Hey there, boys and girls! I’m broadcasting live from a 24-hour Holter monitor, my close and constant companion since 9:45 A.M. today until the same time tomorrow. Near at hand is my handy dandy 24-hour Holter monitor diary, where I must record all symptoms of interest (e.g., shortness of breath [SOB for short], dizziness, heart palpitations, tachycardia, etc.) that occur during this period of time. Naturally, since I was holstered up with my Holter, I’ve noticed minimal symptoms, which leads me to believe that my heart is playing that old car-at-the-mechanic trick (it runs fine, doesn’t act up for the mechanic, s/he can find nothing wrong). But I’ve got this evening, the whole night, and the early morning to go. Surely I’ll see some action eventually . . .
Different day, different diagnosis
The monitor has come and gone–no idea as to when I’ll hear about the results. However, I did manage to contract some type of virus the day I got Captain Holter which has kept me housebound for the last 2 days. Nothing dramatic, just a headache, abdominal cramps, a bit of nausea and achiness.
So what do I for entertainment between now and my next visit to Kaiser’s cardiology department? Hmmmmm . . . I dunno . . . nothing comes immediately to mind . . . wait, WAIT, I’VE GOT IT!!! HOW ABOUT A COLONOSCOPY?!
Okay, so it was already scheduled. The fun begins next Wednesday afternoon (the drinking of the gallon of ick), and ends at 7:00 A.M. (PST) Thursday morning. Don’t worry, I will not regale you with any of the details.
The crappy thing is how much work I’ve been missing lately with all of these medical appointments. This is one of those times when being self-employed gets a little stressful, what with no steady stream of income when one is indisposed to do one’s job. Plus business has slowed down considerably over the last month or two. But I knew what I was signing on for, so no further self-indulgent woe-is-me (for this post, at least).
So do I have anything remotely interesting to say, or what? Ahhhhh, lessee . . . maybe I should start a list of things I’ve been feeling guilty about lately. Here goes:
1. I haven’t been practicing mindfulness OR meditation on a daily basis for the last couple of weeks;
2. I have done minimal housework (it would take industrial machinery to make even a dent at this point);
3. I haven’t been exercising regularly for way longer than I should, especially with the whole high cholesterol biz;
4. I should be more worried about the fact that I’ve lost 20 lbs. over the last three months without trying much (other than my intentional diet change eliminating as much sugar- and/or trans-fatty foods as possible–except for the last month–and I’ll explain in a sec);
5. I have been secretly thrilled that I’ve dropped two sizes and my previously most sausage-casing-like jeans are now a bit baggy on me, even after they’ve just come out of the dryer;
6. I’ve done absolutely nothing with the front yard this year (actually, other than annual autumn bulb-plantings, the last five–or is that nine?– years);
7. My cat has the worst halitosis of any feline I’ve ever met, and I have not taken her in to the vet to be vetted;
8. Although I really have everything I need, I continue to window-Internet-shop, sometimes obsessively, for things like the perfect-pair-of-cute-yet-casual-work-to-weekend sandals;
9. In the battle between heart health vs. wasting away, I have been indulging in highly sugar- and cholesterol-laden foods (think strawberry Haagen-Dasz, brownies with ice cream, etc.);
10. At one point I justified the above-mentioned eating habits based on one of my post-gum-surgery rules (still) of soft and semi-soft foods (how much frickin’ soup, yogurt, and applesauce can you eat for three months?!?!);
11. I haven’t done any painting (intuitive or otherwise) for at least three months.
I could go on, but you get the idea.
Because I’m still Lazy Couch Recovering Virus Queen, it’s time for a movie break. Been on a Hugh Grant kick recently, dunno why . . . must be my weakness for horsey-faced Englishmen . . .
So ta and ta until next time.