okay, some things DO change. Apparently.

I also well remember the music video, and part of the reason for that was the actor who played Madonna’s boyfriend, actor Alex McArthur, who I thought was quite pretty (he’s just under two years older than me). However, I also recognised Alexander from promotional materials from the 1985 lesbian film, Desert Hearts—even though I can’t remember actually seeing the film. None of that has anything to do with the song, really, but it was a thing back then. Watching the video now, I was struck by the times that the Twin Towers appeared in the background of the shots filmed in Staten Island. I doubt I paid any attention to that back in the day, but now it was the first thing that stuck out for me. Time can change some things.

“Papa Don't Preach” reached Number One in Australia and Canada, Number 3 in New Zealand (Gold), Number One in the UK (Gold), and Number One on the USA’s “Billboard Hot 100” and “US Dance Singles” charts, as well as Number One on the Cash Box “Top 100” chart and the Radio & Records “CHR & Pop” charts. It was certified Platinum in the USA.

The album True Blue reached Number One in Australia (4x Platinum), Canada (Diamond), New Zealand (5x Platinum), and the UK (7x Platinum), as well as reaching Number One on the USA’s ”Billboard 200” chart and on the Cash Box “Top 100 Albums” chart. It was certified 7x Platinum in the USA.

This series will return in two weeks, on August 30, with the final Number One for August. How will September go?

Previously in the “Weekend Diversion – 1986” series:

Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 1 – January 18, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 2 – February 15, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 3 – March 1, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 4 – March 15, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 5 – March 22, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 6 – March 29, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 7 – April 19, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 8 – May 3, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 9 – May 10, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 10 – May 17, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 11 – June 7, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 12 – June 14, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 13 – July 5, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 14 – July 12, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 15 – July 19, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 16 – July 26, 2026
Weekend Diversion: 1986, Part 17 – August 2, 2026

A project finally ends

Today I finished a project to install a wardrobe shelving system in my guest room wardrobe (this is the project I mentioned a couple weeks ago). The short video above shows the project.

This sort of project would normally take me two or three days, but this one took four weeks. Part of the reason for the extra time was that I had to make a LOT of repairs to the walls because the supports for the former single shelf were glued and nailed to the walls, and when I removed the supports, it tore chunks out of the wallboard.

However, the main reason it took so bloody long was that I started the project during the time I was taking that ill-fated prescription I talked about a couple weeks ago, and it’s taken time for me to feel like my usual self. Today I was determined to finish the project—forcing myself, if necessary—and I succeeded. My guest room is again neat, tidy, and ready for guests—FINALLY! This evening I turned on the bedside lamps so I could see the room as it should be every time I walked past the room. Kind of my reward, I suppose.

The video was made automatically for me by the Photos App on my iPad, including adding the backing music. I’d placed all the progress photos and videos I took over the weeks I worked on the project into an album I created, and then the App put all of them into the video, in order (though I rearranged a few photos because I’d added them to the album out of order). And, of course, the photos and videos are all mine.

The stuff of life

Many years ago (up to 15, I think), I switched us to the soy and linseed variety of a supermarket bread called Bürgen. It was for specific health reasons, and that decision meant that bread was a part of the life Nigel and I shared. Today it was announced that the Australian owners of the Bürgen brand are withdrawing it from New Zealand. That baked up some memories.

I suggested to Nigel that we switch to the bread because its soy and linseed were good for heart health, and especially because at the time it was the only low GI bread sold in supermarkets (this was well before my cardiac stent). Nigel and I ended up having some nearly every morning after that—in fact, it was part of Nigel’s weekday breakfasts for the last several years of his life (usually prepared by me): Peanut butter and jam on toast, and put on a plastic plate so he could bring it in the car on his commute to the office, and he’d use an old tea towel as a bib so he wouldn’t drop any on his work shirt. Because he’d often forget to bring them back into the house when he came home, he’d sometimes bring in a stack of plates and tea towels for me to deal with—and several times I had to go out to his car to collect them myself because we were starting to run out of the supplies (I mentioned all this in a a 2023 post (forst iterm).

After Nigel died I moved to Kirikiriroa-Hamilton and noticed that particular variety of bread was getting harder and harder to find, especially at my local Woolworths, where it was often out of stock (I could get it for more often by home delivery from Woolies, or from the nearest New World). So, I started using my breadmaker sometimes, and then started experimenting with other supermarket brands, including others with soy and linseed. That led to a bit of a revelation.

