The Diary of a Dying Man: How to Prepare for and Cope with Life and Old Age

By Francis T. Sganga

The author is 96. He was an educator for 33 years, retiring in 1984. As you read the book, you will sense that the 'speaker' is still a teacher who is not only telling you a story, but also cautioning you about what lies ahead as you too face the inevitable challenges associated with aging, how to deal with them, and how being fit helped him survive major difficulties.

The Diary of a Dying Man is a perfect example of the saying that truth is stranger than fiction. In fact, much of what happened to the author is unbelievable. Basically, it's about a survivor, a man who is naively generous to a fault. Despite the traumas his generosity causes, he feels that, in each instance, he did the right thing.

While the book has a happy ending, be prepared to shed some tears along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645360179

Francis T. Sganga

The author is a World War II veteran and a retired educator-turned-writer. He has a B.S. degree in biology and an M.A. degree in English Literature. In his 34 years as a professional educator, he was a science teacher, principal and a supervisor. At 97, he is fit enough to play racquetball and takes no pills - not even vitamins. He wrote ten non-fiction ebooks after turning 90, mostly about the 'miracles' related to being alive and espousing the existence of an Intelligent Designer, providing reasons to believe. He is currently married; he has four adult children, three grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.

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The author is a World War II veteran and a retired educator-turned-writer. He has a B.S. degree in biology and an M.A. degree in English Literature. In his 34 years as a professional educator, he was a science teacher, principal and a supervisor. At 97, he is fit enough to play racquetball and takes no pills – not even vitamins. He wrote ten non-fiction ebooks after turning 90, mostly about the ‘miracles’ related to being alive and espousing the existence of an Intelligent Designer, providing reasons to believe. He is currently married; he has four adult children, three grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.

To my wife and inspiring muse, May Locke Sganga.

Copyright © Francis T. Sganga (2019)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

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Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

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Sganga, Francis T.

The Diary of a Dying Man: How to Prepare for and Cope with Life and Old Age

ISBN 9781641822534 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781641822527 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645360179 (E-Book)

The main category of the book — Biography & Autobiography / General

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

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A heartfelt thank you to my intelligent Designer for the wonder-filled, exciting, mysterious gift of life.

Introduction

As I start writing this book on June 5, 2017, I am 96.

My Vital Statistics

Francis Thomas Sganga

Parents: Frank and Anna (Civale) Sganga

Born: At home in Brooklyn, N.Y. April 29, 1921

Married: Mary Barbara (‘Babs’) O’Connell

September 7, 1946 in Pahokee, FL

Honeymooned: In West Palm Beach, FL

Children: Paul, Clare, Laura and Brian

Vocation: Education – Teacher, Principal and Supervisor

Ethnic Origin: Italian

Height: 5 ft. 7 in. Weight @150 lb.

Eyes: Brown

Complexion and Physique: Standard Italian

Past and Current Hobbies: Racquetball, motorcycle riding and writing.

Favorite Sayings

Family excluded,

No one, not the President, the Queen of England, nor the Pope

is more important than I am!

Setbacks are often blessings in disguise.

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

Never panic.

Never let the turkeys get you down.

Don’t provoke me!

If you lie to me once, I will never believe you again!

Circumstances rule our lives.

Life is a roll of the dice.

There, but for the Grace of God, go I.

What I Despise Most: Hypocrites, liars, greedy super-rich people, spineless political leaders, traitors, and warmongers

What I Like Most: Fixing things, physical activity, communing with nature, reading great non-fiction books, contemplating the meaning of life and why we exist, and how to spend the few remaining years of my life.

Some Favorite People other than family:

Socrates, Jesus, Michelangelo, Galileo, Leonardo Da Vinci, Washington, Jefferson, Thomas Paine, Beethoven, Edison, Mother Teresa, Einstein, Martin Luther King, Jr., Albert Schweitzer, Nelson Mandela, and Pope Paul II who said insightfully:

Behind every door opened by science, there stands God.

Greatest Concerns: The decline of our America, the Family Unit and Moral Values.

Current Goal: To spend my remaining years doing things that have redeeming value.

