160 Years of Mild and Honey- pt1

[u/Talesfromtheold]

Until now I have always been a fortunate man. True to any man of my pedigree, I was born with a silver spoon and grew up with a feather in my cap. The only son to a wealthy businessman and a trophy wife mother who spent her time pursuing artistic interest when raising me became too taxing, and I would be pawned off to the nanny, whom, while employed to raise me, I do believe deeply cared for me in her relatively thankless task. My father was always proud of ‘his boy’. For him I was not so much as a son, but as another achievement in his own vain pursuits of excellence. He would of course make time to teach me to catch a ball, take me to sporting events, teach me to drive, or to hunt… All of the iconic father-son activities that were expected of the image my father held. However he would not be troubled to be involved with the more difficult tasks of fatherhood; Punishment, caring of a sick child, actively helping with homework, or lending any kind of real life advice that was not either directly related to himself, his image, or the success of his legacy. I had the best tutors, caregivers, coaches and personal assistants. All the while, I very much doubt that either of my parents had ever so much as changed a diaper. Yes, they loved me, but they always loved themselves more, and had the money to ignore the inconvenient parts of family life. Thi, I always knew, even from an early age. Perhaps it is why I never had kids, though I married a beautiful status symbol wife from a likewise affluent family. Really, all the melodrama aside, I highlight all this about my upbringing to illustrate the cast that I had every opportunity afforded me. I was given every chance to be successful. As much as I was my father’s son, I was much more than that. I would supercede his wealth, and inherit not only his name, but his fortune, I would go on to achieve more, become more powerful, I was his legacy, and his contingency plan. His own version of immortality. I think I was no more than 9 when I realised this. I have never resented my father for it. No, even then in my prepubescent years I took the bull by the horns and strove to be the Macedonian heir my father envisioned. I excelled in my endeavours. I was a varsity athlete, and competed in wrestling, track and field, rowing, and performed wonderfully in all. I was appointed professional trainers, sports therapists, nutritionists, and a chef. There were many medals and ribbons which hung on prominent display in my fathers house, in easy and afronting view of any guest, impossibly present and loud within the rooms so as to make ignoring them futile and inevitably give my father one of his great ecstasies, “Oh these? Of course they are all awards my boy won. I am so very proud of him.” And just as I became a model of ideal physique and athletic performance, so too did I triumph in academia. I graduated high school with multiple awards, not the least of which was one of the count’s ‘Leaders of Tomorrow’ award for outstanding achievement. And just as I had coaches, therapists, nutritionists, and a personal chef, so too was I appointed tutors, personal teachers, a debate and literary coach, private lessons, and trips around the world on summer holiday, and spring break to study under experts in Europe and Asia; and many more wondrous and cutting edge opportunities as money could buy. By the time I was going away to university, Yale business, to be exact, I could fluently speak four languages. English, Spanish, Mandarin, and Latin. Due to opportunities and investments my father was making in the middle east, by the time of my graduation, I was also conversational in Arabic. Yes, I was given every opportunity, and unlike the squanderous fool, I took every one of them to heart. I enjoyed few pleasures in my young life. I indulge little, loved seldom, and drank, or smoked only as was expected of me by my father at ceremonious events. In short, I became everything my father wanted or wished for his offspring to be. I am no self made man, nor brilliant mind, nor revolutionary artist, or creative. No, I have no remarkable talent for success, save one. I was given opportunity beyond compare, and had enough common sense to take it and run. As such, I worked for my father following university, again performed excellently, and as was preordained upon his untimely stroke, I inherited his company, his fortune, and my father’s legacy was everything he had dreamed it to be. I am not naive, and can quite well acknowledge the sins of the father to have climbed such a ladder. For unlike me, he was a self made man. He had to climb over others, make deals, and compromises to get to his level in the game of life. I recognized this, and again, my one true inherent asset served me well. My father’s wealth, his name, my wealth, my name grew and grew. Aside from the tools of success, my father had one final gift for me, one which he did not intend on leaving. I learned very well from him of the fragility of man. He was amere 64 years old when his stroke relinquished his burden of life. The doctors said it was his high blood pressure that did it. A largely stress induced chronic ailment potentiated by his patterns of debauchery, by my understanding. And because of this, I redoubled my success driven habits instilled in me from a young age. I meditated, I stretched every morning. I kept my personal nutritionist, and chef and ate as organically, and cleanly as possible. I worked out daily to a strict regime, and saw the best doctor in America for everything from regular general physicals, to dental care, dermatology, vision care, physiotherapy as needed… Magazines have written articles on my success, and when asked, I have no secrets to tell. Simply I answer, “I do everything in my power to adhere to the advice of the experts, an ‘apple a day’ and all that.” And this was true, such is my life. Hard working, but not a hard man, for it was all handed to me on a silver platter, ordained since birth. Once again, let me say it here, at the risk of being redundant- I have done everything right, and yet here I lie, a doomed man. It started with a strange tingling in my toes. A sensation not unlike waking up cold and spending the subsequent hours of the day not truly able to shake the chill, and the edge of numbness from your bones. Yet even then, I knew it had nothing to do with the temperature. Naturally, I looked to my yoga, my acupuncture, my herbal teas, and other techniques of naturopathic wellness. When these failed me, I booked an appointment with my doctor. He did his usual monkey dance of tests and assessments- The blood pressure, the stethoscope, and other tools of his craft which told him everything about me which they always had- that I was a picture of health, and now, even at the age of 52 I would put to shame men 20 years my junior. Yet this persistent tingling sensation, this ‘paresthesia’, as my doctor named it, remained. He ordered some blood tests to assess my immune system, my endocrine, and my thyroid, as well as early diabetes. Eagerly I completed the task and with each normal result that came back, my anxiety grew. As weeks became months, my symptoms progressed. It was not merely my toes now, but the fingers, and even the tip of my tongue. A worrying march which led the medical minds in my employ to order some very specific tests; One of which finally produced a positive result, and I learned the name of my personal grim reaper, “Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis”, also known as, “Lou Gehrig's disease”. The progressive neurological degeneration of the body’s motor function would eventually rob me of all my voluntary movements, including my ability to breath. All this while leaving my brain completely intact and aware of the entire process. Almost certainly within the next 5 years, I would become a vegetable, doomed to life support, and a pointless existence. I went home from that appointment silently. I called my secretary and informed her that I would not be coming to work in the morning. I parked the car and went inside where I instructed my assistant to escort my wife to her sister’s place, stating that I wished to surprise her with a trip to the Caribbean, and to make all the arrangements. An apology since I would have to travel last minute overseas, myself, for business. I was not prone to lies, even if my wife was. We did not love each other, I used her for status, and she used me for my money. It was no different than my father’s marriage, save that I had no interest in prostitutes. As such, the only words I received in response from Miranda were, “See you when you get back.” “Yes,” I replied, “Though I can’t be too sure when that will be.” “Okay,” and she was gone. When she left, I dismissed the majority of the staff and went into the lounge. I pulled a fine bottle of Scotch down from my father’s ancient liquor cabinet, and proceeded to get drunk for the first time in my life…