After spending more than four years in the world of journalism, and a good portion of that time at a large daily newspaper, I've gotten pretty good at crafting ledes for almost any kind of story. But I have to admit to feeling a little stumped on this one.

For those of you who don't know what a lede is, I'm referring to the lead paragraph of a story. For many writers - myself included - it's an element that comes to them almost immediately and well before they sit down to hash it out on the keyboard.

My typical start to writing a story consists of writing the lede in my head, then finding some type of quote to end with. I call them my bookends; when those two things are in place, the meat of the story usually falls into place somewhat effortlessly.

Anyhow, my point is that writing a blog isn't exactly my forte. But my main reason for doing this is therapy. But what's the therapy for?

Well, I'll get to that.

Now take a look a this man's face. Is he actually excited about open heart surgery?

He may be. But I certainly am not.

I was born with a small aortic valve and, up until recently, the condition caused me little trouble other than keeping me from another dream of mine, which was to serve in the U.S. Navy.

But things just got real about two months ago.

After my annual checkup with the cardiologist and some subsequent tests, it was determined that I needed to get the valve replaced. It had finally wore out and I've been dealing with major fatigue.

As terrified as I was of being cracked open, my fears weren't actually realized until I met with the surgeon and set a date. The details of what they were going to do to me sent me into a mini-tailspin.

I've never handled stress well. But despite the silver lining in knowing that I would be feeling much better afterwards, this news sent me over the top.

I got into journalism because I wanted to be a professional writer. Working at a major daily newspaper was the ultimate dream...but for me, it became a nightmare.

The stress, at times, has been overwhelming. Some people thrive in that type of environment, but I've come to find out that I don't. Throw in the issue of money (never, ever enough to compensate for the long, hard-fought hours) and the constant fear of losing my job, and I had a real problem on my hands.

Some would point to the trail of newsprint left in my wake, an indicator that I've thrived in this profession. An editor recently told me this much, but it's really not any consolation for what I've endured or done to my body in the process. The significant weight gain, drinking and other bad habits are just a few to name here.

As the clock ticks on, it signals the end - or at least a pregnant pause - in my career as a newspaperman.

My future seems to lean towards something slower, something new. All I know is that things have to change.

With a Nov. 3 surgery date looming in the distance, I'm planning to chronicle my experiences, my thoughts, whatever else, in hopes that it will be therapeutic.

We'll see...