I do all I can to take the Universal path to achieving a Sense of Well-being, contentment, and Happiness, which is to:

Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.

---

Preface

‘Listen’ to what Charles Kingsley, an English priest and writer had to say about books more than 100 years ago:

Except for a living man there is nothing

more wonderful than a book!

A message to us from the dead –

from human souls we never saw,

who lived perhaps thousands of miles away.

And yet these, in those little sheets of paper,

speak to us, arouse us, terrify us, teach us,

comfort us, open their hearts to us as brothers.

Every life is an unwritten book. This one is an autobiography that is primarily in the form of a diary that spans about 25 years of my adult life, from 1992 to 2018. Of course, having been born in 1921, it is far short of telling the whole story, much of which would bore you to death. However, I don’t believe that will happen with this book.

It’s been said that a good book makes you think and cry, and occasionally, good-humoredly, puts a smile on your face. Also, I think you will find my ruminations both interesting and instructive, and a bit preachy. I was a teacher and, to my mind, there is a very thin line separating a teacher and a preacher. The main goal of both is to help others travel along the precarious road of life with a minimum of travail, and to make the trip as enjoyable as possible.

You will find that I live up to my name. I am very Frank and I express my thoughts openly and as truthfully as possible, letting the chips fall where they may. I am now 97 and very close to entering those pearly gates. And, as English poet Matthew Arnold (1822–1888) said:

Truth sits upon the lips of dying men.

I am somewhat like a detective who spends years trying to solve a cold case murder. One of my fetishes is an obsession to understand everything about life and the Universe we are immersed in. I raise a host of questions in this book, many of which seem to have no satisfying answers, and, as a consequence, I often wind up with a deep appreciation of having been blessed with the Gift of Life bestowed upon me by my crafty Creator whose Divine Mysteries are mind-boggling.

Two examples come to mind. One is why were we created? The other is: How could the entire Universe, including plants, animals and all other forms of matter, like the billions of stars in the billions of galaxies, the majestic mountains we enjoy looking at and climbing, and all of the beautiful flora and fauna in the natural world, come from the nothing that is said to have been the case before the Big Bang?

In pondering the existence of a Creator, this is the best I could come up with so far:

My Credo

I have been Created,

I can Think,

I Know Myself,

I am Creative,

I can Love,

I can experience Pleasure and Ecstasy,

I have a Sense of Beauty,

I intuit the Existence of a Supreme Being.

I believe only a Mind (God’s?) can produce the information

in the cells’ genes that made me.

Therefore, to my Mysterious Mind,

there must be an ineffable Creator that

bestowed those Gifts upon me.

---

1: After 50, It’s Mostly Maintenance!

My First Major Physical Problem

So, teach us the number of our days

that we may get a heart of wisdom.

Ps. 90:12

January 11, 1992: Saturday 10 p.m.

It happened while jogging. I am 71. I just returned to Florida after attending my father’s funeral in New York a week ago. Usually, I could run a mile in about ten minutes. On this particular day, which was a Friday, I was unable to finish the 1st quarter-mile lap. I not only found it difficult to breathe but also experienced some pressure in my chest that felt like pleurisy.

Thinking I had some kind of ‘bug,’ I foolishly kept trying to finish at least one more lap. When my upper back began to ache, I quit and decided to try to see my doctor that very afternoon. Of course, it was Friday, which meant I might have to wait till Monday to see him. On the phone, I described my symptoms to the receptionist, an ex-student of mine, who consulted with the doctor, and was advised to come in immediately.

After Doc finished his routine stethoscopic examination, with inconclusive results, I was hooked up to an EKG machine for a more precise check on my heart’s condition.

I never expected to hear the news. With no hesitation or emotion, Doc looked up from the EKG readout and said, Mr. Sganga, you are experiencing angina symptoms that indicate your heart muscle is not getting enough oxygen-rich blood it needs to function normally.

How can you tell?

Showing me some squiggly lines on the readout, he replied, These inverted T’s are a sure sign.

