I left work after lunch on Thursday -- threw up in the bathroom. A co-worker took me home.

When I got home, I sat at my desk in my studio and tired to write. Useless. I was too sick. I turned off my word processor, slammed my notebook shut and cursed the way I was feeling.

"Can't work, can't write -- goddamn sick again. Fuck!"

I had been ill the previous week with a stomach virus. Was it back? I took a nap. I woke up five hours later. Five hours wasted.

I sent an e-mail to a friend. It was bitter and sarcastic. In it I explained I was a diabetic and it seems like I'm always ill. I told my friend if her doctor ever asks if she wants to become a diabetic, just say no. I said yes and it's been downhill ever since.

My friend called me later on that night. My "funny" e-mail worried her. I said I was fine. I then phoned my doctor. She would see me the following morning.

I went back to bed, but sleep wouldn't come. I threw up a couple more times. I tried to read -- too sick. I tired to write -- again, too sick. I cried. I felt bad physically and mentally. I was wasting time.

Not able to sleep, I hauled my ass out of bed, showered and just went into the office. I was feeling like shit, but I got a few tasks done. When Sara came in, I asked her to do some things for me, then headed over to the hospital to meet my doctor.

I got right in. She checked my blood pressure, blood sugar level, checked my lungs, pushed on my stomach and other stuff I have gotten use to for the past few months since I've decided to take my diabetes and health somewhat seriously. She then pulled up a chair.

"Tell me who you are," she said.

"Huh?"

"I don't think this is the return of the stomach virus. What's going on in your life?"

For the next half-hour, my regular doctor turned into my therapist. I talked about my life and the changes I've made over the past 10 years. I told her about work and the pressure I feel, as CityBeat's accounting manager, to turn the paper into a real business -- not to turn it into something "corporate," but to really start paying attention to the bottom line. I talked about a book of short stories I'm working on. I talked about my love for writing and the late start I've gotten on that in my life. I talked about my children and the love I have for them and the need for me to be a better parent. I talked about my insomnia and what keeps me up at night. I talked about my 50th birthday and the sense that I'm running out of time to have the kind of life I want.

As my doctor pointed out, I was really talking about stress.

"Slow down," she said. "Appreciate what you've done with your life and the changes you've made."

It's funny what we do to ourselves. I'm lucky to be getting a second chance at life. For years, I was a go-along person with parents, spouses and bosses telling me what to do. For my kids, I was probably the man in the suit who worked long hours and came home with little time for them. For myself, I was the guy pretending to be just fine when I really was miserable.

In 1993 I woke up and started to change my life. I separated from my wife, dropped out of the corporate world and took a job that paid less money. I suddenly had more time for my kids; and after the divorce, I think my children came to know the person I really was.

In 1997, after years of people telling me you'll never be any good at it, I started taking writing seriously. I worked at it in every spare moment that I had -- and now I'm actually getting published.

So my life has changed and I'm thankful for it. I'm getting that second chance. But when you turn my age, you start looking at the clock. I'm not 25 with my whole life ahead of me. I'm at the half-century mark and I'm trying to get as much done as I can.

Will I get that story collection published? Can I walk away from CityBeat, the alternative voice that I love, feeling that I have put them on the path to financial success? Will my children ever really know how much I love them and how sorry I am that I was the guy in the business suit for so many years? Will I never leave the mark I want to on this earth?

Again, it's a balancing act. My second life got started late, but at least it got started. As per my doctor, I'm going to try and take the time to breathe and feel good about what I've done to change my life. I'm going to cherish every little victory I've accomplished and try not worry if I can't quite get it all in.

Since that change in my life in 1993, I've started to consider myself a work in progress. When I die, that's probably the thought I'll still have on my mind. I'm going to think that's all right.