I was surprised at how much more fibre per 100 grams other brands had than the Bürgen loaf we’d always bought. In fact, I thought about blogging about that, since I’d talked about the bread and it also relates to my continuing health journey. If I’d done that post, I would’ve mentioned that the Bürgen Soy and Linseed bread has 4.4 grams of fibre per 100 grams of bread, along with 347g of sodium per 100g, and total cabs of 27.6g per 100 grams. This compares to the bread I usually buy these days, a “lower carb” loaf: Fibre is 8.9g per 100g, sodium is 355g per 100g, and total carbs is 24.8g per 100g. Well, at least the fibre of the current bread is a lot higher. But, there’s more!

As it happens, I’ve been learning a lot lately about healthier eating, and I learned that if you freeze bread, the carbs are turned into what’s called “resistant starch”, which is important because the body can’t break it down as quickly as normal starch, and that means the body treats it more like dietary fiber, which reduces the bread's glycemic index (GI), reducing blood sugar spikes (and lower GI bread was one of the reasons we switched to the Bürgen all those years ago). Bonus fact: refrigerating cooked pasta or white rice overnight does the same thing for them, and that doesn’t change when you re-heat it the next day. I definitely plan on starting to keep my bread in the freezer, but I need to clear space—and I only learned about these “resistant starch” tricks in the past week, so I’m cutting myself some slack on this.

in the past couplpe years, and probably partly because it was often difficult to get the Bürgen bread here in Hamilton, I gradually became less enthused about the bread we’d had for all those years, so I doubt I’ll miss it. However, the Bürgen slice size was smaller than most supermarket breads, and that I will miss.

Seeing the announcement this morning made me think of two things. First, how even something as small (literally) as a loaf of supermarket bread can be a constant in our lives. The other thing was that I really ought to resume trying to find a breadmaker recipe that I actually like (the results have been mostly “meh” for me for several years, which is why I hardly ever make bread any more). I know I probably won’t do that, though—there are far too many other things demanding my time, attention, and my sometimes limited energy. Besides, there are plenty of options available already made for me.

Yes, all that. But what I wouldn’t give to still be making peanut butter and jam on toast for Nigel. Of course.

A good day’s adventure

I had a good day today. The big event for today was that I was meeting-up with some of the family for lunch at the casino in central Kirikiriroa-Hamilton. First things first: Getting there was a challenge for me. Several challenges, actually.

The big challenge for me today was the fact that I’ve never driven myself to the casino before, and I usually get pretty anxious about driving somewhere I’ve never been. In this case, it was especially true because I’m not familiar with the streets in Central Hamilton. Nigel always drove us to places like that, and he never seemed to have the same issues that I do now. It's just yet another thing I need to work out on my own. Nevertheless, when faced with tasks that make me uncomfortable or anxious, I try to force myself to do things (like today’s trip), despite the unease I feel, because I refuse to let fear, great or small, stop me from doing things I want to do (except when I do let it do that, of course—it’s a journey…). Nigel was often impressed (surprised?) when I'd "feel the fear and do it anyway". Maybe because it wasn't often enough? 

As it happens, I only made two wrong turns, both of which were my fault, and not the GPS’ (because I’m not familiar with the layout of the streets, I twice turned a street earlier than the GPS commanded, but I guess that at least I became slightly more familiar with some of the streets in the area?). When I turned onto the street that I knew led to the casino carpark, Apple Maps kept growling at me with what seemed like increasing annoyance (though reason tells me it was probably just increasing frequency…), over and over again demanding that I “return to the route”. Instead, I ordered Siri to “cancel navigation”, and silence again reigned supreme.

Today was the birthday of one of my sisters in law, which was the reason for our gathering. I thought the food was nice (I had the fish and chips, for the record, and the fish of the day was snapper). One odd thing, though, was that if a customer doesn’t finish their meal (And, again for the record, I absolutely finished my meal), they can’t take the leftovers home. It supposedly has something to do with food safety, but I’ve never heard of a NZ cafe doing that.

In general, casinos aren’t a draw for me, mainly because I’m not the least bit interested in gambling (unless you count me buying NZ Lotto tickets, where the profits are returned to the community, not shareholders). The Hamilton casino is much smaller than Auckland’s, of course, but it has a strong advantage for Hamilton in that it’s pretty central in the CBD (aka “downtown” in Americanese). But both the Auckland and Hamilton casinos are mainly about gambling, and so, they aren’t places I’d go to except for occasions like today’s.

All joking aside, I had a good day today, and I got myself to my destination and back home again. Actually, I already knew how to get home from the casino, and that means that next time I’ll also know how to get to the casino, too. So, it turns out that today’s mission wasn’t just a travel adventure, it was also a genuine learning opportunity.

Today was a good day. But I still didn’t gamble—well, apart from the drive to the casino, maybe.