His matter-of-fact, authoritative response left little doubt that his diagnosis was correct. But it just didn’t seem possible. Trying hard to shake my disbelief and accept the verdict, I said, What makes this so hard to believe is that I don’t smoke or drink, I jog a mile several times a week, play racquetball three times a week, and conscientiously keep my weight under control.

Some plaque has evidently built up in one or more of your coronary arteries. It could be diet, it could be heredity, or a combination of the two. I recommend that you see a cardiologist as soon as possible. He will probably do a catheterization to find out exactly what the problem is.

A catheterization?

Yes, it’s a relatively simple procedure. A plastic tube will be inserted into the femoral artery in your groin, and it will be guided to where the coronary arteries branch off into your heart. A dye will then be injected, and the doctor will manipulate an x-ray camera hooked up to a TV monitor that will enable him to locate the blockage and determine how bad it is. The procedure will be videotaped so your doctor and a trained radiologist can study it afterwards.

Will I be asleep?

No. As a matter of fact, you can watch the entire procedure on a monitor.

Sighing deeply, I said, Well, obviously, I have a problem. What happens if a lot of plaque is found? Are there any pills I can take to get rid of it, or a special diet I can go on?

No, the chances are you will have to undergo angioplasty.

Noticing the questioning look on my face, he proceeded to explain. Angioplasty is similar to the first procedure, but this time the doctor will insert a catheter with a tiny balloon attached to its tip, which will be positioned to where the plaque is clogging up the artery. Once inside the clogged area, the balloon will be inflated. This splits and compresses the plaque against the artery wall and slightly stretches it, allowing a lot more blood to reach the heart muscle than before.

How successful is the procedure?

Very successful. It’s been done for the past 15 years. You look like you’ve kept yourself in pretty good shape, which is highly in your favor. While there is no 100% guarantee for any surgical procedure, the risk is far less for you than it would be for someone who is inactive, smokes or is overweight.

After putting on my shirt, I followed him into another room where he handed me a tiny brown bottle. These are nitroglycerine tablets. If you feel any pain in your chest or back, put one under your tongue immediately.

Without any hesitation, I removed the cap and the cotton, placed a pill in the palm of my hand and put it under my tongue.

The doctor looked at me with some concern and asked, Are you in pain?

No, but I just don’t want to take any chances!

He laughed in relief and led me to the waiting room where he gave brief instructions to his receptionist and left. She made a few notes, looked up from her desk and said, Here’s a list of three cardiologists. Do you have a preference?

Glancing at the list, I noticed a familiar name – Dr. James Henson. I’ll go with Dr. Henson. He and I played racquetball together.

The suddenness of the news of a heart problem was totally unexpected and, as you can imagine, very sobering. I was always confident that my life style, based upon the old adage of a strong mind in a strong body, would preclude any such thing happening to me!

Well, obviously, there was a flaw in my reasoning. For one thing, I was totally unconcerned about what I ate – despite warnings from my wife. Over the years, I consumed thousands of hamburgers and hot dogs, copious amounts of bacon, sausage, eggs, cheese and peanut butter, plus donuts, cookies, cakes and ice cream. My justification was simple (minded?). My strenuous activities would burn up all that cholesterol everyone else was concerned about, and I was sure Mother Nature would keep my body in perfect equilibrium as long as I didn’t abuse it by being over-indulgent. My erroneous thinking was reinforced by the fact that my blood pressure was consistently low (about 110/60), which is supposed to be an indicator of longevity. I recall one doctor’s comment that I would probably live longer, but enjoy it less.

How unnerving and depressing to find out my million-dollar body was suddenly and unexpectedly in serious jeopardy. I took my body to Dr. Henson and after exchanging a few pleasantries, he proceeded to describe the procedure I was to endure exactly as my primary doctor did. After he finished, I asked,

How many have you done?

About 250.

Has anyone croaked?

No.

I appreciated the fact that he didn’t say, "Not yet."

When can it be done?

Tomorrow, if you wish. You just have to spend the night in the hospital, and even that is just a precautionary measure.

I’d like to get it over with as quickly as possible. Tomorrow is fine.

My quick decision was partly due to the fact that I didn’t want to engage in any Hamlet-type thinking, which might in turn generate unwarranted fears about having an instrument inserted into my heart. Also contributing to my spur-of-the-moment decision was the possibility of suddenly having a heart attack, and Doc’s quiet, self-assured manner.

01: Angioplasty Procedure

At a follow-up visit with the cardiologist, he gave me the sketch below showing the condition of my heart with regard to plaque build-up, saying that up to 65% blockage was acceptable.

02: Sketch of Blocked Arteries

Dr. Henson did a good job on one partially blocked artery, but missed a second one obscured by the first. The consequence: The need for a second go-round in 1994. Since then, no problems, thank goodness. The only ‘medication’ I’ve taken, is ½ aspirin a day along with vitamin B-12 and folic acid.

Staying physically fit paid off in an unexpected way. I believed, as did my doctor, that it helped stave off a heart attack. My jogging was equivalent to a treadmill stress test. On the day I couldn’t finish even one lap around my ¼ mile track, and felt pleurisy-like pressure in my chest, I was put on notice that I had a heart problem, and the EKG verified that fact.

I first heard about angina when the middle-aged principal at the school where I taught suddenly died from it in a motel room while attending an educational conference. He was quite overweight and smoked. His demise was shocking, and it made me deeply and permanently aware of the importance of taking the best care possible of the Temple of my Spirit.

The second angioplasty was a repeat of the first, except for a minor inconvenience. I had to wait more than an hour on a gurney, my body covered with a sheet in a cold corridor outside the operating room. Doc was held up with an emergency. Bored with nothing to read or do, I jabbered with the nurse for a while, then came up with this idea:

Nurse, how about putting the sheet over my head, and when he shows up, tell him he’s too late.

She laughed, and said, I don’t think it’s a good idea to shake him up just before your risky procedure. I quickly agreed.

After my second angioplasty, while recuperating, I wrote this:

MY DEMISE

My eyes were closed

But I could see

Those who hovered

Over me.

There were sons and daughters

Friends and wife,

People who’ve known me

All my life.

We shared this world

I’m not sure why;

Nor do I know

Why I was I.

I lived in peace

While others died

On battlefields

That horrified.

---

Some killed by cars,

Some by disease,

Some died quite young,

Despite all pleas.

Dear God of all

Who’s everywhere,

Forgive my doubts

You put them there.

At times I knew

But faltered some,

The Truth I sought

Was hard to come.

Your faces, friends

Say, Time to go.

Adieu, adieu,

All must you know.

2: My Second Major Physical Problem

Even death is not to be feared

by one who has lived wisely.

Buddha

The grim story began on October 4, 2001, when at age 80, a test revealed I had a microscopic amount of blood in my urine, which was rated +1. (I didn’t realize it at the time, but that is one of the indicators of cancer.) A report of the second test about ten weeks later showed an increase to +2. This prompted my primary doctor to schedule me to see a urologist on January 28, 2002 for a preliminary examination. The doctor suggested I undergo an IVP and a cystoscopy, ironically, on Valentine’s Day. IVP stands for Intravenous Pyelogram, a procedure where a dye is injected into the blood stream and x-rays are taken to detect a problem of the kidneys, ureters, or bladder.

When told I was not to take my usual ½ aspirin a day until the procedures were over, I asked the urologist,

Since doctors recommend no aspirin for two to three weeks prior to an operation, it seems to me that the stuff must be cumulative. If this is the case, and since aspirin thins the blood and sometimes causes internal bleeding, isn’t it possible the aspirin could be the cause of blood in my urine?

Yes, it could, but we better check you out thoroughly to try to find the exact cause.

February 15, 2002: Friday Midnight

Recently starting this book and giving it the title The Diary of a Dying Man may be weirdly prophetic. I hope not, but since life is a roll of the dice, who knows? Regardless, once thrown, how they wind up determines whether you’ve won or lost. C’mon, seven or 11!

Yesterday, while undergoing the IVP to determine the reason for there being blood in my urine, the urologist returned from viewing the x-rays and told me my urinary track was normal. However, he spotted an aneurysm in my aorta, which occurs when part of an artery wall weakens, allowing it to widen abnormally or balloon out.

I thought, from the little I knew of anatomy, that the aorta was close to my heart. Not so. The aorta he referred to is part of the total aorta that goes from the heart to a point in the lower abdomen where it forks into two iliac arteries that supply legs with fresh blood. He showed me where the aneurysm was located using an anatomical chart.

Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm (AAA) (http://media2.picsearch.com/is?N-EWBxrDoDkgk8ismKlIqJttYC68IGM1eq7mXMOaz28&height=229)

I told him that I suspected something might be wrong because while lying on my back at night, I felt a palpable pulse in my abdomen just below my sternum that was stronger than my heartbeat.

He nodded without comment, and told me I should see a surgeon as soon as possible. When he asked if I would like him to recommend one, I told him I would prefer that my primary doctor did that. He called him, and an appointment was made for February 25.

The insertion of the scope into my bladder via my penis was painless because the area was anesthetized. However, after the anesthesia wore off, the pain set in, but good, and persisted for several days! As one old timer who had it done told me, urinating was like pissing fire, and it was! I dreaded having to urinate. Male readers, be forewarned.

February 27, 2002: Wednesday 8 p.m.

The full impact of the seriousness of my aortic aneurysm didn’t sink in till much later. I took my x-rays to the surgeon recommended by my primary doctor, and he verified the diagnosis made by the urologist. After showing me where the aneurysm was on the x-ray, he told me it was about five inches long and about four times larger than the thumb-size it was supposed to be.

Same Day: 11:00 p.m.

Strangely, I had zero symptoms, other than the throbbing sensation in my abdomen. I was able to jog, play racquetball and swim without any indication anything was wrong. And that’s the scary part, as I found out. I learned that if an aneurysm bursts, it’s usually certain death! A ruptured aneurysm killed my father at age 92, Albert Einstein at 76 and my brother-in-law at age 59. I had planned to ask my primary physician about my abdominal pulsations at a future examination, but I had no idea that time was of the essence. Ironically, when I was informed by the urologist that the results of the tests of my urinary track were negative, showing no signs of cancer cells, I was a bit taken aback by the news because it didn’t occur to me that they were looking for cancer. I theorized that the bleeding was due to the ½ aspirin a day I was taking, and it appears I was right, thank God. The bleeding diminished after I quit for ten days and was re-tested.

So now I’m scheduled for a CAT scan on February 28, a consultation with the radiologist on March 4, an arteriogram on March 6, and a summation of findings by the surgeon on March 11.

I’ve had three procedures requiring the injection of dye into my blood stream within three weeks. The first was the IVP x-ray procedure that probed for problems in my urinary track. The second was for the C/T scan, and the third was for the arteriogram that involved the insertion of a catheter into an artery in my groin and a measuring device for determining the size and location of the aortic aneurysm. I looked at the x-rays from the latter procedure, and the bulge in the aorta was obvious.

We have all experienced the discomfort of having needles inserted into our blood vessels. You grit your teeth and hope the technician hits it the first time. During the C/T scan procedure, a male technician failed to do the job in my right arm. After a bit of painful, unsuccessful probing, I was thankful when a female technician took over and quickly succeeded in penetrating the vein in my left arm. The next needle experience was on the gurney in the operating room where a radiologist inserted a device into my femoral artery to accommodate the insertion of a catheter. He began with an anesthetic injection, which is more uncomfortable than the others, did what he had to do, then proceeded with the taking of x-ray pictures, as dye coursed through my blood vessels causing a sensation of warmth throughout my body. A lot of water must be drunk to get the dye out of your system since it can damage kidneys if allowed to settle in them. Having dye inserted three times was a bit worrisome.

March 10, 2002: Sunday 10 p.m.

The appointment with my surgeon is at 1:30 tomorrow afternoon. The apprehension increases with each passing day. The thought of having my belly split open from pubic bone to sternum is one I would like to delete from my mind, but it just won’t go away. Unfortunately, the aneurysm lies below my intestines, close to my spine. I hoped it would be just below the surface of my skin for easy access. I have plenty of time to mentally rehearse the questions I will ask him. First and foremost is: "What would you do if the situation was reversed and you had this ailment?, then watch his face to try to determine his sincerity. The other questions are obvious. Is the ailment serious enough to warrant going through with it at my age? How many of these procedures have you done? What are the post-operative consequences? How risky is it? (I won’t be blunt here by asking what my chances are of dying.) Will I be less physically fit after it’s over?"

The irony in all of this is that I feel great! I have zero symptoms, other than the strong palpitations in my abdomen, and was experiencing no pain. Since I wasn’t told otherwise, I foolishly continued my physical exercise regimen of jogging, swimming and playing racquetball because I thought it would be beneficial to be as physically fit as possible prior to the operation. I thought that since the technicians giving me the stress test didn’t hold back on the speed of the treadmill, and I handled it easily, it would be okay to keep pushing myself to be as ready as possible for the Great Event. I did this until two days prior to the operation. Not smart. I found out later that the aneurysm was rated a ‘7,’ which is at a bursting point. As one nurse put it, You were a walking time bomb.

Understandably, the specter of death looms much larger than it did before. I know it’s inevitable, but I’m not sick in the normal sense of the word! I can envision the day when I may be in so much pain and be so tired, that death would be welcome. But not now, when I am otherwise so physically and mentally fit. I know my mind is O.K. I just had one of my books published last January (Essential Mathematics for Gifted Students) and just finished a second one (Introducing Students to the Wonders of Mathematics) that is ready to go next summer. Then too, there is this book. How lucky I am to have it to do while I am convalescing! It probably won’t ever sell, but it sure keeps my mind occupied doing something that I love to do. And, when the going gets tough, as it inevitably does, it’s a great way to relieve stress.

March 11, 2002: Monday 11 p.m.

Of course, the day finally came as they always do, eventually. After Babs and I waited half an hour in the surgeon’s examining room, the door finally opened, and in comes the judge with an opinion I expected: We’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way, he said. After examining the condition of your aorta and the iliac, the arthroscopic, two-hole stent approach won’t work.

I nodded, and began peppering him with questions:

How long will the operation take? (About three hours.)

"Is the operation really necessary at my age? (I think it’s urgent.")

How long will I have to remain in the hospital? (About six days.)

When can I get out of bed and move about? (In about two days.)

Will moving my intestines aside to get to my aorta affect them? (No eating of solids for two days. It will take that long for the intestines to resume their normal function. You may have some diarrhea and passing of some blood.)

My blood type is a bit rare; it’s AB, but I don’t know if it’s positive or negative. (There is rarely any need for a transfusion, but it can be dealt with if necessary.)

Will I be able to jog and play racquetball as before? (Yes, but it will take two to three months.)

Well, since there’s a chance it might burst at any time, and I may face greater difficulties when I am older and in poorer shape, I’d like to have it done as soon as possible.

The agreed upon date is two weeks hence, on Thursday, March 21, at 1 p.m. I need to arrive two hours earlier for pre-op preparation.

One last thing, Doc. Would you please inform my primary doctor and my cardiologist about what is happening?

Yes, I will.

March 12, 2002: Tuesday 10 p.m.

I just emerged from an afternoon workout in our 33 ft. pool. Did my calisthenics, and swam seven laps till I decided not to tempt fate. The air is about 70° but I keep the water at 85°. After leaving the water, I quickly don a bathrobe, re-cover the water with a solar blanket, and then have my orange for the day. Thinking about the imminence of the operation and the possible consequences never stops. There is some solace in the fact that cancer was not discovered and my heart is behaving itself.

A racquetball buddy just had quadruple bypass surgery and confessed that thinking about the possibility of dying was foremost in his mind. He got through it fine, and in just a few months was back on the court. There was a bit of comfort thinking that my operation is not as body-damaging as his was, and that he did so well. (How wrong I was! Was told later by a nurse that repairing an aneurysm is more serious than a by-pass.)

The surgeon’s demeanor removed any apprehension Babs and I had about his competency. He was as matter-of-fact about what the problem was and how to fix it as an ace mechanic is about fixing cars. When I mentioned to him that I thought my x-ray showed slight